Chapter 8 - The Warehouse Showdown
The heavy metal doors of the warehouse groaned loudly as Roman kicked them open.
Inside, the vast industrial space was dark, lit only by a few hanging halogen lamps that cast long, grotesque shadows across rusted machinery, stacked shipping crates, and puddle-strewn concrete.
In the center of the open floor, lit by a single overhead spotlight, sat three-year-old Ellie.
She was tied to a small wooden chair with thick rope, her patched bunny rabbit lying on the dirt floor inches from her small shoes. Beside her stood Marcus Rossi, holding a briefcase, and Dominic Vane, surrounded by ten heavily armed mercenaries holding assault rifles.
When Ellie saw Roman walking through the rain-soaked entrance, her tiny face brightened through her tears.
“Mr. Roman!” she cried out, her small voice echoing through the hollow cavern.
“Stay still, Ellie,” Roman called out, his voice calm, steady, and unbothered by the eleven gun barrels instantly trained on his chest.
Dominic Vane stepped forward, a cruel, arrogant smirk spreading across his face. “Well, well. The great Roman DeLuca. Walking into my parlor like a sheep to the slaughter. All for a maid’s bastard.”
“She has a name, Vane,” Roman said smoothly, stopping twenty feet away in the open floor. “And you’re standing on borrowed time.”
Marcus Rossi shrank behind Vane, his eyes wide with fear despite being surrounded by guards. “Kill him, Dominic! Shoot him now! Don't let him talk!”
“Shut up, Marcus,” Vane sneered. He raised his heavy pistol, aiming it directly at Roman’s head. “Any last words, Don DeLuca?”
Roman didn't look at Vane. He looked at Ellie.
“Ellie,” Roman said softly. “Close your eyes and cover your ears. Count to ten.”
Ellie instantly squeezed her eyes shut, burying her small face into her chest.
At that exact second, Roman lunged to his right, pulling his twin pistols from his jacket.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Roman fired three lightning-fast shots, dropping the two nearest mercenaries before they could react.
The warehouse erupted into deafening gunfire. Muzzle flashes strobed through the shadows like lightning. Roman dove behind a heavy steel girder as bullets chewed up the concrete around him.
He spun around the girder, firing with lethal accuracy, dropping two more guards. But as he lunged into the open toward Ellie’s chair, a sniper hidden on the upper catwalk fired a heavy rifle shot.
THWACK!
The high-caliber round slammed directly into Roman’s left shoulder, tearing through flesh and tactical Kevlar. The impact threw Roman sideways, sending him skidding across the wet concrete floor.
Blood burst from his shoulder, hot and crimson, soaking through his shirt.
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Marcus let out a wild laugh. “He’s hit! He’s down! Finish him!”
Vane stepped toward Roman, raising his weapon to deliver the execution shot.
