Chapter 7 - Unraveling the WebLorenzo lay pinned to the dirty floor, gasping for air, the arrogance completely drained from his face, replaced by animalistic terror.
“You… you knew?” Lorenzo spat, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “You knew I was the traitor?”
“I didn't know for certain until tonight,” I replied, looking down at him as if he were a cockroach beneath my shoe. “You slipped up, Lorenzo. You were too eager to put Beatrice in the basement. You pushed for her execution before she even stole anything of real value. A real syndicate killer doesn't panic over a half-eaten steak. But a man keeping a secret in my house? He gets nervous.”
I turned away from him, kneeling down beside Elena’s mattress.
My sister shrank back instinctively, terrified of the man standing before her. Seeing that fear pierced my heart deeper than any knife Lorenzo could have wielded.
“Elena,” I whispered softly, dropping to my knees and removing my heavy wool coat. I draped it gently over her shivering shoulders. “Look at me. I'm sorry. I'm so damn sorry.”
Elena blinked her large, tear-filled eyes, looking up at my face. Slowly, tentatively, she reached out a thin, pale hand and touched my cheek, tracing the scar across my jawline—a scar I had gotten during our childhood together.
“Victor…?” she sobbed, throwing her arms around my neck and burying her face in my shoulder. “You came. You really came.”
I wrapped my arms around her fragile frame, holding her tightly, feeling the tears burn behind my own eyes for the first time in twelve years.
“I’m here,” I choked out, my voice thick with emotion. “You're safe now. No one will ever hurt you again. I swear it on our parents' graves.”
Beatrice broke down completely, covering her face with her hands as she wept tears of overwhelming relief.
Behind us, Lorenzo let out a harsh, defeated laugh.
“You think you’ve won, Victor?” Lorenzo sneered, blood pooling around his chin. “You think killing me solves everything? The board hates you. The politicians own you. You’re a dying king on a throne of glass!”
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I stood up slowly, leaving my coat draped over Elena. I turned to look at Lorenzo, my eyes burning with a dark, terrifying fire.
“My throne isn't made of glass, Lorenzo,” I said quietly, signaling to Marcus. “It’s made of iron. And you’re about to become the foundation.”
