Chapter 10 - THE FINAL RECKONINGSmoke and splintered wood filled the doorway.
Marco stepped into the broadcast suite, holding a high-caliber automatic rifle, his face twisted into a mask of pure, murderous fury. Behind him stood two armed goons, their weapons raised.
“Clever little maid,” Marco snarled, stepping over the threshold. “You and your brat should have stayed in the garden.”
I scrambled backward from the console, my hand frantically reaching for the pistol in my apron pocket, but Marco was too fast. He raised his rifle, aiming straight at my chest.
“Say goodbye to your nursing career,” Marco muttered, tightening his finger on the trigger.
Bang.
A single, deafening gunshot echoed through the room.
Not from Marco’s gun.
Marco suddenly froze, his eyes widening in utter disbelief. A ragged crimson hole blossomed directly through the center of his chest. He dropped his weapon, staggered backward, and collapsed heavily onto the floor, motionless.
I gasped, looking toward the shattered doorway.
Standing in the frame, leaning heavily against the doorpost with a smoking pistol in his hand, was Lorenzo Duca.
His tactical jacket was torn, fresh blood soaked through his bandages, and his face was pale as death—but his dark eyes burned with the absolute fury of a king reclaiming his throne.
“You missed one, Marco,” Lorenzo rasped, stepping into the room.
The two remaining goons panicked, swinging their assault rifles toward Lorenzo—but before they could pull the trigger, the reinforced windows behind them shattered.
From the balcony outside, two of Lorenzo’s loyal capos—men who had remained faithful to the true bloodline—descended on rappelling ropes, neutralizing the guards in a blinding flurry of professional violence.
Silence descended upon the broadcast suite, broken only by the hum of the computers and the distant, panicked shouts echoing from the ballroom below.
Lorenzo walked slowly across the room, stopping right in front of me. He looked down at my trembling hands, then up at my face.
“Are you and Emma alright?” he asked, his voice softening just a fraction.
“We’re fine,” I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs. “She’s safe in the truck.”
Lorenzo nodded, then turned his gaze toward the wall monitor where Elena’s face was frozen in a mask of total defeat as the syndicate capos swarmed the stage in the ballroom below to place her under arrest.
“The family business is a dirty thing, Clara,” Lorenzo said quietly, sliding his pistol back into his holster. “Most people run from it.”
“I didn’t run,” I replied, standing up straight and meeting his gaze with unblinking defiance. “I survived.”
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Lorenzo stared at me for a long, heavy moment, a slow, genuine smile finally breaking through the hardened lines of his face.
“So you did,” he murmured, holding out his hand. “Come on, Clara. Let’s go tell your daughter that her bodyguard is ready to take her home.”
