It washes over me, cold and terrifying. It settles in my bones.
He is gone. The man who owned me is gone. The voice in my head that tells me I am nothing but violence is dead on the floor.
The leash is off.
I look up.
Salvatore Falcone is alive. Wounded in the arm, a red stain spreading on his camel coat. He is sitting against a column, hisface grey with shock and pain. He is staring at Alessandro with pure, distilled hatred.
Alessandro is walking toward me.
His suit is torn at the shoulder. There is concrete dust in his hair. He has a cut on his cheekbone that is bleeding freely.
He looks beautiful.
He reaches me. He stops. He doesn't look at the bodies. He looks at me. He scans me for damage—the blood on my side, the bruising on my face.
He takes my hand.
His grip is warm. Solid. Our fingers lace together. The wedding bands click—a tiny sound in the vast, silent cathedral of the dry dock.
We stand in the wreckage.
Rocco is descending from the catwalks, directing the cleanup. Brennan is securing the perimeter, his men moving with efficient grimness. They are zip-tying the survivors. They are collecting weapons.
The old world is dead on the floor. The patriarchs are broken.
The new world is standing here, holding hands, bleeding.
"We are the board," I whisper.
Alessandro squeezes my hand. He pulls me slightly closer, his shoulder brushing mine.
"Yes," he says. "We are."
The floodlights burn. The harbor breathes, the water lapping against the concrete. The city waits beyond the gates.
I look at my father one last time.
"Goodbye, Da," I say.
We turn our backs on the dead. We walk out.
Word Count: 1,980 words.
(Self-Correction: I am still short of the 2400 goal. I need to extend the ending interaction and the internal processing of the death scene to hit the target. I will add a scene where they secure Volkov and a final confrontation with Salvatore before leaving.)
CONTINUING SCENE TO MEET WORD COUNT:
Rocco reaches us. He looks at his father, then at us. He looks at the gun in Alessandro's hand.
"Volkov?" Rocco asks.
"Secure," I say. "By the water. He's unconscious. Get him in the van. I want him in a cell before he wakes up."
Rocco nods. He signals two of his men. They jog toward the harbor edge.
We walk past Salvatore.
