Chapter 8 - The Cost of Vengeance
I dropped behind the heavy oak sideboard as gunfire shredded the air. Wood splinters rained over my hair.
Gideon retrieved the fallen revolver from the floor. Even with his blurred vision, he didn't aim with his eyes—he aimed with his ears, honed by twenty years of survival on the streets. Two deafening shots rang out.
The first guard collapsed with a hole through his neck. The second guard turned to run toward the hallway, but Gideon fired a third shot that took him clean through the lower back. The man crashed onto the hardwood and lay still.
The room fell into a heavy, smoking silence, broken only by the whimpering groans of Marcus Cole, who lay curled on the Persian rug, clutching his shattered wrist.
Gideon stood over him, chest heaving, his gun lowered. The blood dripping from his temple mingled with the cold sweat on his face. He turned toward me, his pale eyes searching the shadows until they locked onto mine.
"Are you hit?" he asked, his voice rough.
"No," I answered, stepping out from behind the furniture, my legs shaking. "I'm okay."
He looked down at Marcus. His foster brother. The boy he had grown up with in the orphanages of South Boston, the man he had shared bread, blood, and secrets with for over two decades.
"Why, Marcus?" Gideon asked, and for the first time, a trace of human agony cracked through his armor. "I gave you half of everything."
Marcus looked up, his face twisted in venomous hatred. "Half wasn't enough! You were always the golden boy! The boss! While I did the dirty work! You were getting soft, Gideon! Thinking about going legitimate, talking about peace! You had to be removed!"
Gideon stared at him for a long, silent moment. Then he slowly lowered the hammer of the revolver.
"I’m not going to kill you, Marcus," Gideon said softly.
Marcus blinked, relief flashing across his sweating face. "Gideon... brother, please—"
"I'm not going to kill you," Gideon repeated, "because the Falcones and the Morrone families are outside the gate right now. They received the toxicology report. They know you broke the oldest code on the coast. And they want to handle you themselves."
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Marcus's face drained of every drop of color. "No... Gideon, no! Don't give me to them! Just shoot me! Please, just shoot me!"
Two massive men in dark coats strode through the shattered entryway. It wasn't the police. It was the Enforcers from the Falcone council. Without a word, they hoisted Marcus by his arms, dragging him out into the night as his screams faded into the howling rain.
