Chapter 8 - The Ultimate BetrayalI stared past Damian in absolute disbelief.
Stepping out from the shadows behind my husband was a woman wearing an elegant emerald silk dress, her graying hair perfectly coiffed, her face a mask of cold, aristocratic fury.
Eleanor Moretti. Damian’s mother.
"Mother," Damian said, his voice devoid of any warmth, colder than the winter sea. "Or should I say, the true head of the syndicate's opposition."
Vance lowered his gun slightly, glancing nervously between Damian and Eleanor.
Eleanor didn't flinch. She looked at her son with a gaze so chillingly devoid of maternal affection that it made my stomach churn.
"You always were too smart for your own good, Damian," Eleanor said smoothly, walking past the guards into the center of the room. She cast a disdainful glance at my swollen stomach. "I told you years ago, marrying a nobody from the outside would destroy our family. And when she got pregnant? I couldn't let a half-blood heir inherit the throne. The Moretti empire belongs to pure blood, managed by those who actually built it."
"You ordered the poison?" Damian asked, his voice dropping an octave, carrying a terrifying, murderous weight. "You had your own physician try to murder my wife?"
"I protected our legacy," Eleanor retorted sharply, raising her chin. "Just like I am going to fix your mistake tonight."
With a flick of Eleanor's wrist, three men stepped out from the private balcony doors behind me—men who had somehow bypassed the exterior perimeter security. They raised their weapons, locking their sights directly on Damian.
"Drop your weapon, Damian," Eleanor commanded, pulling a small gold-plated pistol from her handbag and aiming it straight at my chest. "Or I'll put a bullet through your precious wife and your unborn heir right now. Let's see how much your empire is worth when you have nothing left to bury."
My breath caught. Time seemed to stop. The barrel of Eleanor’s gun was pointed directly at my heart.
Damian’s eyes locked onto mine across the room. In that single, agonizing fraction of a second, I saw no hesitation in his eyes. Only absolute, unshakable resolve.
"You think you won, Mother?" Damian whispered, a dark, dangerous smile curving his lips.
May you like
Eleanor frowned, hesitating. "What are you talking about?"
"I told you," Damian's voice boomed through the suite, echoing off the stone walls. "The game was over before you even walked into this room."
