Chapter 8 - The Turning Point
Vincenzo laughed, a harsh, grating sound that echoed through the empty factory. “Smart boy. Now, kick your weapon toward the corner and get on your knees.”
Adrien didn't hesitate. He kicked his dropped pistol across the concrete, then slowly lowered himself onto one knee, keeping his eyes locked on Vincenzo’s gun.
Isabella watched with rapturous satisfaction, stepping toward the edge of the metal stairs. “You see, Adrien? Power always wins in the end. Sentimentality is for the weak.”
“Maybe,” Adrien said, his voice dropping to a whisper.
Then, everything happened at once.
Mia, who had been sitting stiffly in Vincenzo’s grip, suddenly remembered something very important. With the sudden, erratic energy of a three-year-old, she twisted her small body, drove her elbow backward into Vincenzo’s stomach with surprising force, and bit down hard on his thumb.
“Ow! You little rat!” Vincenzo screamed, loosening his grip in shock and pain.
That microsecond of distraction was all Adrien needed.
With blinding speed, Adrien lunged forward, grabbing a heavy iron wrench from a nearby toolbox on the floor and hurling it upward with lethal precision.
Clang!
The heavy iron tool struck Vincenzo squarely across the wrist, shattering his grip on the revolver. The gun flew from his hand, spinning over the edge of the catwalk and crashing onto the concrete far below.
Before Vincenzo could recover, Adrien had scaled the metal ladder in four massive leaps.
He slammed Vincenzo against the corrugated iron wall, his forearm pressing against the older man’s throat with suffocating pressure.
“You touch her again,” Adrien snarled, his face twisted in pure rage, “and I won't just kill you—I’ll make sure your name is erased from every history book in New York.”
Vincenzo clawed desperately at Adrien’s arm, his face turning purple, before passing out cold and slumping against the floor.
Adrien didn't look back. He turned around, scooped Mia into his arms, and pulled her tight against his chest.
“Are you okay?” he whispered, his voice trembling for the first time in twenty-four years.
Mia buried her face in his shoulder, her small arms wrapping around his neck. “You came back.”
May you like
“Always,” he said fiercely.
Down below, Isabella stood frozen in horror, watching her coup collapse in seconds.
