Chapter 10
The struggle over the heavy pistol was a grotesque, desperate dance of betrayal. Celeste scratched wildly at Marcus’s face, her diamond bracelets leaving bloody gouges across his fair, rosy skin. Marcus snarled, twisting her wrist brutally until she shrieked in pain, trying to pry the weapon from her manicured grip. They knocked over crystal wine glasses, sending dark red wine spilling across the pristine white tablecloth like fresh blood.
Dante sat perfectly still, observing the carnage. The six heavily armed bodyguards remained absolutely motionless, their faces set in stone, ensuring neither traitor turned the weapon toward the Boss.
With a sudden, violent wrench, Marcus tore the pistol from Celeste’s hands.
Celeste screamed, falling backward away from the table, tumbling onto the carpet in a tangle of ruined sapphire silk. She threw her hands up over her face, weeping hysterically, preparing for the inevitable crack of the gunshot.
Marcus stood leaning against the table, his breath rattling wetly in his shattered chest. He held the heavy, matte-black pistol in his shaking hand. He looked down at the woman he had claimed to love, his eyes devoid of anything but pure, unadulterated survival instinct.
He slowly raised the weapon, pointing the barrel directly at Celeste’s head.
"I'm sorry, Celeste," Marcus wheezed, blood trickling from his split lip. "It was you or me."
Marcus closed his eyes, his finger tightening on the trigger. He pulled it.
Click.
The dull, hollow, metallic click echoed loudly through the silent dining hall. There was no gunshot. There was no explosion.
Marcus’s eyes snapped open in sheer, breathless shock. He stared at the weapon in his hand, his mind failing to process the reality. He pulled the trigger again. And again.
Click. Click. Click.
The gun was completely empty.
Celeste slowly lowered her hands from her face. She looked at the empty gun, then up at Marcus, her chest heaving as the horrific realization washed over them both.
Dante slowly stood up from his heavy leather chair at the head of the table. He adjusted the cuffs of his tailored three-piece suit, his terrifying, deeply masculine presence completely suffocating the room.
"You have both... made your choice," Dante whispered.
His deep, raspy voice was entirely devoid of mercy. He walked slowly toward the table, the bright, cinematic lights catching the cold, unyielding granite of his handsome face. He had never intended to let either of them live. The gun was simply a test to extract their secrets and strip away their final shreds of humanity.
Dante stopped at the edge of the table. He looked at his lead bodyguard.
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"Take them to the soundproof basement," Dante commanded, his tone dropping into a register of pure, concentrated ice. "They chose to betray this family together. They will die... together."
As the bodyguards moved in to drag the screaming, completely broken traitors out of the bright, beautiful room, Dante turned his back on them. The war within his house was over, but the war with the Chicago syndicate had just begun. He walked toward the heavy oak doors, stepping out into the quiet corridors to check on his daughter, ready to burn the city to the ground to keep her safe.
