Chapter 7 - The Loyal Traitor
Matteo, the man who had supposedly rescued me from my apartment, smiled a sad, apologetic smile.
He held his pistol firmly against the terrified driver's temple without breaking eye contact with Vincent.
Vincent stopped dead in his tracks, his gray eyes darkening with a devastating realization.
He demanded to know why his most trusted captain had sold his soul to Isabella.
Matteo sighed, explaining that Isabella had offered him total control of the south side territory.
He claimed that Vincent had grown weak and distracted, especially since bringing a fat, useless nurse into their world.
Matteo stated that the Mercer family needed a ruthless king, not a broken man hiding in a penthouse.
He demanded that Vincent drop his weapon and kick it across the concrete floor.
Vincent refused to surrender, knowing exactly how Isabella treated her prisoners.
He warned Matteo that pulling the trigger would be the last mistake he ever made.
Matteo shook his head, stating that he knew Vincent wouldn't risk my life in a shootout.
To prove he wasn't bluffing, Matteo shifted his aim and shot the getaway driver squarely in the chest.
The driver collapsed against the hood of the car, dead before he hit the ground.
Matteo immediately leveled the smoking barrel of his gun directly at my face.
He told Vincent that if the gun wasn't dropped in three seconds, my brains would decorate the concrete wall.
Vincent did not hesitate to protect me.
He instantly dropped his weapon, kicking the heavy pistol far into the shadows of the garage.
Matteo laughed, a cruel sound that echoed endlessly in the empty parking structure.
He ordered three of his hidden mercenaries to step out from behind the concrete pillars.
He commanded them to bind Vincent's hands behind his back with heavy, industrial zip ties.
Vincent closed his eyes, surrendering himself to the ultimate loss of control he had spent eleven years running from.
A massive mercenary grabbed Vincent's injured shoulder, shoving him roughly against the car.
I knew that if they tied him up and delivered him to Isabella, he would suffer a death worse than the fire.
I reached trembling fingers into the deep pocket of my jacket, finding the single item I had stolen from my trauma kit.
It was an emergency syringe filled with a massive, concentrated dose of pure epinephrine.
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As the mercenary reached past me to grab Vincent's wrists, I lunged forward with everything I had.
I plunged the long needle directly into the side of the mercenary's thick neck and slammed the plunger down.
