Chapter 8 - THE SILVER POCKET WATCH
The basement plunged into absolute chaos.
Dante spun around, abandoning Victor, and fired twice up the staircase.
Marco didn't even flinch. He returned fire with devastating precision. The concrete walls chipped and exploded around Dante, forcing him to dive behind a stack of wooden crates near the furnace.
"Marco!" Dante laughed, his voice echoing manically over the gunfire. "Five years! And you still aim high!"
Marco slowly descended the wooden stairs, his rifle raised, his dark eyes scanning the shadows. He moved with the terrifying calm of a man who had accepted he might not walk out of this room alive.
Victor lay gasping on the bottom steps, bleeding out onto the concrete. Marco stepped over his former advisor without even looking down.
"Where is my son?" Marco demanded.
"Right here, Boss!" I yelled from behind the iron furnace.
Marco’s eyes darted toward my voice. Relief flashed across his face for a fraction of a second, but he didn't lower his weapon.
"Clara, stay down," Marco ordered.
"She's my daughter, Marco!" Dante taunted from behind the crates. "She has De Santis blood! She’s not going to hide like a frightened maid!"
"She is twice the person you will ever be," Marco fired back. "You murdered my wife, Dante. You tried to kidnap my son. It ends tonight."
Dante chuckled. "It does end tonight. But not for me."
Dante suddenly stood up from behind cover.
He wasn't aiming his gun at Marco.
He was aiming it directly at the massive, pressurized propane tank connected to the cabin’s furnace.
"If I can't have the empire, neither can you," Dante smiled.
My eyes widened in sheer terror. If he shot that tank, the entire basement would turn into a fireball.
"No!" I screamed.
I didn't think. I didn't calculate the risk.
I threw myself out from behind the furnace, lunging directly at Dante just as he pulled the trigger.
The gunshot rang out.
But my body hit Dante’s side, throwing his aim off by an inch.
The bullet sparked against the concrete wall instead of the propane tank.
But as Dante fell backward from my tackle, his finger jerked on the trigger again.
A searing, blinding heat ripped through my left shoulder.
I gasped, collapsing onto the cold concrete floor. The pain was absolute, driving the breath from my lungs. I clutched my shoulder, feeling the warm, sticky flow of blood immediately soaking through the thick Kevlar vest, which hadn't covered the joint.
"Clara!" Leo screamed.
"You stupid girl!" Dante roared, scrambling to his feet, aiming his gun down at my head.
Before Dante could pull the trigger, Marco was there.
Marco didn't shoot. He grabbed Dante by the throat with his left hand, lifting his older brother entirely off his feet, and slammed him brutally against the concrete wall.
Dante dropped his gun, gasping for air as Marco’s fingers dug into his windpipe.
"You took Sofia from me," Marco growled, his face inches from Dante’s, his eyes completely black with fury. "You will not take her too."
Marco drew his arm back and delivered a devastating, bone-crushing punch directly to Dante’s jaw.
Dante’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he crumpled to the floor, completely unconscious.
The basement was silent, save for my ragged breathing and Victor’s wet gasps from the stairs.
Marco dropped to his knees beside me. He immediately pressed his heavy hands against the gunshot wound in my shoulder, applying brutal pressure to stop the bleeding.
"Look at me, Clara," Marco ordered, his voice tight with panic. "Keep your eyes open."
I tried to focus on him, but the edges of my vision were going dark.
"I stopped him," I whispered, managing a weak smile.
"You saved us," Marco corrected, his thumb gently brushing a tear from my cheek. "You saved my family."
"Marco..." a weak, bubbling voice called out.
We both looked over.
Victor was struggling to sit up on the stairs. He was holding a small, black detonator in his bloody hand.
"You think you won?" Victor coughed, blood staining his teeth. "I rigged the entire cabin, Marco. C4 under the floorboards. If I die... you all die."
Marco didn't panic. He didn't let go of my shoulder.
He looked at Victor with absolute, chilling pity.
"You didn't rig the floorboards, Victor," Marco said calmly.
Victor frowned, his thumb hovering over the red button. "What?"
Marco reached into his tactical vest with his free hand. He pulled out a heavy silver pocket watch. My father’s watch.
"Dante gave you the explosives," Marco said. "But Dante never trusted you. He rigged the explosives to a remote timer in his own pocket. Not yours."
Victor stared at the detonator in his hand. He pressed the button.
Nothing happened.
Victor let out a pathetic, broken sob, dropping the useless plastic box. He slumped backward against the stairs, his eyes glazing over as the last of his life faded away into the cold basement air.
We were safe.
The nightmare was finally over.
Leo ran over and threw his small arms around my neck, burying his face carefully against my uninjured side.
May you like
"I've got you, Clara," Leo cried softly. "I've got you."
I rested my head back against the cold concrete, closing my eyes, listening to the sound of Marco’s tactical team finally breaching the front doors upstairs, coming to bring us home.
