O Justiceiro: Serie

Thwip. Twenty minutes later, Frank stood inside the Red Hook warehouse. The rain leaked through holes in the corrugated roof, creating silver curtains that swayed in the dark. The Congregation’s men were good—six of them, armed with automatic rifles, wearing tactical vests.

Frank shifted the suppressor to Rizzo’s left knee and pulled the trigger. Thwip. The sound was a wet cough, lost in the rain. Rizzo’s leg buckled. He screamed, but Frank clamped a hand over his mouth, his fingers pressing into the man's cheeks with hydraulic force. o justiceiro serie

Sophia, the youngest, stared at the skull on his chest plate. She didn't scream. She whispered, "Are you a monster?" The Congregation’s men were good—six of them, armed

"Don't," Rizzo whimpered, cigarette falling from his lips. "Don't. I got money. I got—" The sound was a wet cough, lost in the rain

The last three tried to run. They didn't make it to the door.

Frank looked at the chain-link bracelet on her wrist—the one her mother probably gave her. He looked at the fear in her eyes, and the tiny spark of defiance that was already starting to grow there.

They were amateurs.