Chapter 8 - The Fall of the King
The shootout at the Brooklyn compound was a massacre that the criminal underworld would whisper about for decades.
Victor Gallow did not send his men in first.
He kicked open the front doors of Declan’s warehouse himself, a suppressed pistol in each hand.
He moved with terrifying precision, ignoring the searing pain in his side.
He was a phantom of vengeance, dropping Declan’s heavily armed guards before they could even raise their weapons.
Arthur and the loyalist crew swept the flanks, securing the exits so no one could escape.
Gunfire echoed through the massive building, shattering windows and tearing through shipping crates.
Victor marched straight toward the fortified office at the back of the warehouse.
Bullets sparked against the steel beams around him, but he did not even flinch.
He had one target in mind, and nothing on earth was going to stop him from reaching it.
He kicked the heavy office door open, splintering the wood frame completely.
Declan Reeve sat behind a massive desk, his face pale and sweating profusely.
He held a golden revolver, his hands shaking as he aimed it at Victor’s chest.
“You’re crazy, Gallow!” Declan screamed, his voice cracking with terror.
“A daylight raid? The feds will bring down your entire empire for this!”
Victor walked slowly into the room, his guns lowered by his sides.
“I don't care about the empire,” Victor said, his voice eerily calm amidst the chaos.
“I built it to survive.”
He took another step closer, the coldness in his eyes making Declan whimper.
“But now, I have something worth living for.”
Declan pulled the trigger.
The bullet grazed Victor’s shoulder, tearing through his expensive jacket and drawing a fresh line of blood.
Victor did not even break his stride.
He raised his right hand in one smooth, lightning-fast motion and fired a single shot.
The bullet struck Declan square in the chest, throwing the older man backward against his leather chair.
Declan gasped, the golden gun slipping from his fingers to clatter against the floor.
He looked down at the rapidly growing red stain on his shirt, his eyes wide with disbelief.
Victor walked around the desk and looked down at the dying king of the rival syndicate.
“You tried to touch her,” Victor whispered, leaning in close so it was the last thing Declan heard.
“Nobody touches her.”
Declan’s head fell forward, his breathing stopping completely.
The warehouse fell entirely silent, the gunfire outside having ceased moments earlier.
Arthur stepped into the office, his suit covered in drywall dust and debris.
“The compound is secure, boss,” Arthur reported, looking at Declan’s lifeless body without a shred of pity.
“All hostiles have been neutralized or have surrendered.”
Victor holstered his weapon, wincing slightly as the adrenaline began to fade, leaving only the agonizing pain of his wounds.
“Burn it down,” Victor ordered, turning away from the desk.
“Burn the trucks, the files, the money.”
Arthur blinked, surprised by the command to destroy millions of dollars in assets.
“Erase his entire legacy from this city,” Victor clarified, walking toward the exit.
He pulled his phone from his pocket, his bloody thumb pressing the speed dial.
It rang only once before Harper answered, her voice frantic and breathless.
“Victor?”
Hearing her voice was like a heavy weight being lifted entirely off his chest.
May you like
“It’s over,” he said softly, stepping out into the bright afternoon sun.
“I’m coming home.”
