Chapter 7 - The Three-Inch Margin
“Kick the gun over here,” Vincenzo demanded.
Aleandro tossed his weapon across the concrete floor.
Vincenzo’s arrogant smirk returned in full force.
He felt victorious.
But Vincenzo was an amateur who didn't understand the true nature of violence.
He didn't realize that a man like Aleandro Moretti was never truly unarmed.
As Vincenzo slightly lowered his guard to look at the sliding weapon, Aleandro moved.
He closed the distance between them with terrifying speed.
He pulled a hidden tactical knife from his sleeve.
Vincenzo saw the movement and panicked, pulling the trigger of his silver revolver.
The gun fired with a deafening bang.
Isabella screamed.
Aleandro felt a massive, burning impact in his left shoulder.
The bullet had struck him, passing exactly three inches from his heart.
The pain was blinding, but his forward momentum did not stop.
He drove the tactical knife deeply into Vincenzo’s throat.
The Lucchese heir gasped, his eyes rolling back as the life rapidly drained out of him.
Vincenzo collapsed to the ground, dead before his body even hit the concrete.
Aleandro fell to his knees, clutching his bleeding chest.
Isabella threw herself onto the floor beside him, her bound hands useless to help.
“Aleandro!” she sobbed frantically.
“You're bleeding, oh my god, you're bleeding!”
Marco rushed through the fading smoke, shouting for a medical team.
Aleandro looked up at Isabella, managing a weak, bloody smile.
“I told you I would never let anyone take you from me.”
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His vision began to blur into dark shadows.
The last thing he felt before passing out was her tears falling onto his face.
