Chapter 5 - THE PRICE OF SURRENDER
Before Leo Castiglione could comprehend the noise, the reinforced wooden doors of the upper boat ramp exploded into kindling. Vincent Moretti’s armored Continental plunged down the concrete incline, crashing into two of the mercenaries and pinning them against the steel pylons of the dock with horrific force.
The driver’s side door kicked open instantly.
Vincent emerged not as a businessman, but as the apex predator he had been groomed to be since childhood. He fired a customized Benelli shotgun with ruthless, rhythmic precision. The remaining mercenary guarding the stairwell dropped before his rifle could clear his chest.
Leo Castiglione reacted with lightning speed, hauling Emily up by her collar and wrapping his thick forearm around her neck, pressing the barrel of a customized Glock 19 against her temple.
"Drop it, Moretti!" Leo screamed, his voice strained with sudden, frantic adrenaline. "Drop it or I blow her brains into the lake!"
The boathouse fell into a suffocating, lethal silence, broken only by the lapping of dark water against the hull of the boat and the groans of the wounded men.
Vincent froze twenty feet away. The heavy shotgun hung at his side. His eyes locked onto Emily’s face. She was pale, her lips trembling, but when she met his gaze, there was no terror in her eyes—only a profound, heartbreaking sorrow.
"Let her go, Leo," Vincent said. His voice was terrifyingly calm, stripped of all emotion, vibrating with an ancient, primal violence. "This is between you and me. Take me instead. Call your father. Tell him you have Vincent Moretti unarmed. You’ll be a legend by nightfall."
"You think I'm stupid?" Leo barked, tightening his grip on Emily’s neck until she choked out a small gasp. "You move an inch, and the girl dies. The baby dies with her. Drop the gun and kick it into the water!"
Vincent didn't hesitate. He tossed the expensive shotgun into the dark water of the slip. It sank without a splash.
"Now the sidearm," Leo snarled.
Vincent reached slowly with two fingers, pulling the 9mm pistol from his shoulder holster, and dropped it onto the concrete. He kicked it over the edge.
"Now get on your knees," Leo commanded, a sadistic grin curling his lips. "Let me see the great Vincent Moretti beg on his knees before I kill him."
Emily tried to fight, clawing at Leo’s tactical vest. "Vincent, no! Don't do it! He's going to kill us both anyway!"
"Shut up, bitch!" Leo roared, striking the side of her head with the flat of the gun.
Emily cried out as she fell sideways, momentarily dazed.
That microsecond of distraction was all Vincent needed. He didn't drop to his knees. He surged forward with the speed of a striking viper, pulling a ceramic push-dagger concealed in his belt. Leo brought his weapon up and pulled the trigger.
The gunshot was deafening in the enclosed space. The bullet tore through Vincent’s left shoulder, the impact spinning him, but the momentum of his rage was unstoppable. Vincent collided with Leo, driving them both over the edge of the concrete dock and into the freezing, turbulent waters of Lake Michigan.
"Vincent!" Emily screamed, crawling to the edge of the dock.
Under the black surface of the water, the two men fought like drowning wolves. Bubbles of air and blood rose to the surface. Leo tried to bring the gun around, but Vincent seized the slide, forcing the mechanism out of battery while driving his blade beneath Leo's tactical plate into his femoral artery.
Thirty seconds felt like an eternity.
Then, a head broke the surface of the churning water.
Vincent dragged himself up onto the wooden swim platform, gasping for air, water streaming from his dark hair. Leo Castiglione did not resurface; a dark bloom of crimson spread through the frothing lake water before being swept away by the undertow.
Vincent hauled himself onto the concrete dock, coughing up water, his left arm hanging limp, soaked in blood from the gunshot wound. He dragged himself across the floor until he collapsed at Emily’s feet.
Emily fell to her knees beside him, her hands trembling as she pressed them against his bleeding shoulder. "You idiot," she sobbed, tears cutting clean lines through the dust on her cheeks. "You absolute idiot, why did you do that?"
Vincent looked up at her, his vision blurring, his face pale from shock and blood loss. He reached up with his uninjured, trembling hand, his bloody fingers barely grazing the soft curve of her cheek.
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"Because you were right," he whispered, his voice cracking with unbearable remorse. "You shouldn't have to be afraid of the man who loves you. And if I have to die... so you and our child can live without fear... it’s the only good thing I’ve ever done."
His hand slipped from her face, hitting the concrete. His eyes rolled back, and the Don of Chicago went completely still.
