AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Yet, considering her part in Pia's misery, my response comes with a clenched jaw. "Then make it quick. No suffering—I won't have Pia tormented by such a thing."
Resolve hardening, I draw my weapon, the approaching caravan now clearly in sight. Today, we end this, ensuring the future safety and peace of those we hold dear.
As the caravan grinds to a halt, the air crackles with anticipation and unspoken threats. Gerald's men, a ragtag assembly, trying to mimic the organized might of a true mafia force, spill out, a clumsy semblance of aggression. Among them, Gerald, flanked by a protective detail, strides forward with an air of unearned confidence. The resemblance he shares with Pia ends at the surface; where she embodies strength and resilience, he's merely a pretender to a throne he's never earned.
My chuckle breaks the hostility momentarily, drawing curious glances from those closest. At a subtle signal, Joshua, Darrel, and a select few advance, readying for what comes next. The rest, a silent army of shadows, wait for my command.
We halt, a mere breath away from confrontation. Gerald, trying to muster the aura of a leader, declares, "Marco, you're making a mistake."
"How so?" My voice is steady and calm in the face of his bluster.
"This is all you've brought?" Gerald scans our ranks dismissively, then gestures towards his own more numerous but less formidable force. "Seems pretty boy isn't in Mexico anymore."
My grip tightens, but I don't let the provocation sway me. "Oh yeah?" I nod, a silent summons. Instantly, the Águilas Nocturnas emerge, a formidable presence that eclipses Gerald's makeshift army. Their assortment of weapons is a testament to our readiness and strength.
Gerald's facade cracks, his composure slipping as fear takes hold. My smile is sharp, a reminder of the hard-earned power I wield. "Unlike you, I've had to fight for every inch of ground I stand on. Nothing was handed to me." With deliberate steps, I close the distance, pressing my gun against Gerald's forehead, his sweat a tangible sign of his fear.
In a desperate bid, Gerald barks an order in Tagalog, signaling his men to fire. But before the command can be carried out, the Águilas Nocturnas spring into action. Gunfire erupts, a chaotic symphony that marks the end of Gerald's forces. One by one, his men fall, their numbers dwindling rapidly until only Gerald and a handful of his closest allies remain, untouched but isolated.
Gerald tries to twist to witness his army's downfall, realizing that his end is near. The moment is tense, the air thick with the scent of gunpowder and the grim acceptance of his fate. Here, in this standoff, the truth is laid bare: real power is earned, not inherited, and today, Gerald faces the consequences of his ambitions.
"Wait!" The word pierces through the silence, freezing everyone in place. With years and regret in his step, Don Angelo joins the standoff, his eyes locking with mine briefly—a silent plea hanging between us. I relent, slightly lowering my weapon, granting him this moment.
Stepping between me and his son, Don Angelo confronts Gerald. "Your ruthless ambition, aligning with Jon Marc, convincing me marrying Pia off was strategic for power…you meant it all for yourself, didn't you? And planned to kill me, too?" The disappointment and betrayal in his voice carves the air.
Gerald, ever the epitome of disdain, signals his right-hand man with a bored nod. But Darrel, ever vigilant, intercepts the gesture. With swift, cinematic flair, he pulls his weapon and neutralizes the threat with a precise shot between the eyes. Gerald stumbles, caught by his men, but shrugs off the moment as if it were a minor inconvenience.
As Don Angelo presses on, the divide between him and his son is stark. "The difference between us, son, is I'm not consumed by power. I recognize its limits." Gerald's scoff cuts through the words, but Don Angelo's hand connects with his face in a sharp slap before he can belittle his father further. Gerald stands firm, the anticipation in his stance giving me pause.
The moment shatters as one of Gerald's men opens fire on Don Angelo. Chaos reigns once more; Joshua and Darrel move instinctively to shield me, but I push against them, drawn into the fray.
Bullets whiz by, the sound deafening, a concert of gunpowder and adrenaline. I scan the field to assess the threat and find a path through the madness. My brothers and I, a unit bound by blood and battle, move with a shared purpose—to protect, to end this.
Around us, the battle rages, the air thick with the scent of spent ammunition and the unvarnished reality of our world. Every sense is heightened, each movement calculated amidst the bedlam. We advance, covering each other, determined to quell the uprising before more lives are lost.
The line between friend and foe blurs in this moment, with survival the only clear objective. Gerald, Don Angelo, and the Águilas Nocturnas are all caught in a dance as old as time, where power, betrayal, and family collide with violent grace.
My focus remains unwavering through it all. The future we're fighting for, while overwhelming, only sharpens my resolve.
"Oh, shit," I exclaim, my eyes locked on the scene before me. The crimson pool spreading beneath Don Angelo sends a lance of urgency through me. Gerald, standing triumphant with his gun aimed at his father, seems oblivious to the rapidly changing dynamics of the battlefield.
Suddenly, a figure cloaked in dust, garbed in a familiar uniform, emerges—Viktor. His presence, a silent promise of retribution, goes unnoticed by Gerald until it's too late. As he turns to meet Viktor's cold gaze, Gerald's shock and disbelief are almost pitiable.
"You," Gerald manages, confusion and fear lacing his words. "I watched you die. How?" His voice falters, stepping back, his concern for Don Angelo momentarily forgotten.
As my men swiftly move to evacuate Don Angelo to the hospital, I advance, Gabriel and Diego at my sides, forming a united front with Viktor. "You saw what I needed you to see," Viktor retorts with a hint of scorn. "The art of deception, a trick of the light, a shadow play—elements of survival in our world."
The conflict spikes as Gerald's bravado crumbles, evidenced by the darkening fabric of his trousers, a physical manifestation of his fear. "Not so brave now, are you?" I taunt, the disdain in my voice palpable.
Gerald stands, defeated and humiliated, the reality of his situation crashing down. Around us, the air is thick with the aftermath of confrontation.
Gerald's demeanor melts into desperation, his voice quavering as he pleads for mercy. "Please, you can't do this. I—I can change," he stammers. His body language offers evidence of his fear, hands raised in a futile gesture of surrender.
Viktor, unfazed by Gerald's last-ditch effort, methodically lists Gerald's recent atrocities. "In the past few days alone, the innocent lives you've taken…" His voice is calm, but his words weigh heavily in the air.
"You've operated without honor, Gerald. In our world, that makes you not just a liability but a direct threat," Viktor continues, his tone final. The decision is executed before Gerald can muster a response—a single, precise shot that silences him forever.
Viktor then turns to me. "Don Marco, your job here is done. I'll manage the cleanup and coordinate with Don Melchor," he assures me, exchanging a confident nod with him before returning his gaze to me. "I'll prepare the team remaining for the Philippines' next steps and meet with the president. I've got unfinished business."
