Chapter 20 - Blood, Fire, and EmpireWe burst onto the upper balcony just as Vincent was reaching for a hidden submachine gun on the marble console table.
"End of the line, Vincent," Dante roared, closing the distance between them in three massive strides.
Vincent whipped around, drawing his weapon, but Dante was faster. He slammed his fist straight into Vincent’s jaw with a sickening crunch, sending the older man flying backward over the ornate iron railing.
Vincent caught the edge of the balcony with one hand, dangling twelve feet above the marble floor of the ballroom below, his face pale, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Dante walked to the edge of the balcony, looking down at his uncle with eyes as cold and dead as winter.
"Please," Vincent gasped, coughing up a mouthful of blood, his fingers slipping against the cold iron. "Dante... we're family. Blood... blood is everything."
"You're right," Dante said quietly, his voice like the edge of a razor. "Blood is everything."
He reached down, grabbing Vincent by the collar of his expensive trench coat, hauling him up just enough to look him dead in the eye.
"And you spilled too much of it."
With a sudden, violent heave, Dante let go.
Vincent let out a terrifying scream as he plummeted twelve feet straight down, crashing heavily onto the center of the ballroom floor below, motionless.
The silence that followed was absolute.
I stood beside Dante on the balcony, lowering my weapon as my breathing slowly returned to normal. Below us, Marco and the guards secured the area, confirming the threat was entirely neutralized.
Dante turned to me, his chest heaving, the dragon tattoo on his hand dark and prominent against his skin. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out, cupping my face with his palm, his thumb gently tracing the crescent scar near my eye.
"It's over," he whispered, his voice trembling slightly for the first time. "The ghosts are finally gone."
I leaned into his touch, feeling the deep, unbreakable anchor of his warmth, and smiled—that same small, defiant smile with the dimple at the corner of my mouth.
"Good," I whispered back. "Because I'm done running from dragons."
Three months later, the estate was quiet once more, but it wasn't a fortress of fear anymore. It was a home.
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In the grand study, above the restored fireplace, a new portrait hung proudly beside the old ones. It featured Dante, myself holding little Lukas, and a small silver dragon pin resting on my lapel. We weren't hiding in the shadows anymore.
We ruled them. Together.
