Arthur grabs Moretti's wrist, but the Italian Don is too fast and too strong. Moretti twists his arm and jams the muzzle of the gun right into Arthur's chest.
He pulls the trigger.
The loud crack of the gunshot echoes through the room, and Arthur's chest erupts in blood. He collapses to the floor, gasping for air.
But the distraction buys me a second.
Moretti staggers backward, his grip faltering as Arthur’s weight throws him off balance.
It’s enough.
My hand drops to the holster strapped to my thigh, moving on instinct. The pistol clears leather and fires twice.
Crack. Crack.
Both bullets hit Don Moretti right between the eyes. The back of his skull blows out, painting the server racks red as his lifeless body crumples to the floor.
Ivan doesn't hesitate. Before the two men can even react, he raises his rifle and puts a burst into both of their chests. They drop dead right beside her.
"Helena!" I sprint across the room.
She collapses into my arms, sobbing. I pull her tight against my chest. My hands are shaking as I bury my face in her hair.
"Daddy!" she screams. She pulls away from me and drops to her knees beside her father.
I step forward, kick Moretti’s gun out of reach, and sweep the room in one hard glance to make sure it’s clear.
The console still flashes 99%, tauntingly close. I cancel the hack, rip the tablet free from the motherboard, and relish as the tension in my chest finally eases.
The empire is safe.
Ivan stands a few feet away with his rifle raised, still tracking the doorway for threats.
“Get on the comms,” I tell him, my voice steady despite the gunpowder in the air. “Tell our men Moretti is dead. Broadcast it over the speakers. Break their morale.”
I hold his gaze.
“Then kill every last one of them. No survivors. Go.”
Ivan nods grimly, his bloodlust matching my own, and steps out of the control room to finish the massacre.
The war is won, but as I turn back, the true cost of the victory is right there on the concrete.
Arthur is lying on his back and clutching his chest.
Blood is pooling fast beneath him, soaking his shirt. His breathing is wet and rattling.
"Daddy, please," Helena begs. She presses her hands over his wound, her tears mixing with his blood. "Konstantin, call a medic! Please!"
"Helena," Arthur coughs. He reaches up a shaking, bloody hand to touch her cheek. "It's too late, sweetheart. Let me look at you."
I stand over them with a blank face. Arthur looks away from his daughter and at me. His eyes are completely hollow.
"I'm sorry," Arthur chokes out. "Konstantin, I'm so sorry."
I frown, my jaw clenching. "Save your breath, Blackwood. You took a bullet for my wife. Your debts are settled."
“No,” Arthur gasps, a bloody tear slipping from the corner of his eye. “They aren’t.”
