Chapter 7 - The Enforcer's Choice
The wooden door of the substation splintered inward as the first hitman kicked it off its hinges.
The man swept his suppressed submachine gun into the darkness, but before he could acquire a target, a shadow detached itself from the gloom.
Vincent stepped forward with terrifying speed. The steel rebar swung in a brutal, horizontal arc, connecting with the hitman’s jaw with a sickening *crunch*. The man was lifted off his feet, crashing unconscious against the brick wall before his weapon hit the floor.
"What the—" the second hitman gasped, raising his weapon.
*BANG!*
From behind a transformer casing, Elena fired the stolen pistol. The bullet caught the second hitman in the shoulder, spinning him around. Vincent closed the distance in a single stride, grabbing the man by his throat and slamming him head-first into the concrete floor, knocking him out instantly.
The third gunman turned to flee, but a voice like thunder boomed from the rain outside.
"DROP THE WEAPONS!"
Frankie "The Hammer" Ruscitti stepped into the doorway, a chrome-plated Desert Eagle pointed directly into the room. Behind him, Dr. Evans cowered beneath an umbrella.
"Frankie!" Evans shrieked. "Shoot them! That's the girl! And the Don—he's alive! Shoot them both!"
Frankie stepped over the threshold, his weapon steady. But as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, his gaze fell upon Vincent Moretti.
The Don stood tall, his chest bare, his knuckles dripping with blood, his obsidian eyes burning into Frankie’s soul. There was no fear in Vincent’s posture. Only the absolute, sovereign authority of a man who had built this empire with his bare hands.
"Frankie," Vincent said calmly.
Frankie’s gun arm began to tremble. In thirty years of service to the Moretti family, Frankie had never seen Vincent look more terrifying than he did in this moment—resurrected from the dead, standing amidst the ruins of his own betrayal.
"Boss?" Frankie whispered, his voice cracking. "Marco told me... Marco said the girl poisoned you."
"Does it look like she poisoned me, Frankie?" Vincent asked, taking a slow step toward his chief enforcer. "She saved my life. Twice. While my nephew and that pathetic quack tried to shove me into a body bag while my heart was still beating."
Dr. Evans backed away, his eyes wild with terror. "Frankie, don't listen to him! It's a trick! Marco is the head of the family now! If you don't shoot, Marco will have you killed!"
Vincent ignored the doctor. He stopped three feet from Frankie, right in front of the barrel of the Desert Eagle.
"You've been my hammer for thirty years, Frankie," Vincent said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate hum. "You carried my son's casket. You stood beside me in the war of '08. Are you going to shoot your Don on the word of a traitor?"
Silence hung heavy in the room, broken only by the drumming of the sleet and Dr. Evans’s ragged breathing.
Frankie’s jaw worked silently. He looked at Elena, bruised and bleeding, holding a gun she barely knew how to fire. He looked at Vincent’s unblinking eyes.
Slowly, deliberately, Frankie lowered the heavy pistol.
He dropped to one knee on the dirty concrete, bowing his head.
"Forgive me, Don Vincent," Frankie choked out. "My life is yours."
Vincent placed a heavy hand on his old friend’s shoulder. "Get up, Frankie. We have work to do."
Vincent turned his gaze toward Dr. Evans.
The physician dropped his umbrella, turning to sprint out toward the black sedans. But Frankie was already moving. In two strides, the enforcer caught Evans by the scruff of his neck, lifting him off his feet and hurling him back into the substation. The doctor hit the floor, scrambling backward until he hit Vincent’s bare feet.
"Please... Vincent... Don Vincent!" Evans sobbed, wetting himself in terror. "Marco forced me! He held my family over my head! He said he'd kill my daughters if I didn't administer the paralytic!"
Vincent leaned down, his face inches from the trembling doctor.
"Where is Marco right now, Bradley?" Vincent asked, his voice deathly soft.
"The... the Drake Hotel," Evans stammered, tears and mucus running down his face. "The Grand Ballroom! He called an emergency summit of the Five Families... he’s announcing your death tonight. He's crowning himself Capo dei Capi at midnight!"
Vincent straightened up, a cold, terrible smile carving across his face.
May you like
"Midnight," the Don said, glancing at the antique watch still ticking on Frankie’s wrist. "It seems we have forty-five minutes to attend my nephew's coronation."
***
