Chapter 8 - The Final Stand
Renzo’s breath smelled like copper and ash as he pressed the knife harder against my skin.
He had somehow survived the grenade blast in the study and followed us all the way here.
“Marcus was weak, and Leo was a rat, but I will be the one to rule the city,” Renzo whispered maliciously.
The federal agents were completely distracted by the intense firefight with Marcus’s remaining loyal men.
No one could see us hiding in the dark shadows behind the rusted machinery.
Vincent tried to reach out to stop him, but his arms were completely useless from the beating.
Renzo grabbed a fistful of my hair, preparing to draw the blade across my throat.
I remembered the small pistol Leo had given me back in the woods.
It was still tucked securely into the waistband of my jeans, hidden by my apron.
Without thinking, I dropped my elbow backward into Renzo’s ribs, creating a tiny fraction of space.
I drew the gun, twisted my body around, and pulled the trigger three times in rapid succession.
The loud gunshots were completely drowned out by the chaos echoing through the massive warehouse.
Renzo dropped the knife, looking down at his ruined chest in absolute disbelief.
He stumbled backward, choking on his own blood, before collapsing lifelessly onto the cold concrete floor.
I dropped the smoking gun and collapsed next to Vincent, sobbing uncontrollably as the adrenaline left my body.
A heavily armored SWAT team finally rounded the corner, shining blinding flashlights directly into our eyes.
“Paramedics, we need medics over here now!” one of the agents screamed into his radio.
They loaded Vincent onto a stretcher, rushing him toward a waiting ambulance while another agent gently led me outside.
I ran straight to the stolen car and pulled my terrified daughter out of the trunk, holding her so tightly she squeaked.
We were finally safe from the violence and the betrayal.
As I sat in the back of a police cruiser wrapped in a thermal blanket, I watched them carry Marcus Falcone away in handcuffs.
May you like
Suddenly, an FBI agent walked up to my window holding a plastic evidence bag.
“Ma'am, we found this silver drive in the dead man's pocket, do you know anything about it?” the agent asked.
