Chapter 9 - The Reckoning
“Fire! Kill him!” Marcus screamed, shielding his eyes from the blinding glare.
The mercenaries fired blindly into the white light, but Dante was already moving. He dropped low into a drainage ditch, the shotgun in his hands roaring twice.
The two contractors on Marcus’s right flank collapsed into the mud as buckshot tore through the vehicle doors. Bishop seized the distraction, leaning out from behind the granite boulder and laying down a devastating volley of suppressed fire that neutralized the remaining two operators on the left.
Chaos erupted in the clearing.
Marcus panicked. Seeing his private army dismantled in forty seconds, the cowardice beneath his arrogant facade surfaced. He spun on his heel, scrambling toward the driver’s seat of the center truck.
He didn't make it.
Dante emerged from the blinding smoke like a vengeful titan. He caught Marcus by the collar of his expensive tuxedo, hauling him backward out of the cab and slamming him violently against the hood of the armored vehicle!
Marcus’s gun clattered into the mud.
*SMACK!*
Dante’s fist crashed into Marcus’s jaw, the sickening crunch of bone echoing across the clearing. Marcus shrieked, spitting blood and teeth, scrambling backward across the hood.
“Dante! Please! We’re blood! We’re family!” Marcus wept, holding up his trembling hands. “It was business! I was going to let her live! I let her live four years ago!”
Dante grabbed Marcus by the throat with his left hand, his grip crushing Marcus’s windpipe, lifting the grown man until his boots dangled inches above the mud.
“You didn't let her live,” Dante snarled, his voice a guttural roar from the depths of hell. “You tortured her. You made my son live in silence for four years. You made me hate the woman I loved!”
Dante raised his right fist, ready to deliver the strike that would cave Marcus’s skull into the steel hood.
“Daddy, stop!”
A small, clear voice rang out across the clearing.
Dante froze. His fist hung trembling in mid-air, inches from Marcus’s bloody face.
At the edge of the tree line, standing beside the swollen creek, stood Elena, Clara, and Leo.
Elena had one arm around Clara’s shoulders, but her gaze was locked on Dante. Beside her, little Leo stood unmoving, his dark eyes wide, looking at his father.
“Don’t do it, Daddy,” Leo called out, his voice cutting through the rain. “Don’t let the bad man make you bad.”
The words hit Dante like an ocean wave, extinguishing the murderous fire in his soul.
He looked at his son. He looked at the boy who had found his voice not to scream in terror, but to save his father’s humanity.
Dante looked down at Marcus. The man was a whimpering, pathetic wreck, clutching his bleeding face, choking on his own terror. He wasn't worth the soul Dante would lose by killing him.
Dante shoved Marcus down into the mud like a bag of garbage.
“Bishop,” Dante commanded without looking back.
Bishop stepped out from the shadows, zip-ties in hand, his face impassive. “Sir?”
“Cuff him. Call the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the Attorney General, and the Coast Guard maritime division. Hand over the offshore account files from the satellite phone. Let him rot in a federal supermax for the rest of his miserable life.”
“Copy that, boss.”
Dante turned his back on Marcus Vance forever.
He walked across the blood-soaked, rain-drenched clearing toward the trees. With every step, the tension that had gripped his body for four years drained away into the autumn mud.
When he reached them, Elena threw her arms around his neck, pulling him down into a fierce, breathless kiss. Dante held her tight, his hand resting on the small of her back, knowing she would never have to run again.
Beside them, Clara smiled through her tears, kneeling beside Leo.
Dante pulled back from Elena and scooped Leo up into his arms, resting the boy on his hip. He looked at his wife, his sister-in-law, and his son.
“Let’s go home,” Dante said softly.
Leo wrapped his little arms around Dante’s neck and whispered into his ear:
May you like
“We’re whole now, Daddy.”
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