Chapter 9 - An Unforgiving Reckoning
Gunfire shattered the quiet sanctuary into a maelstrom of splinters, muzzle flashes, and agonizing screams. Julian hauled the dead guard's tactical rifle into his grip, rolling across the ruined pews as high-caliber rounds shredded the mahogany behind him. He fired three controlled bursts, dropping two men near the entrance.
Vance reacted instantly, turning toward the altar with his shotgun raised, aiming directly down at the broken floorboards where Elena was pulling the boy through.
“Julian!” Elena shrieked from below as Vance cocked the heavy slide.
Julian didn't aim; he threw himself across the aisle, his body taking the brunt of Vance’s shotgun blast. The heavy buckshot tore through Julian’s shoulder, the kinetic impact slamming him against the altar railing and spinning him around. Blood sprayed across the white linen cloth covering the pulpit.
Antonio Julian scrambled backward, his cane clattering to the floor as he clawed at his ankle holster.
Vance racked another round, grinning through his horrific scars as he aimed the shotgun barrel directly at Julian’s face. “Told you you’d die on your knees, boy.”
Before Vance could pull the trigger, two small, sharp cracks echoed from the floorboards beneath him.
Bullets pierced upward through the rotted wood, punching through the soles of Vance’s heavy tactical boots. Vance bellowed in agony, stumbling backward, his shotgun discharging harmlessly into the ceiling rafters. Elena had fired Julian’s Glock upward from the cellar, shooting blindly through the boards to protect the man she hated and loved in equal measure.
Julian didn't waste the half-second Vance gave him. Ignoring the blinding fire in his shattered shoulder, he drew his backup pistol with his left hand and fired twice into Vance’s kneecaps, dropping the brute to the floorboards. Julian rose like a vengeful specter, standing over the groaning enforcer, and emptied the remaining four rounds into Vance’s chest without a word.
The chapel fell into a suffocating, ringing silence, punctuated only by the crackle of distant thunder and Antonio’s terrified wheezing.
Julian turned slowly toward his uncle. The old man was backed against the wall, clutching an antique revolver with trembling hands. Julian stepped forward, blood pouring down his arm, dripping onto the ruined floor.
“Julian... we’re blood,” the old man whimpered. “You can’t murder your own flesh.”
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Julian stopped an inch from the barrel of Antonio’s gun, leaning down until his dark eyes reflected the dying light of the old man’s empire.
“You stopped being my blood,” Julian whispered, “the moment you touched mine.”
