Chapter 9 - The Wrath of Rico Moretti
Rain poured in torrential sheets over the Brooklyn waterfront. Inside the cold, rusted shipping depot, Clara hung suspended by her wrists from an overhead chain, her face bruised and her lip split, but her eyes burning with defiance.
Emilio Falcone sneered, tapping the flat of his blade against her jaw. "The great Rico Moretti, risking his empire for a stray waitress."
"He isn't coming to negotiate," Clara whispered through bloody teeth. "He's coming to kill you."
The corrugated metal roof exploded inward with deafening concussions. Flashbang grenades turned the room into blinding white light. Gunfire erupted with brutal, synchronized efficiency as Rico and his tactical strike team breached from three entry points.
Rico moved like a phantom of vengeance. Clad in black combat gear, his assault rifle eliminated Falcone’s mercenaries before they could raise their weapons.
Falcone scrambled toward Clara, raising his pistol to execute her, but Rico was faster. A single shot shattered Falcone's wrist, sending his weapon skittering across the concrete. Rico closed the distance, tackling the rival boss into the metal girders and subduing him with merciless finality.
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Dropping his rifle, Rico pulled his combat knife, severed Clara's zip-ties, and caught her collapsing body before she hit the floor.
"I've got you," Rico rasped, his voice trembling with an emotion he had never shown in his life. He wrapped his coat around her shivering shoulders, pulling her bruised face against his neck. "You're safe, Clara. I've got you."
