Chapter 9 - Blood on the Rabbit
Despite the blinding, agonizing pain radiating through his left shoulder, Roman didn't stay down.
He ignored the blood spurting down his arm. He ignored the burning fire in his chest. With a roar of pure, primal fury, Roman pushed himself off the wet floor, pulled his secondary pistol with his right hand, and fired three consecutive rounds straight through Dominic Vane’s chest.
Vane’s eyes widened in sheer shock as the bullets tore through his ribs. He dropped his gun, collapsing backward onto the concrete, dead before he hit the ground.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
At that exact moment, the rear loading bay doors of the warehouse exploded inward. Antonio and twenty of Roman’s elite DeLuca enforcers swept through the smoke, firing heavy automatic weapons, wiping out the remaining mercenaries in a matter of seconds.
Marcus Rossi let out a terrified shriek, dropping his briefcase and trying to scramble toward a side exit.
Roman moved like an injured lion. He caught Marcus by the throat, slamming him violently against a steel pillar.
“Roman… please!” Marcus begged, his face turning purple as Roman’s right hand crushed his windpipe. “I… I was greedy! I’m sorry! Think of our history!”
“I am thinking of history,” Roman growled, his voice thick with blood and rage. “I’m thinking of my mother. And I’m thinking of a little girl who wanted her mom to sleep.”
CRACK.
Roman snapped Marcus’s neck with a single, swift twist, letting the traitor’s lifeless body drop into the dirt like trash.
The gunfire died down. Smoke drifted through the halogen light.
Roman turned toward the center of the room. He stumbled slightly, his blood running heavily down his left shoulder, dripping onto his shoes.
He walked over to Ellie’s chair, pulled out his pocket knife with his steady right hand, and sliced through her ropes.
Ellie opened her eyes. She saw the smoke, she saw the fallen men, and she saw Roman standing over her, covered in sweat, rain, and crimson blood.
She didn't scream. She didn't flinch.
She reached down, picked up her dusty patched rabbit from the floor, and held her arms out toward Roman.
Roman dropped to his right knee. He scooped the three-year-old girl up into his solid right arm, pulling her small, warm body tight against his chest, shielding her from the horrific sights around the room.
He stood there in the center of the dark warehouse, blood running steadily down his shoulder, holding the maid’s daughter like she was the most precious treasure in the world, while his armed men formed a protective circle around them.
Ellie reached up with a small, clean hand, gently wiping a drop of rain from Roman’s cheek.
“You came, Mr. Roman,” she whispered softly into his neck.
May you like
Roman closed his eyes, leaning his face against her soft dark hair.
“I told you, Ellie,” Roman rasped, his voice thick with emotion. “I don't break promises.”
