Episode 9 :The Blast of Truth
960 Words
Marco’s office was a throne room of glass and smoke, the city skyline burning behind him like a crown of fire. Vincent stood in the center, his gun pressed tight to Marco’s temple. Around him, ten of Marco’s men raised their weapons, barrels gleaming under the chandelier.
Marco’s smirk was calm, almost bored. “You really think it’s that easy, Vincent? You walk into my home, point a gun, and what? Expect me to beg?”
Vincent’s face was stone. His voice, flat and cutting: “It is easy.”
And then—almost imperceptibly—he smiled. A grin, sharp as a blade.
Marco frowned, confusion flickering across his face.
BOOOOM!
The windows shook. A blast ripped through the air outside, followed by the thunder of gunfire. Before Marco’s men could even react, the doors burst open. Shadows poured in—Vincent’s crew, disciplined and merciless. Within seconds, guns were leveled against the very men who had surrounded Vincent.
The balance shifted like a knife flipping edge.
Marco’s eyes widened, then narrowed. Slowly, defiantly, he smiled again. “You son of a b***h… You’ve been planning this.”
Vincent didn’t answer, his gun never leaving Marco’s head.
Marco leaned back in his chair as though the entire room weren’t crackling with violence. “Again… again you win.” His laugh was dry, bitter. “I thought I had you this time, Vincent. But no way. You’re always two steps ahead.”
He spat on the floor, then looked up with venom. “But let me tell you something—you may have won here, but Damien? He’s already stolen your girl.”
Vincent’s expression finally changed. The grin vanished, his jaw tightening, eyes hardening to steel.
Marco leaned forward, voice dripping with cruelty. “She’s in his car right now. You know what he’s doing? Enjoying what you’ve been keeping to yourself all these days. Tell me, Vincent—what’s gotten into you? You never keep a girl for more than a night. But this one? Two weeks? What is she, that good?”
The words were poison.
In one motion, Vincent pulled the trigger. BANG! Marco’s head snapped back, the smirk frozen forever. Silence, then the echo of gunfire still ringing in the men’s ears.
Vincent didn’t stop. He stepped closer, firing again and again into Marco’s body, each shot punctuated with rage.
“HOW DARE YOU!” His roar shook the walls. “How dare you take her name from your mouth!”
The room froze. His men—hardened killers—stared in shock. They had never seen Vincent lose control.
Chest heaving, Vincent finally lowered his gun. His voice was low but thunderous: “Yes. She is different. She is special.”
A stunned silence followed. For the first time, Vincent had admitted it.
He turned, his glare sweeping the room. “Where is she?”
A lieutenant stepped forward—a lean man with scarred knuckles and a steady gaze. His name was Rocco. “Boss, we’ve tracked Damien’s car. Heading north, past the old highway. Gas station stop maybe.”
Vincent nodded once. His tone left no room for doubt. “I want Damien and Elena standing in front of me within twenty minutes. Alive.”
Rocco’s voice was sharp, loyal: “Yes, Vincent.” He turned, barking orders as the crew spread like wolves.
Vincent holstered his gun and walked out, boots echoing like war drums. Behind him, Marco’s empire burned.
Meanwhile—
Elena sat stiffly in the car as Damien drove. His hand slid too close to her thigh. She tensed, inching away, but he smirked as if her fear amused him.
“Relax, Elena,” he drawled, eyes glinting in the rearview mirror. “You’ll like where we’re going.”
She forced calm into her voice. “Where are we going, Damien?”
“You’ll see,” he said. Then, deliberately, “So tell me—when you first saw him, Vincent… was it love at first sight?” His tone was mocking, needling.
Her heart skipped, but she steeled herself. “No,” she said firmly. “I’m not the one he fell for first. But he… he’s the one. Not you.”
Damien’s smile twitched. He leaned closer, voice dipping. “Then maybe he’s a fool. Because I should be the one. A woman like you? You’re that hot.” His words dripped with lust, making her stomach twist.
Elena’s pulse hammered. She thought of opening the door, running, anything.
“I… I need to use the restroom,” she blurted.
He sighed but pulled into a convenience store. His eyes lingered on her as she stepped out, his stare a brand on her back.
Inside, Elena’s hands shook as she approached a stranger. “Please—I need to borrow your phone. Just for a minute.”
The man, kind-faced, nodded and handed it over. She dialed her mother. No answer. Tried again. Still nothing.
Panic clawed at her. Did Vincent…? Did he do something to her mother? The thought tore through her chest. Tears spilled down her cheeks before she could stop them.
The stranger frowned. “Ma’am, are you okay? Is there a problem?”
Before she could answer—
BOOOM!
A blast ripped through the night, rattling the glass of the store. People screamed and ran outside.
Elena froze, her phone slipping from her hand. Her body turned cold, stiff as stone. She walked out slowly, each step heavier than the last.
The night sky burned orange, smoke rising from the direction Damien had parked. The car… or something close to it… was on fire.
Her heart stopped.
Elena stood rooted, a statue of shock, her mind screaming one thought: What just happened?
- Writer
