Chapter 7 - Enemy of My Enemy
The horrific realization that Detective Reynolds had set us up as bait for the Russian mob hit me like a physical blow.
He hadn't rescued us to stop Dominic; he had rescued us to hand us over to a completely different set of wolves.
I slammed my fist against the partition window, screaming violently at Reynolds to pull the car over immediately.
The corrupt detective entirely ignored me, flooring the gas pedal and speeding recklessly toward the abandoned city docks.
Elena gripped my arm tightly, her breathing becoming dangerously shallow again without her proper medication to sustain her.
The little girl was crying silently in the corner, her tiny hands clutching the edges of my ruined, bloody suit jacket.
I knew I had to take control of the speeding vehicle before we reached the Russian rendezvous point at the harbor.
I pulled the small glass vial of paralyzing agent I had taken from Victor out of my pocket.
I smashed the thick glass partition with my elbow, completely ignoring the sharp pain of shards cutting deeply into my skin.
I reached through the broken glass and jabbed the jagged edge of the vial directly into Reynolds' exposed neck.
The detective gasped loudly, his hands instantly locking up as the paralyzing chemical flooded his nervous system.
His heavy foot slipped completely onto the gas pedal, sending the car rocketing forward out of control.
I dove recklessly through the shattered partition, grabbing the steering wheel and desperately wrestling for control of the cruiser.
We careened wildly off the paved road, smashing through a chain-link fence and launching violently onto an old, wooden shipping pier.
The car skidded wildly across the wet planks, finally crashing heavily into a stack of rusted cargo containers.
The airbags deployed with a deafening bang, filling the cabin with thick, white smoke and the awful smell of burning powder.
I kicked my door open immediately, dragging Reynolds' paralyzed body out of the driver's seat and throwing him onto the dock.
I rushed back to the passenger doors, pulling Elena and my daughter from the wreckage just as the engine block caught fire.
We huddled terrified behind the cargo containers, watching the bright flames engulf the unmarked police cruiser entirely.
Within seconds, three sleek black Mercedes sedans rolled onto the pier, their headlights cutting sharply through the thick harbor fog.
The Russian syndicate had arrived exactly on time, heavily armed and completely devoid of human mercy.
A tall, imposing man in a thick trench coat stepped out of the lead car, holding a massive, customized assault rifle.
It was Ivan Volkov, the ruthless leader of the Bratva, a man who had famously never left a single survivor in his wake.
He walked calmly toward the burning car, kicking Reynolds' paralyzed body out of the way with absolute, chilling disgust.
Ivan yelled into the darkness, demanding that I show myself and answer for the billions my brother had stolen from him.
I stepped out from behind the container with my hands raised, placing myself entirely between the Russians and my family.
I told Ivan that Dominic had betrayed me as well, and I had the classified documents right here to prove it.
Ivan laughed coldly, raising his rifle and aiming it directly at my chest without a second thought.
He said he didn't care about my pathetic family drama; he only cared about wiping the Moretti name off the face of the earth.
He placed his finger heavily on the trigger, fully prepared to execute me right there on the wooden pier.
Suddenly, a single gunshot echoed through the foggy harbor, striking Ivan's rifle and shattering the weapon entirely in his hands.
May you like
Everyone froze, looking up cautiously toward the towering cargo crane positioned high above the shipping containers.
Standing proudly on the metal catwalk, holding a smoking sniper rifle, was Marco Bianchi.
