Chapter 5 - The ReckoningThe battle inside the Vale estate was swift, violent, and absolute.
Within fifteen minutes, the thunder of gunfire faded, replaced by the heavy silence of smoke, dripping rain, and the groan of defeated men. Dominic’s superior strategy and fortified positions had completely dismantled Moretti’s strike force.
Inside the ruined grand foyer, six of Moretti’s men lay disarmed and flex-cuffed on the marble floor under the watchful guns of Marco and his security team.
Outside on the driveway, standing in the torrential rain beside his smoking armored van, was Victor Moretti.
Moretti was a stocky, brutal man in his late fifties, his face scarred from a lifetime of violence. His tactical vest was torn, his weapon gone, and his eyes wild with the realization that his grand ambush had failed entirely.
Dominic walked slowly out through the shattered front doors, stepping into the rain. His face was streaked with soot, his eyes terrifyingly calm. In his right hand, he held his sidearm, lowered at his hip.
Mara followed him out onto the portico, standing under the stone archway, watching the final showdown with her heart in her throat.
"It's over, Victor," Dominic said, his voice carrying clearly over the sound of the falling rain. "Your men are taken. Your safehouses in the city are being raided by federal agents as we speak—agents who received a very detailed package of your financial records an hour ago."
Moretti spat blood onto the wet gravel, a bitter, vicious sneer curling his lips. "You think you’re smart, Vale? You think you’re better than me because you wear three-thousand-dollar suits and pretend to be a businessman? You’re just a gangster like the rest of us!"
"No, Victor," Dominic said smoothly, taking a step down the stone stairs. "The difference between you and me is simple. You fight for greed. I fight for what I protect. And you made the fatal mistake of threatening the people I care about."
Moretti’s eyes suddenly flicked past Dominic, locking onto Mara standing under the portico. A manic, desperate look filled his eyes.
With a sudden, explosive motion, Moretti pulled a small, hidden derringer pistol from his boot and aimed it straight at Mara’s chest!
"MARA!" Dominic roared.
In a fraction of a second, Dominic didn't shoot Moretti—he threw himself into the path of the bullet!
CRACK!
The sharp pop of the small pistol echoed across the driveway.
Dominic gasped, stumbling back as the bullet struck him in the upper shoulder, spinning him around.
Before Moretti could fire a second shot, Marco’s rifle barked twice from the balcony above. Moretti collapsed onto the wet gravel, his weapon skidding into the mud, his reign of terror over forever.
"DOMINIC!" Mara screamed, throwing down her fireplace poker and sprinting down the stone steps into the pouring rain.
Dominic fell to his knees on the wet gravel, clutching his bloody shoulder.
Mara collapsed beside him, her hands frantically pressing down against his wound to stop the bleeding. Rain soaked her clothes, plastering her dark hair to her face, but she didn't care. Tears mixed with the rain on her cheeks.
"You idiot!" Mara sobbed, her hands covered in his blood. "You absolute idiot! Why did you jump in front of me?!"
Dominic looked up at her, his face pale from shock and pain, but a faint, genuine smile touched his lips. He lifted his uninjured hand, his fingers gently wiping a tear from her cheek.
"I told you... Miss Whitfield..." Dominic wheezed softly, his dark eyes shining with intense emotion, "nobody... touches... what is mine."
Mara pressed her forehead against his, holding him tightly as Marco and the medical team rushed down the stairs toward them.
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"You're going to be fine, Dominic," Mara whispered fiercely into the rain. "You hear me? You're going to live. You still owe me for that painting!"
Dominic let out a breathless, weak laugh, closing his eyes as he rested his head against her shoulder. "I'll pay... whatever you charge..."
