Chapter 7 - The Flash in the Dark
The shot didn't come from Carmine.
A heavy, suppressed round punched through the casing of the electrical box directly above Rocco’s head, showering a blinding cascade of white sparks and shorting out half the fluorescent lights in the garage.
In the sudden, plunging darkness, Rocco screamed in surprise, his aim thrown wide as a bullet ricocheted off the concrete floor near his boots.
“Clear!” Javier’s voice boomed from the shadows near the entrance, followed immediately by the rapid, heavy thud of tactical boots closing in from the perimeter.
Before Rocco could recover his balance or reacquire his target, Carmine moved with terrifying, blinding speed. In less than a second, he closed the ten-foot gap between them, driving his shoulder straight into Rocco’s chest. The impact knocked the wind out of the enforcer with a violent wheeze, sending the silver pistol clattering across the slick pavement into the darkness.
Daniel collapsed against the side of his truck, sliding down to his knees while gasping for air.
I didn't think. I sprinted past Carmine and dropped to the concrete beside my brother, wrapping my arms around his shoulders.
“Danny! Danny, look at me, are you okay?” I cried, my hands trembling as I checked his face, his arms, anywhere for blood.
“I—I’m okay, El,” Daniel stammered, his eyes wide and uncomprehending as he stared up at the chaos around us. “Who are these men? What’s happening? Why does that guy keep calling you by name?”
“Just stay down,” I whispered, pressing his head against my chest to shield him from the scene unfolding a few feet away.
Carmine stood over Rocco, who was pinned flat against the concrete, gasping for air with a knee planted firmly across his sternum. Carmine didn't shout. He simply reached down, grabbed Rocco by the collar of his ruined shirt, and hauled him up to his knees with effortless strength.
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“You broke the code, Rocco,” Carmine said, his voice a lethal whisper. “You threatened family. You brought outsiders into an internal war. For that, there is no exile.”
Rocco spat a glob of blood onto Carmine’s polished leather shoe, a defiant, broken sneer twisting his mouth. “You think you’ve won... Carmine? The federal indictments... they’re already en route to the district attorney’s office. You think the feds care about your family code? They’re coming for the whole damn estate—starting with you, and ending with your little pet here.”
