Arthur roared, his revolver instantly snapping toward Vincent.
“My drone network covers every approach road!
Nothing moved within three square miles!”
“The Pullman rail tunnels, Arthur,” Vincent said, his footsteps echoing rhythmically on the concrete.
“Father used them in the seventies to smuggle raw titanium past union strikes.
You spent twenty years waging guerrilla wars in foreign lands, but you never bothered to study your own family’s blueprint.”
Arthur’s thumb pulled back the heavy hammer of the revolver with a loud, ominous click.
“It doesn’t matter!
You walked into my trap!
Both of you die together!”
“If you press that detonator,” Vincent said, not slowing his steady approach, “you die too.
And whatever twisted fantasy you have of rebuilding our father’s empire dies in the rubble.”
“I don’t care anymore!”
Arthur screamed, spit flying from his lips.
“If I can’t have Moretti Global, no one will!”
“Arthur, look at your hands,” Vincent commanded, his voice suddenly cutting through the air like a whip.
Arthur blinked, glancing down instinctively at the detonator in his left palm.
A tiny, scarlet laser dot danced directly across the back of Arthur’s hand.
Before he could process what it meant, a supersonic crack echoed from high above the shattered skylights.
A high-caliber sniper round tore through the corrugated roof, striking Arthur’s left wrist with devastating accuracy.
The detonator was violently severed from his grip, flying across the concrete floor and sliding into a flooded drainage ditch, its red light submerging harmlessly beneath the dark water.
Arthur let out an agonized howl of rage and pain, clutching his shattered wrist as blood sprayed across his jacket.
“Kill them!”
Arthur shrieked toward the shadows of the upper gantries.
Four armed mercenaries Arthur had concealed in the rafters suddenly leaned over the railings, raising their automatic rifles.
“Dominic, clear the rafters!”
Vincent barked through his concealed comms.
From the high walkways, the sound of silenced submachine guns erupted in synchronized bursts.
Dominic Rossi and an elite squad of Moretti operators, who had infiltrated through the underground rail vents minutes before Vincent, opened fire from the blind spots.
The four mercenaries dropped from the gantries like stones, crashing onto the lower levels with heavy, dull thuds.
Arthur, wild with agony and realizing his plan was collapsing in ruin, raised his revolver with his remaining functional hand, aiming point-blank at Emma.
“Die, you bitch!”
Emma didn’t freeze.
The moment Arthur raised the gun, she remembered the training Vincent had quickly drilled into her that morning.
She lunged forward, closing the distance rather than retreating, and drove her heel down directly onto Arthur’s broken wrist.
Arthur shrieked in blinding pain, his shot veering wildly into the concrete floor, sending sparks flying near Emma’s feet.
Before Arthur could adjust his grip, Vincent closed the distance like a striking panther.
Vincent caught Arthur’s gun arm, twisting it with brutal, calculated force until the joint popped out of its socket.
The revolver clattered harmlessly to the ground.
Vincent drove his knee into Arthur’s chest, lifting his elder brother completely off his feet and slamming him down onto the rusted iron floor.
Arthur lay pinned beneath Vincent’s boot, gasping for breath, coughing blood onto the floorboards.
The madness in his eyes had been replaced by the pathetic, hollow terror of a vanquished dog.
“Do it…”
Arthur wheezed, glaring up at Vincent with pure hatred.
“Put a bullet in me… show the world you’re just like father… just like me…”
Vincent stood over him, breathing steadily.
He drew his custom sidearm from his coat, the barrel aimed squarely between Arthur’s brows.
Chapter 29 – The Shadow of Justice
Emma stood ten feet away, watching Vincent’s finger tighten on the trigger.
She saw the darkness swirling in his eyes—the generational curse of the Moretti bloodline, the desire to eradicate threats with permanent, bloody finality.
If Vincent pulled that trigger, Arthur would be dead, but Vincent would forever cross a line into the very monster his brother claimed he was.
“Vincent,” Emma spoke softly.
Vincent didn’t look at her, his sights locked onto Arthur’s forehead.
“He threatened Liam, Emma.
He kidnapped an innocent woman.
He tried to kill you twice.
There is only one sentence for men like him.”
“If you execute him in cold blood, Arthur wins,” Emma said, stepping closer, her voice calm, gentle, yet commanding.
“He wants you to become him.
He wants you to prove that Moretti Global is built on murder.
Don’t give him that victory.”
Arthur chuckled wetly from the ground.
“Listen to the waitress, little brother… show her what a coward you really are…”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
For three agonizing seconds, the world hung in the balance.
Then, with a cold, deliberate motion, Vincent flicked the safety on his weapon and holstered it.
He looked down at Arthur with utter disgust.
