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My feet tap against the metal railings of the fire escape as I intently watch the cars below. If the Biff plan works, then they should be racing away from their watch within the hour.
Finn has already burned Biff’s body up just enough to keep his familiar features discernible, while also making it hard to point out any key differences. Next, he’s going to drop the body off on the intersection of two specific beats: one where cops who’ve been bought by the Russians patrol, and one where cops who’ve been bought by the Italians patrol. Every crooked cop in this city has got to have my face burned into their memory by now. There’s probably a reward on my head that’s worth more than what they’ll make in a lifetime. If we’re lucky, the cops will recognize the significance of Biff’s charred corpse, and quickly call in the discovery to their overlords.
Ronan Reid is dead, they’ll say. And we have his body.
But, while everybody is rushing to confirm that it’s me, I’ll be sneaking into my loft, and heading right up to the armory. From there, I’ll get set up.
It won’t take long for an expert to smack everyone on the backside of the head and tell them that Biff is no Ronan. The goons will come racing back to my loft, and I’ll be waiting to ambush them from my fortified tower...
It only takes a little under two hours before I can see that our plan is working. A dozen or so cars all suddenly rev alive at the same time and screech out into the night. I watch with conflicted glee.
It’s just one last thing, I tell myself. Then it’s you and Nia forever.
... If she’ll have me back.
I shake that thought from my head. She has to. I couldn’t have made it any more clear that we didn’t have any other option.
When the last cars have disappeared from view, I climb back down the fire escape.
I finally have my opening, and I can’t fuck it up.
I pound my fist against a loose brick and a shelf filled with assault rifles pops out of the wall. It’s good to be home, but I don’t have time to revel in my return. I feed my weapons with ammo and set them up at vantage points around the bullet proof windows on my top floor. I pop the frames up just enough to let me shoot through and I line up grenades and other explosives along the floor.
If I wasn’t so worried about seeing Nia again, I might be having the time of my life. This could be a true warrior’s ending, but I’m not looking for that anymore. I’m looking for a new beginning, one with a family, one with Nia.
I can only think about her and what’s bubbling up inside of her belly as I dig deep into my arsenal. There are so many memories in this armory. Weapons from my first turf war all the way up to my first hit-job come out of the closet for the first time in years. It’s bittersweet. I know, one way or another, this will be the last time I use them. Still, I can’t help but smile when I come across a certain ancient artifact of mine that I had thought to be long lost.
The bazooka. A high-powered rocket launcher that can tear through armies.
It shines like a holy grail in its dusty compartment. Ah, old friend. How I’ve missed you.
It just might be enough to tilt this whole thing in my favor.
The two major crime families are about to send all of what’s left of their armies at me, but they’ve been so devastated by the war that, with a few good shots, I just might be able to blow up everything for good.
I dust off my old weapons and fill them with firepower. I’m just about done getting ready when I hear the screeching sound of returning cars.
It’s time.
I set up in my first position, crouched beside the light switch that controls the spot lights on top of my building. I had them installed years ago for shits and giggles, but it looks like they might actually come in handy now.
I don’t want to start this showdown in the light, though. Darkness, for all of its faults, has often been good to me at times like this. So, I ask one last favor of it.
My starting weapon of choice is a long-barreled sniper with a night vision iron sight. I gaze through the little peephole as the street below fills up with cars and armed men. A battering ram even appears, but before it can get close to my door, I start shooting out the streetlights.
One by one, the lights go off and the street is bathed in sweet darkness. It’s the official start to this shindig—there’s no hiding now. Everyone in the city is going to know I’m here.
I scan the street below for my first target. There are two men I particularly want to end tonight, and either one will do just fine for my first kill.
Where are you bastards?
It doesn’t take long for me to find one of the faces I’m looking for.
The fool.
Semyon Volkov is limping between cars for cover. The side of his face is twisted and burnt, and I can’t help but smile. The brat finally looks like the monster he truly is. It makes me happy to see that his leg still hasn’t fully recovered from the bullet I put in it, and I’m delighted that at least half of his face got caught in the explosion at Gianni’s office.
I wonder if he’s consistently in pain? God, I hope so. He doesn’t deserve any better. I almost don’t want to shoot him. Death would be too easy of a way out for him. Maybe I should aim for his spine?
