Chapter 6 - The Don Awakens
Before Victor could squeeze the trigger, Declan reacted with blinding, feral speed!
With his powerful arms, Declan shoved his motorized chair directly into Narin, knocking her down behind the heavy concrete pillar beside the elevator, taking her out of Victor’s line of sight.
In the same split second, Declan whipped his silver .45 caliber handgun out from his jacket liner and fired two precise, lethal shots!
BANG! BANG!
The two guards standing behind Victor dropped instantly, shot clean through the forehead before they could even raise their weapons.
Victor gasped in horror, diving behind the front bumper of the armored sedan as bullets tore through the concrete pillar above his head.
“You think a chair makes me weak, Victor?!” Declan’s voice boomed across the subterranean garage like thunder, devoid of any pain or hesitation. “I built this empire with these hands while you were still stealing radios on the West Side!”
Declan wheeled his chair smoothly behind the concrete barrier, keeping Narin covered beneath his shadow. He dropped his empty magazine, slapped a fresh clip into his sidearm with a sharp click, and looked down at her.
“Stay down,” Declan whispered, his dark eyes burning with absolute, lethal authority.
Narin huddled against the concrete, her heart pounding, watching him in utter awe. The bitter, miserable man who had thrown whiskey glasses at wall paneling was completely gone. In his place sat the legendary Don of Chicago—a master tactician whose resolve remained untouched by his physical brokenness.
Victor fired three wild shots from behind the sedan, metal ricocheting off the pillar. “You can’t escape, Declan! My men have sealed the garage ramps!”
Declan didn't answer. He looked at the heavy overhead fire sprinkler main running directly above the armored sedan.
He raised his silver pistol, aimed high, and fired two heavy rounds into the brass pressure valve!
CRACK-SNAP!
A violent jet of high-pressure water and black rust burst from the pipe, showering the sedan and blinding Victor as he tried to aim.
Through the cascading wall of water, Declan rolled his chair forward with immense upper-body strength, stepping out into the open, firing twice through the downpour!
BANG! BANG!
Victor let out a gurgling cry, dropping his gun as two bullets shattered his right shoulder. He fell backward into the pool of dirty water, clutching his arm, groaning in agony.
Declan rolled his chair right up to the bleeding lieutenant, pressing the warm, smoking barrel of his pistol directly between Victor’s eyes.
“Who else did you sell out, Victor?” Declan asked, his voice deathly soft.
Victor, weeping and shivering in the freezing water, gasped for air. “The... the Rossy syndicate... they have six men at the front gate... and two snipers on the roof...”
“Thank you for the update,” Declan said coldly.
He struck Victor across the temple with the heavy steel butt of his gun, knocking the traitor out cold.
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Declan turned his chair back toward the concrete pillar, his dark eyes finding Narin.
“Narin,” he called out softly. “Get in the car.”
