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The Mafia Boss Caught Me Bleeding At 3 AM—Then He Realized The Bruises On My Back Weren't From An Accident, But A Hit Contract On His Own Life. / Chapter 7 / 8

Chapter 7 - Blood On The HelipadA flash of light tore through the rain.

The force of the gunshot made me flinch, but I felt no pain.

Instead, beside me, Marcus Vane let out a horrific, gurgling scream.

He stumbled backward, clutching his throat where a crimson fountain was spraying into the rain. He looked at Julian in utter disbelief before collapsing onto the wet helipad floor, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

Julian hadn't shot me.

He had shot Marcus Vane.

Before I could process what had just happened, four blacked-out SUVs smashed through the helipad perimeter gates. Dozens of tactical officers wearing FBI windbreakers spilled out, weapons raised, floodlights blinding the roof.

"FEDERAL AGENTS! DROP YOUR WEAPONS! DON'T MOVE!"

I stood frozen, completely overwhelmed.

Julian lowered his gun, raised his hands, and slowly walked toward me through the driving rain. He stopped inches away, letting his weapon drop onto the wet concrete.

"I had to make Vane believe I betrayed you, Evelyn," Julian said, his voice raw with emotion, rain dripping off his nose and jaw. "The casino audio feeds were being monitored by Vane's entire council. If I didn't act like I was turning on you, his men would have executed you in that vault before you could reach the vents."

"You... you knew about the vents?" I stuttered, my mind racing.

"I built this casino’s security system four years ago," Julian smiled faintly, a gentle, broken smile. "I knew you were smart enough to use the ventilation shaft. I brought the FBI here. I called your director two hours ago and gave them the coordinates."

The FBI tactical team swarmed the helipad, pinning Vane's surviving guards to the deck.

A senior agent stepped out of the lead SUV—Director Vance, my uncle, the man who had believed I was dead for three long years.

"Evelyn?" my uncle breathed, dropping his flashlight in shock as he recognized my face beneath the rain and soot. "My God... you're alive."

"Uncle David..." I whispered.

"She’s alive, Director," Julian said, turning to face my uncle, placing his hands behind his back to accept the handcuffs. "And she has your evidence. The Vane syndicate is finished. My family’s hands are clean of your squad’s blood."

An agent stepped forward, roughly slamming Julian down onto the hood of an SUV and slapping heavy steel cuffs around his wrists.

"Julian Moretti," the agent recited cold Miranda warnings. "You have the right to remain silent..."

Julian didn't listen to the agent. He kept his eyes locked on mine as they pressed his face against the cold, wet metal of the car.

"You’re free now, Evelyn," Julian called out, a bittersweet smile touching his lips. "The maid is dead. You can be an agent again."

I watched as they shoved him into the back of the federal vehicle. My hand clutched the silver drive against my chest, the cold metal burning into my palm.

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The heavy iron gates of the Moretti estate hissed shut, sealing off the sprawling Westchester property from the outside world. Inside the main salon, the glittering chandeliers still cast a warm amber glow over the shattered porcelain of Ethan’s ruined birthday cake, but the festive atmosphere had been replaced by a suffocating, lethal silence.

The heavy iron gates of the Moretti estate hissed shut, sealing off the...

The heavy oak doors of the Westchester estate clicked shut, sealing out the damp autumn wind and the remaining murmurs of the panicked guests. Inside, the silence was absolute—a suffocating, heavy quiet that usually preceded a storm in the Moretti household. Dominic Moretti stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his private study, his silhouette framed against the pale moonlight. He hadn’t touched a drink, but his knuckles were stark white as they gripped the mahogany windowsill.

The heavy oak doors of the Westchester estate clicked shut, sealing out...

The sterile silence of the Moretti estate’s private chapel was shattered not by a prayer, but by the frantic, echoing ring of a burner phone. Lorenzo Moretti stood frozen in the dim candlelight, the heavy bronze key still cool and damning in his palm. Beside him, Sophia Hale clutched her trembling daughter, Lily,

The sterile silence of the Moretti estate’s private chapel was shattered...

I had my life back. I had my justice. I had cleared my name and avenged my dead squad.

So why did my heart feel completely dead inside?

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