Chapter 6 - Cracks in the Armor
The betrayal fell over the room like an icy guillotine. I didn't flinch. In the underworld, hesitation was a death sentence.
"Marco," I said, my voice dangerously calm despite the gun pressed to my head. "Ten years. I pulled you out of the gutters of South Brooklyn. I made you a prince in this city."
"And you treated me like an attack dog!" Marco hissed, his calm facade finally shattering into raw, venomous hatred. "You were getting soft, Dominic! First you suffered a cardiac attack on Fifth Avenue, and then you bring a sick whore and a bastard child into the penthouse, jeopardizing billions in syndicate operations!"
"She is my daughter," I replied coldly.
"She's a bargaining chip!" Marco spat. "Do you have any idea how much the Mediterranean Syndicate will pay for the sole heir to the Moretti fortune? Ten million euros upfront. And once Sophia dies from the poison I gave her, and you die from a 'tragic heart failure,' I become the sole executor of the Moretti estate."
Petrov watched the drama unfold with an amused smirk, raising his glass. "Ah, the classic Roman tragedy. But Marco, you made one mistake. You brought your family drama into my house without paying the cleanup fee."
Marco smirked back. "I didn't come unprepared, Nikolai."
From the ceiling vents above, tear gas canisters dropped onto the floor, hissing thick white smoke. Gunfire erupted in the blinding haze. Marco’s hired mercenaries, who had infiltrated the casino staff, opened fire on Petrov's guards.
Using the chaos, I dropped my weight, spinning my elbow savagely into Marco’s ribs. I heard bone snap. Marco grunted in pain, his shot discharging harmlessly into the ceiling. I reached for my sidearm, but two of Marco's hired hitmen tackled me to the ground, pinning my shoulders.
Marco scrambled backward, clutching his broken ribs, the vial of the Viper-9 antidote gleaming in his tactical vest pocket. "Kill them all! Secure the exits!" he screamed into his radio.
"Marco!" I roared, throwing off the two hitmen with pure adrenaline-fueled rage, breaking one man’s neck with a brutal twist of my bare hands. But through the choking tear gas, I saw Marco sprint toward the emergency blast doors, locking the heavy steel gates behind him.
"He's heading for the penthouse!" Petrov shouted, coughing through the smoke as his men returned fire against the rogue mercenaries. "He’s going to take your girl!"
Panic, hotter and more terrifying than any bullet, gripped my chest. Sophia was bedridden. Lily was alone in the tower with guards whose loyalties were now completely compromised.
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I broke through the side exit into the rainy night, slamming the door of my car and flooring the gas toward Manhattan.
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