Les tirs ont été nets.
Le mercenaire haleta, titubant en arrière avant de s’effondrer contre la roue du chariot élévateur, son arme tombant inoffensivement au sol.
Les mains d’Emma tremblaient sous l’effet de l’adrénaline, mais elle ne s’est pas arrêtée.
Elle atteignit la chaise en acier et enlaça le garçon tremblant.
“Lion!
Je suis là!
Je suis là, bébé, regarde-moi !
Emma sanglota, arrachant le ruban adhésif de sa bouche et sortant un couteau de combat de son gilet pour couper les attaches qui lui liaient les poignets et les chevilles.
« Tante Emma ! »
Léo gémissait, enfouissant son visage dans son gilet tactique, s’accrochant à elle avec une force désespérée.
« La méchante dame… elle a dit que tu étais mort ! »
« Je suis vivant, Leo ! »
Nous rentrons à la maison !
Du haut de la passerelle, la voix d’Helena Moretti hurla par-dessus les coups de feu : « Tuez-les ! »
Tuez-les tous les deux, bande d’incapables !
Brûlez toute la fonderie !
Deux mercenaires ont surgi du wagon, fusils d’assaut levés, prêts à exécuter Emma et l’enfant.
Emma se jeta entièrement sur Leo, se recroquevillant en une boule protectrice, le protégeant de sa propre chair et de son armure, prête à recevoir les balles pour le garçon qu’elle avait juré de protéger.
Avant que les mercenaires ne puissent tirer, Vincent apparut tel un spectre vengeur surgissant de la fumée.
Il n’a pas tiré avec son fusil ; il n’avait plus de munitions.
Il lança l’arme vide au visage du premier mercenaire, réduisant la distance en une fraction de seconde.
Vincent s’empara du couteau de combat de l’homme, le fit pivoter et l’utilisa comme bouclier humain contre les tirs du second mercenaire.
D’un mouvement brutal et fluide, Vincent se débarrassa des deux hommes avec une efficacité impitoyable, leurs corps s’écrasant sur le gravier.
Vincent turned to Emma, his eyes wild and chest heaving, smoke rising from his gear.
“Are you hit?!”
“We’re okay!
Leo is okay!”
Emma cried, holding the boy tight.
Chapter 39 – The Matriarch’s Fall
“Dominic!
Get Emma and Leo out through the southern drainage tunnel now!”
Vincent commanded, his voice cutting through the blaring sirens and the hissing of toxic gas.
“Vincent, no!”
Emma cried, grabbing his tactical sleeve as Dominic arrived, scooping Leo up into his uninjured arm.
“You have to come with us!”
“She has the master ledger,” Vincent said, looking up toward the catwalk where Helena was fleeing toward the emergency rail gantry.
“If Helena escapes with those funds, she will hire an army.
She will hunt you and Leo to the ends of the earth.
This ends tonight, Emma.
Take the boy.
Go!”
“Vincent, please!”
Emma begged, her eyes filled with tears.
“Trust me,” Vincent whispered, his hand pressing firmly against her cheek for a split second.
“I will come back to you.
Now go!”
Dominic pulled Emma backward into the tunnel entrance.
“We have to move, Emma!
The roof is coming down!”
Emma tore her eyes away, clenching her teeth, and ran with Dominic, ensuring Leo’s safety as ceiling tiles and heavy steel pipes began to crash down behind them.
Vincent turned and sprinted toward the metal staircase leading to the catwalk.
Thermite charges detonated along the support pillars, sending cascading showers of white-hot molten metal down into the foundry floor.
The heat was instantaneous and blistering, melting the paint off the steel beams.
Vincent bounded up the stairs, clearing four at a time, until he reached the gantry platform overlooking the Calumet canal.
Helena was waiting at the emergency blast doors, the electronic tablet clutched in her hands, a small chrome derringer aimed directly at Vincent’s chest.
The wind and rain from outside whipped violently through the open portal.
“You really are your father’s son,” Helena spat, her aristocratic composure completely shattered, her face twisted with bitter, venomous hatred.
“Willing to die for common trash!
That waitress’s family destroyed my empire thirty years ago, and you are throwing away the Moretti dynasty for her!”
“My father built an empire on honor,” Vincent said, taking a slow, steady step toward her through the smoke, ignoring the pistol aimed at his heart.
“You built an empire on graves, Helena.
And graves always collapse.”
“I gave you life, Vincent!” she screamed, her finger tightening on the trigger.
“And you took everything else,” Vincent replied coldly.
Helena fired.
The small caliber bullet slammed into the ceramic plate of Vincent’s tactical vest, knocking the wind from his lungs, but failing to penetrate.
Vincent didn’t flinch.
He lunged forward, grabbing Helena’s wrist, twisting it until the gun dropped into the abyss below.
