Page 11 of The Don's Soulmate

“??????? ?? ?? ??????? ??????????.”– Today we leave no witnesses.The cold realization washes over me – these men plan to kill every last person in this bank once they have the money. A massacre.

They don't know it yet, but they just signed their own death warrants. I may be a criminal, but not without an honor code.

I’m no hero, no savior. But I really do hate thieves, and they’re not getting away with our money after planning to kill those it belongs to.

I crouch low, muscles taut. My hand inches toward the pistol at my hip. I know what I must do.

"Everybody down!" I shout, drawing my gun from its concealed holster and firing a single shot at one of the bank windows. The sound of shattering glass fills the air, followed by the piercing wail of the alarm. Shards rain down around us, cutting into our skin. But, it’s better for these folks to be cut by the glass than death by bullet.

"Run! Get out of here!" I yell at the people around me, hoping they'll take advantage of the confusion to escape through the opening where the large window used to be. Some people try escaping, and I watch a man get shot in the leg. I turn, furious at whoever dared to shoot him and see one of the armed men, his gun still raised in the direction of those trying to run.

I still have a couple of rounds. Without a second thought, I point, raise, fire.

Dead center.His body drops to the ground. The bullet went clean through his forehead, splattering brain matter all over the floor. One down, four to go.

One of his buddies comes running up to him, screaming with rage.

"??? ???? ????????" he looks around frantically.– Where is the bastard?

"Right here, you vermin," I shout out loud, preparing to confront them head-on.

Two pairs of eyes find me through the crowd. Though masked, I can see the surprise and fear in their eyes. They never thought an Italian would understand what they say to one another.

"?????????? ???!" the leader orders, pointing in my direction.– Stop him!But they'll soon learn that stopping me won't be as easy as they thought.

I duck behind a cabinet and load some more bullets in my gun. I wait exactly forty-five seconds, knowing they’ll be close soon. I get only one opportunity to strike. Rising from my hiding spot, I aim with deadly accuracy and fire a bullet into the knee of one of the men.

He screams in pain and falls to the ground, clutching his leg. The other robber, still searching for me in the chaos, turns to see his partner on the floor. At that moment, I lunge at him, launching myself through the air with the fury of a wolf fighting to defendhis territory. I dig my fingers into his eyes, my legs wrapped around his neck.

He screams and claws into my hands, but I dig my fingers deeper into his eye sockets, feeling his eyeballs squish beneath my fingers. Sure, there are easier ways to kill him, but where’s the justice in mercy?

He screams and falls to the ground, taking me with him. “Stop, please,” he begs, the blood trickling in between my fingers. I let go of his face and reached for his throat. I strangle him, the life fading from his body as he lays there, dead at last.

I stand and see the other thief now struggling to crawl away, having witnessed the brutality with which I killed his mate. I walk over to him and step on his hand. He shouts and looks up, his terror-stricken eyes begging for mercy. He looks so weak, so broken already that there’s no point playing with him. I shoot him dead between his eyes.

Three down. I’ve got two more to kill.Now, where the hell did they go?

I scan the remaining crowd within the bank. Some people try to help those wounded by shattered glass and stray bullets. Others hide, still shell-shocked. Some try to escape.

The air in the bank is thick with smoke and gunpowder. The alarms are still blaring, and the deafening noise is making it difficult to find the other shooters. How many more were there?Two, by my count. Could there be more outside? Backup in getaway cars?

I walk across the bank floor, trying not to slip on blood, not to step on those lying on the floor. Just then, a scream pierces the air. I turn, spotting the manager and a strikingly beautiful woman, both on their knees. Two of the robbers stand above them, each pointing a gun at a head.

I stop, the world standing still around me. The young woman holds her hands on her knees, her gaze locked onto the man directly in front of her. Sweat beads on her forehead. I can see her trying to steady her breath – in through the mouth, out through the nose – but she is struggling to control her fear, trying not to cry.

My heart lurches. She tries to put on a brave face when her arms are shaking from adrenaline and fright. She should not be here in this nightmare. Rage boils up within me at the sight of her beautiful face distorted with her terror.

I feint left, then pivot right, closing the distance to her captor in two long strides. Before he can react, I grab his wrist and twist violently. The gun clatters to the floor as he howls in pain. A lightning-quick elbow to his temple drops him down, unconscious.

The other turns to me, gun in hand. I maintain eye contact, but from the corner of my hip, I raise the nozzle of my pistol and fire the bullet, striking the gunman in the chest. He stumbles back, his gun falling from his grasp.

The alarms continue to scream, drowning out the sound of the shot. He crumbles to the floor, the blood splattering all around. The young woman screams as she’s showered in red drops. Marco, the manager, pulls her to him, trying to protect her head.

The last one is down, but people still tremble. Some dare rise to their feet, looking around to see if this is really over. I pause to catch my breath, scanning for any other threats. There are none left standing.

Good.

But that doesn’t mean more won’t be on the way.

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