Page 68 of Mercy of the Mafia Doctor
He isn't running for the gates. He isn't trying to join the Bellantis. He’s moving toward the center of the fray, his handsempty, his head down. He looks like a man walking into a storm, hoping it will finally wash him away.
"Dominic," I say, my voice trembling. "Turi is out. He's in the courtyard."
The radio goes silent for a beat.
“Do not shoot him unless he raises a weapon,” Dominic says, sounding old and tired. “He answers to us when this is done.”
But I see Alessio turn. I see the moment he recognizes the man who raised him. I see the hesitation in his posture—the split second where the doctor and the weapon collide.
"Alessio, don't!" I whisper to the empty room.
The Bellantis are regrouping for one last push near the garage. A black sedan screeches across the gravel, its doors opening before it even stops. Men pour out, their weapons spitting fire.
The courtyard becomes a kill zone.
I watch through the grainy feed as the world falls apart. I watch the man I love risk everything to end a war, only to have the enemy bring it to his doorstep. I watch the complicated, treacherous old man who was the only father he ever knew walk into the line of fire.
And I realize, with a clarity that cuts deeper than any grief, that this is what it means to belong. It’s not the dinners or the rituals or the shared secrets. It’s the fact that when the world is burning, you don’t look for an exit.
You look for each other.
The legal freeze Natalia launched from my data is still running in the background, a silent predator devouring the Bellanti empire. But here, on the ground, the predator is much more real.
Another explosion rocks the compound, and the screen showing the courtyard goes black.
"Loss of signal on East and South," I report, my voice surprisingly steady. "They're losing ground, but they're taking the cameras with them."
"We have to go to the secondary safe room," Natalia says, grabbing my arm. "The inner perimeter has been breached."
"Not yet," I say, my eyes fixed on the remaining monitors. "If I leave this feed, he loses the courtyard blind spot."
"Amara, you can't help him from here if the ceiling collapses."
"I'm not leaving," I repeat.
I look at the last active camera, showing the hallway just outside the Vault. A shadow passes. Then another.
They’re inside.
I reach into the drawer of the desk and pull out the small, sleek handgun Alessio insisted I carry. I’ve never fired it at a person. I’ve only ever used it on paper targets in the compound’s range, my ears protected by heavy mufflers, my heart rate steady.
Now, my heart is a frantic bird in a cage, and the only sound is the rhythmic thud of my own blood in my ears.
"Get behind the reinforced console," I tell Natalia.
She doesn't argue. She knows when a person has crossed the line from observer to participant.
I stand by the door, the cold steel of the weapon in my hand. I think of Curtis. I think of the alley. I think of the ten years I spent running from the shadows, terrified that they would eventually catch up to me.
I’m not terrified anymore. I’m just waiting.
The door groans, the electronic lock sparking. Someone is using a Costa override from the outside.
I raise the gun. My hands are perfectly still.
Come on, I think, the feral energy of this house finally settling into my bones. I’ve been waiting ten years to show you what happens when you corner a runner.
The door begins to slide open.
