Chapter 6 - Inside the Fortress of Iron
My instincts took over before my brain could register fear.
I threw the cast-iron skillet straight at Brett’s face.
The heavy pan clipped his shoulder just as he pulled the trigger.
The gunshot boomed through the tiled kitchen.
The bullet ricocheted wildly off the metal ventilation hood, showering sparks
over us.
Salvatore felt the air displacement.
He pivoted in a single fluid rotation.
Without a second of hesitation, Salvatore fired two rounds into Brett’s chest.
Brett gasped once, his eyes rolling back, and fell limp against the linoleum.
He would never terrorize a desperate employee again.
Carmine tried to crawl backward toward the pantry.
Salvatore stepped hard on Carmine’s fingers.
Carmine screamed in agony.
Salvatore looked down at him with eyes devoid of human warmth.
He signed to me without breaking his gaze:
“Tell him.”
I stepped forward, stepping over the broken glass and blood.
“He says your empire ends tonight, Carmine,” I translated in a cold, steady
voice.
“He says your captains have already surrendered the harbor.”
“And he says this is for his father.”
Carmine wept, begging for mercy.
Salvatore did not pull the trigger.
Instead, four of Salvatore’s loyal enforcers flooded through the shattered back
door.
Salvatore signaled them with two quick hand gestures.
“Take him to the harbor basement. Let the police find him tied to his own
shipping crates.”
The guards grabbed Carmine by the collar and dragged him out into the snow like
garbage.
Carla was still sobbing in the corner, clutching her shattered wrist.
She looked up at me with venom and fear.
“You think you won, Maya?” Carla hissed through chattering teeth.
“You’re just his pet. Once this is over, he’ll discard you.”
Salvatore stepped between us.
He looked down at Carla.
He raised one hand and signed three slow, deliberate words:
“She is family.”
Carla went entirely pale.
She knew what that word meant in the Marquette syndicate.
It was a death sentence to anyone who ever crossed my path again.
Two guards hauled Carla away into the winter night.
The kitchen was finally quiet.
Only the sound of the freezing rain drifting through the shattered skylight
remained.
Salvatore turned toward me.
He lowered his weapons, holstering them beneath his soaked wool coat.
He reached out and gently brushed a smudge of gray soot from my cheekbone.
His skin was warm against my freezing skin.
“Are you hurt?” he signed.
“No,” I answered, my fingers trembling slightly from the adrenaline crash.
“Thanks to you.”
He shook his head firmly.
“You threw the iron. You saved my life.”
“We are even.”
“Never even,” I signed back with a faint, tired smile.
He offered his arm.
May you like
I slipped my hand into the crook of his elbow.
Together, we walked out of Bellamy’s for the very last time.
