Chapter 8 - The Price of Treason
Before Morello could process my words, a sharp CRACK rang out from the darkness of the second-floor balcony.
The bodyguard stepping on my wrist suddenly collapsed, a single high-calibrated sniper bullet through his chest.
Before the remaining three guards could raise their weapons, Marcus and five of my elite tactical guards dropped down from the balcony on ropes, spraying silenced submachine gun fire with lethal precision. Within three seconds, Morello’s bodyguards were dead on the floor.
I didn't hesitate. I drove my elbow into Morello’s ribs, grabbing his gold revolver by the barrel, twisting his wrist until the bone snapped with a sickening crunch.
Morello screamed in agony, dropping to his knees as I ripped the weapon from his hands.
I stood over him, breathing heavily, the gold revolver pointed directly down at his face. The smoke in the ruined foyer began to settle, revealing the total defeat of his forces outside. My perimeter team had surrounded the remaining SUVs; the battle was over.
"Please... Richard..." Morello gasped, clutching his broken wrist against his chest, his bravado instantly evaporating into pathetic terror. "We can share him! Think of the money! Think of the power! He can make us immortal!"
I looked down at the pathetic creature begging for his life on my ruined marble floor. This was the man who had terrorized the city for thirty years. The man who had made a small, innocent child fear the world so deeply that he ran barefoot into dark woods rather than risk being put in a cage again.
"You don't get it, Morello," I said softly, cocking the hammer of the gold revolver. "Some things in this world are not for sale. And some promises are worth killing for."
I pulled the trigger.
The gunshot echoed once through the ruined estate, and then the mansion fell into absolute, heavy silence.
Ten minutes later, the heavy blast door beneath the wine cellar hissed open.
Claire stepped out first, holding a tactical flashlight, her eyes wide as she took in the ruined hallway leading upstairs. Behind her, Leo and Lila held onto her skirt, while Noah stood slightly behind them, his dark eyes looking around the shadows.
"Richard!" Claire called out, her voice trembling.
I stepped out of the shadows at the top of the cellar stairs. I had wiped the blood from my face, discarded my tactical vest, and put on a clean jacket over my shirt.
Leo and Lila screamed with joy, running forward to wrap their arms around my legs. I fell to my knees, holding them tight, kissing the tops of their heads.
Noah slowly walked over, stopping a few feet away. He looked at my hands, making sure I wasn't hurt, then looked into my eyes.
"Is... is the bad man gone?" Noah asked softly.
I reached out, grabbing Noah’s small shoulder, pulling him into the hug with my twins. He stiffened for a fraction of a second before relaxing, leaning his head against my chest.
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"He's gone, Noah," I whispered into his hair. "He's gone, and he's never coming back. Nobody is ever going to hurt you again."
Noah let out a long, quiet sigh—a sound of a child finally laying down a weight far too heavy for his young shoulders. For the first time since I had met him, a tiny, genuine smile appeared on his lips.
