Chapter 9 - CheckmateBefore Eleanor could pull the trigger, the red laser dots of a dozen sniper rifles suddenly danced across the chests of Eleanor, Vance, and the three assassins on the balcony.
The heavy oak doors of the master suite swung wide open, revealing an entirely new detachment of Moretti loyalists—men who answered solely to Damian, not to the old guard council.
Vance panicked, raising his silenced pistol to shoot toward Damian, but a single, deafening crack echoed through the room.
Bang.
Vance dropped his gun with a hollow clatter, clutching his bleeding shoulder as he collapsed hard onto the marble floor.
The three assassins on the balcony froze, realizing they were completely surrounded from both inside and outside the high-rise. Their weapons clattered to the floor as Moretti guards swarmed them, pinning them facedown in seconds.
Eleanor’s face turned the color of ash. Her hand holding the gold-plated pistol began to shake uncontrollably. She turned the barrel toward me in a desperate, last-ditch bid for leverage, her finger tightening on the trigger—
Clang.
Damian moved faster than humanly possible. He crossed the room like a striking panther, slamming his hand against Eleanor's wrist with brutal force. The gold-plated pistol flew from her grip, skittering across the floor.
Damian grabbed his mother by the arm, spinning her around and forcing her down onto her knees before him. The ruthless mafia queen was completely dismantled in a single heartbeat.
"You... you traitorous bastard," Eleanor choked out, glaring up at her son with venomous hatred. "I gave you this empire! I made you who you are!"
"No, Mother," Damian said, his voice cold as arctic ice, devoid of any remaining filial bond. "You built a prison of blood and paranoia. And tonight, your reign ends permanently."
He gestured to the guards. "Take her and Vance to the underground holding cells. Prepare the tribunal for high treason. They will never see the light of day again."
As the guards dragged a screaming, cursing Eleanor out of the penthouse, absolute silence settled over the room once more.
The storm outside began to clear, parting the dark clouds to let the golden light of dawn spill across the San Francisco skyline.
Damian slowly turned around. His suit was rumpled, his knuckles bruised, but his dark eyes were softer than I had ever seen them before. He walked toward me slowly, as if approaching a skittish, wounded animal.
I stood frozen against the balcony glass, my hands resting protectively over my swollen belly.
Damian stopped a foot away from me. He slowly sank to his knees right in front of me, placing his large, warm palm gently against my stomach. Our baby gave a strong, distinct kick against his hand.
Damian closed his eyes, a ragged breath escaping his lips.
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"I'm sorry, Bella," he whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I’m sorry I dragged you into this darkness. I'm sorry you had to run. But I swear to you... the war is over. You and our son are safe. Forever."
I looked down at the man who terrified the entire criminal underworld—the mafia king who had burned the world down just to keep us alive. Slowly, the walls around my heart finally crumbled. I reached out, resting my hand on the back of his neck, pulling him close.
