Chapter 10
The bright cinematic light of the gala felt surreal against the blood and shattered glass. Damian stood tall, holding Lily securely in his left arm, his right hand resting protectively on Elena’s uninjured shoulder. He looked out at the terrified, fair-skinned guests who had watched his daughter nearly die, and who had witnessed the brutal, unrelenting wrath of their host.
"The gala... is over," Damian announced, his deep, commanding American accent echoing through the vaulted room. "My men will escort you to your vehicles. If anyone speaks a word of what happened here tonight to the press or the authorities, I will know. And I will find you."
The guests didn't need to be told twice. They scrambled toward the exits in a hushed, panicked frenzy, desperate to escape the gravitational pull of the Mafia Boss's fury.
Damian turned to his lead capo, who had just returned from securing the perimeter.
"Get the medical team to my private study immediately to tend to Elena," Damian ordered quietly. "Then, I want Grant Mercer transported to the secure warehouse at the docks. Keep him alive. I need him conscious for what comes next."
"Understood, Boss," the capo replied, his face grim. "And what about the Chicago outfit?"
Damian looked down at his daughter. Lily was resting her head on his shoulder, her small, worn flats dangling against his tailored suit. She was exhausted, terrified, but fundamentally safe. He kissed the top of her head, the charming, romantic look completely returning to his face as he held her.
But when he looked back up at his capo, his cold, sharp, intimidating eyes were burning with the fires of absolute war.
"They thought they could buy my grief," Damian whispered, his voice a low, lethal hum that promised a tidal wave of violence. "They thought a check for two million dollars was enough to bury my bloodline."
He slowly adjusted his grip on his daughter, his tattooed fingers flexing.
"Send a message to all our lieutenants across the country," Damian commanded, the controlled pauses in his speech highlighting the gravity of his words. "Mobilize every soldier on the payroll. We are locking down the city, and then... we are marching west."
"We're going to war over this?" the capo asked, a fierce loyalty shining in his eyes.
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"We are not going to war," Damian corrected softly, his handsome face turning to stone under the bright, natural light of the destroyed boutique. "We are going... to eradicate them. By the time I am finished, the Chicago syndicate will be nothing but a memory... written in ash."
Damian turned and walked out of the ruined hall, carrying his daughter toward safety, leaving the shattered crystal and the bleeding traitors behind him. The lines had been drawn in blood, and Damian Bellucci was ready to show the world exactly what happens when you threaten the child of a king.
