Chapter 10
The scent of gunpowder and blood hung heavy in the cool night air. Alaric stood amidst the smoking ruins of his western gardens, his tailored three-piece suit completely unblemished by the violence that had just occurred. He looked down at the bodies of the Coletti soldiers scattered across the grass.
"They expected an easy victory," Alaric said softly, his deep, raspy voice echoing in the sudden quiet. "They expected me to cower behind my walls."
He turned back toward the main house, his cold, intimidating eyes locking onto Silas.
"The assault on their compound proceeds," Alaric ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. "They have exhausted their best men here. I want their leadership eliminated tonight. Leave absolutely no survivors."
"It will be a bloodbath, Alaric," Silas warned, wiping a streak of soot from his face.
"It will be an extermination," Alaric corrected him smoothly. "Burn it to the ground."
As Silas hurried off to mobilize the strike teams, Alaric walked back onto the rear terrace. He stood alone for a long moment, looking out over his vast estate. The physical threat had been neutralized, but the political fallout within the underworld would be catastrophic. He had executed a Capo, imprisoned his son-in-law, and declared war on two massive rival syndicates in a single afternoon.
But as he looked up at the darkened window of his daughter's suite, a profound sense of absolute resolve settled over him. He was the Don. He was the architect of this violent empire. And he would tear the world apart piece by piece before he allowed anyone to threaten his bloodline.
He walked back inside the mansion, navigating the quiet, brilliantly lit corridors. He took the private elevator down to the subterranean holding cells beneath the estate.
The heavy steel door slid open. The grim, concrete corridor was a stark contrast to the luxurious upper floors. Two bodyguards stood outside a reinforced cell at the end of the hall. They opened it immediately as Alaric approached.
Inside the harsh, fluorescently lit room, Bastian and Evelyn were chained to heavy metal chairs. They looked up, their fair faces pale and exhausted. The distant, muffled sound of the gunfire had reached them, and the sheer terror in their eyes confirmed they knew exactly what it meant.
"Alaric," Bastian gasped, his breathing labored from his broken ribs. "What... what happened?"
"Your men came for my daughter," Alaric stated softly, stopping in the center of the room. His cold, sharp eyes bored into his son-in-law. "They died on my grass. And your compound is currently burning to the ground."
Evelyn let out a pathetic sob, dropping her head. The final shred of hope for their rescue was entirely gone.
"You killed them all," Evelyn wept.
"I protected my house," Alaric corrected her, his voice a low, lethal hum. "From the enemies outside, and the parasites within."
He looked at Bastian, his sharply defined jawline ticking with cold calculation. "You believed I was weak. You believed my focus was divided. You failed to realize that my love for my family is the exact reason I will never hesitate to destroy anyone who threatens my peace."
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"What are you going to do to us?" Bastian whimpered, entirely broken.
Alaric did not answer. He stared at the two traitors, the master of his domain, his power absolute. The war had just begun, but the victor was already decided.
