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🚨 THE ICE KING’S DEBT: WHEN THE STRANGER RETURNED HIS RING / Chapter 7 / 8

Chapter 7 - THE SIEGE OF CHICAGO

"When the king goes to war, the sky burns."

Before Damian could pull the trigger, the heavy double doors of the VIP lounge were blown off their hinges by a explosive charge!

BOOM!

The force of the blast threw Clara to the floor. Plaster and smoke filled the air.

Marco Falcone’s elite hit squad rushed into the lounge, firing indiscriminately. Damian grabbed Clara, tackling her behind a heavy marble bar as bullets tore through the room.

"Stay down!" Damian yelled over the deafening gunfire.

Outside, the entire Drake Hotel erupted into chaos. Gunfire echoed through the corridors as Rossi loyalists engaged Falcone’s men in a full-scale war.

Damian popped out from behind the bar, firing with deadly, terrifying precision, dropping three attackers in seconds. But they were outnumbered. Marco Falcone stepped into the smoke-filled room, surrounded by four heavily armed mercenaries.

"It ends tonight, Damian!" Marco roared, holding a high-caliber pistol. "Your father died begging for mercy, and you will die right beside your little civilian whore!"

Damian ran out of ammunition. The slide of his pistol locked back empty.

Marco pointed his gun directly at Damian’s chest. "Goodbye, Ice Boss."

CRASH!

Suddenly, Clara swung a heavy brass antique statue—which she had grabbed from a display table—with all her strength, smashing it against the back of Marco Falcone’s head!

Marco groaned, stumbling forward.

That split second was all Damian needed.

Damian lunged forward, grabbing Marco’s wrist, twisting it until the bone snapped with a sickening crack. Marco screamed as Damian snatched the pistol from his hands, swept his legs, and pinned the old mobster to the shattered floor.

Damian placed his boot squarely on Marco’s neck, pressing down just enough to cut off his air supply.

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The kitchen was so quiet you could hear the distant murmur of the jazz trio outside, playing as if the world hadn't just tilted on its axis. Grant stared at the single sheet of thick parchment resting against the cold Italian marble. His breath caught, a shallow, ragged hitch that gave away his panic before his voice ever could.

The kitchen was so quiet you could hear the distant murmur of the jazz t...

The silence that settled over the Ashford Hills grand terrace after my wedding ring hit the champagne glass wasn’t the polite hush of a high-society dinner. It was the breathless vacuum that precedes an explosion. Around us, smartphones remained elevated, lenses locked on Grant’s face as the pale gold liquid rippled around the platinum band.

The silence that settled over the Ashford Hills grand terrace after my w...

The morning light cut sharp angles across my kitchen counter, illuminating the printed email from Brookfield Academy like a neon sign pointing directly to Nathan’s downfall. Dr. Evelyn Mercer’s office phone rang twice before her brisk, professional voice picked up.

The morning light cut sharp angles across my kitchen counter, illuminati...

The remaining mercenaries, seeing their boss captured and surrounded as Rossi reinforcements flooded the room, immediately dropped their weapons and surrendered.

"It's over, Marco," Damian whispered, staring down at his father's killer. "Your empire dies tonight."

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