Chapter 11: The Blood Price

The guard holding Emma suddenly went rigid. A small, red circle appeared in the center of his forehead. He collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, hitting the concrete with a wet thud.

Before Petrov could even process the sniper shot, the skylights above us shattered.

Alessio dropped from the rafters like an angel of death. He hit the ground rolling, his suppressed submachine gun spitting silent, lethal fire before he even regained his footing.

Two of Petrov’s guards dropped instantly, their chests stitched with bullets.

Chaos erupted. The warehouse was filled with the deafening roar of unsilenced AK-47s as Petrov’s remaining men opened fire.

“Get down!” someone screamed.

A massive force hit me from the side, tackling me to the cold concrete. It was Anton. He threw his massive armored body over mine, shielding me from the hail of bullets sparking against the machinery.

“I told you to stay in the car!” Anton roared over the gunfire.

“Where is she?!” I screamed, trying to crawl out from under him.

Through the strobe-light effect of muzzle flashes, I saw Alessio moving with terrifying, predatory grace. He wasn’t taking cover. He was advancing, methodically eliminating targets with surgical precision.

Mike was crawling on his belly like a terrified insect, completely ignoring Emma, desperately trying to reach the side exit.

Emma was huddled behind the wooden crate, covering her ears and screaming.

Petrov dove behind a forklift, blind-firing a heavy revolver. “Castelli! You think you can walk into my territory and take what is mine?”

“You came into my city, Victor,” Alessio’s calm, chilling voice echoed from the shadows. “And you put your hands on a child. Your territory ends tonight.”

Alessio stepped out from behind a steel pillar, fully exposing himself. Petrov swung his revolver up, but he was too slow.

Alessio fired twice. Double tap to the chest. Petrov stumbled backward, his revolver clattering to the floor. Alessio walked calmly forward and delivered a final, point-blank shot to the Russian boss’s head.

Silence fell over the warehouse, broken only by the sound of rain hitting the tin roof and the terrified sobs of my daughter.

“Clear!” Anton shouted, rising off me and sweeping the room with his rifle.

“Clear,” Alessio replied smoothly, lowering his weapon.

I scrambled to my feet, my knees bruised and bleeding, and ran across the warehouse.

“Emma!” I cried, falling to my knees and wrapping my arms around her trembling little body.

“Mommy!” she wailed, burying her face into my chest, soaking my shirt with her tears. “The loud men were mean to me!”

“I know, baby, I know,” I rocked her fiercely, kissing the top of her head. “It’s over now. Mommy’s here. The monsters are gone.”

When you look at the person who saved your life, and see blood on their hands, do you judge the blood, or do you bless the hands?

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