Chapter 7 - War in the Citadel
TAK-TAK-TAK-TAK-TAK!
Muzzle flashes illuminated the golden stage as Vincent opened fire blindly into the balcony!
Don Carmine-Senior dove behind the velvet seats as plaster and shattered gilded wood showered the lower floor!
"KILL THEM ALL! TAKE THE BOXES!" Vincent screamed to his loyal Moretti mercenaries!
All hell broke loose inside the Grand Opera House!
"DOWN!" Alessandro barked, wrapping his arm around Mara and shoving her safely behind a marble pillar just as a barrage of bullets tore through the red carpet where they had been standing seconds before!
Gideon and the Romano guards immediately drew their weapons, returning fire with lethal precision!
The grand auditorium turned into a violent battlefield. The crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling shattered as stray bullets cut its steel cables, sending two tons of glass crashing onto the lower orchestra seats in an explosion of sparkling dust!
"Mara! Stay behind Gideon!" Alessandro commanded, drawing his father’s golden revolver!
"Alessandro! Look out!" Mara yelled!
A Moretti lieutenant lunged from behind a velvet curtain, raising a combat shotgun aimed at Alessandro’s head!
Before the lieutenant could pull the trigger, a sharp BANG echoed through the hall!
The lieutenant gasped, dropping his shotgun, clutching his chest as he fell backward onto the stage floor.
Behind him stood Mara, her hands holding Alessandro’s custom sidearm, smoke drifting from the barrel. Her hands were steady. Her eyes were sharp.
Alessandro looked at his sister, a dark, proud smile cutting across his face. "Good shot, little sister."
"He was aiming for my brother," Mara replied coldly, clicking the safety back on. "Move! Vincent is running behind the stage!"
Alessandro vaulted over the orchestra pit railing, sprinting onto the stage toward the heavy velvet curtains where Vincent was fleeing toward the backstage exit.
The backstage area was a labyrinth of dark cat-walks, rope pulleys, and painted scenery backdrops.
Vincent, his tuxedo ruined, his leg bleeding from a stray bullet, stumbled through the shadows toward the rear emergency exit leading to his private escape vehicle.
"ALESSANDRO!" Vincent yelled into the darkness, his voice echoing hysterically through the high rafters of the stage. "You think you’ve won?! You’re nothing without your father! Your whole family was weak!"
A shadow detached itself from the backstage wall.
Alessandro walked slowly out of the darkness, holding his father’s golden revolver pointed casually at the floor.
"My father was strong enough to build an empire, Vincent," Alessandro said quietly, his footsteps making a slow, steady rhythm against the wooden stage floorboards. "And my mother was strong enough to keep the truth alive even from inside a grave."
Vincent spun around, pulling his revolver and aiming it at Alessandro’s chest!
CLICK.
The hammer fell on an empty chamber. Vincent had used his last bullet during the auditorium shootout.
Vincent’s eyes went wide with sheer terror. He dropped the empty gun, stumbling backward against a massive wooden pillar holding up a painted backdrop of a stormy sea.
"Please... Alessandro..." Vincent whimpered, pressing his hands together, his pathetic pleas echoing the exact words his daughter had used six hours earlier. "We can share the syndicate... I have accounts you don't know about... billions, Alessandro! I'll give you everything!"
Alessandro stopped three feet away from the man who had ordered his parents' deaths.
He didn't yell. He didn't gloat.
He slowly raised his father’s golden revolver, lining up the sights directly between Vincent’s eyes.
"My mother sent you a message from her grave, Vincent," Alessandro whispered softly.
Vincent swallowed hard, tears of terror streaming down his wrinkled face. "W-what message?"
"She said... the debt is finally settled."
BANG.
The gunshot echoed through the cavernous opera house, sharp, final, and absolute.
Vincent Moretti collapsed onto the painted backdrop, his blood staining the stormy sea, his lifeless eyes staring up at the grand rafters above.
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Alessandro slowly lowered the gun. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out his mother’s silver pendant, and held it tight in his fist.
The eighteen-year war was over.
