Chapter 10
Damon’s hand dropped from Clara’s face, moving swiftly to the heavy pistol holstered beneath his tailored suit jacket. He positioned his broad shoulders between Clara and the doorway, his angular face setting into a mask of pure, lethal authority.
"Enter," Damon commanded, his deep voice slicing through the heavy silence of the sitting room.
The heavy oak door swung open. Vance, Damon’s most trusted and scarred lead enforcer, stepped into the room. His face was pale and grim under the warm lighting.
"Boss, we have a massive problem," Vance reported, catching his breath. "Celeste’s father knows. One of her personal guards managed to get a distress signal out before we jammed their communications and locked them down."
"Are they demanding negotiations?" Damon asked, his voice a terrifying, measured calm.
"No, sir. They aren't talking," Vance said, checking the magazine of his weapon with a sharp, metallic click. "We just got word from the perimeter guards. A convoy of heavily armored, unmarked vehicles has breached the southern gates. The Morrow family is heavily armed, and they are moving aggressively toward the main house."
Damon’s eyes darkened to pitch. The immediate threat of Celeste was neutralized, but the civil war she had ignited had arrived at his doorstep far faster than anticipated. Her father was executing a full-scale military assault to wipe out Damon, erase the humiliation of the exposed sabotage, and take the throne of the syndicate by force.
He looked at Clara, the protective instinct surging through his veins with terrifying force. The bright, airy world he wanted to build with her was currently under siege by monsters.
"Go back inside the bedroom with Oliver," Damon commanded, his voice absolute and leaving no room for argument. "Lock the heavy steel security door from the inside. The biometric lock will only open for me. Do not come out until I tell you it is safe."
"Damon, please," Clara begged, grabbing the sleeve of his dark suit, her expressive eyes wide with terror. "They will kill you. There are too many of them."
"I am going to slaughter every man who steps foot on my property tonight," Damon promised, reaching out to pull her flush against his chest for one brief, desperate embrace. He pressed a fierce kiss to her forehead. "I will come back to you. Now go!"
Clara turned and ran into the master bedroom, the heavy steel security door slamming shut and locking with a definitive, echoing thud.
Damon turned back to Vance, his artistic tattoos stark in the dim light as he drew his weapon. The tailored three-piece suit no longer looked like evening wear; it looked like armor.
"Mobilize the strike teams," Damon ordered as he strode out of the suite and headed for the grand staircase. "I want snipers on the roof and a choke point established in the grand salon. No one breaches the second floor."
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"Yes, Boss," Vance nodded grimly, speaking rapidly into his tactical radio.
The estate, previously a beacon of Christmas warmth, was instantly transformed into a fortress preparing for a bloodbath. Sirens wailed in the distance as Damon descended the marble stairs, his leather shoes silent, walking directly into the impending slaughter to defend his empire and the family he had finally claimed.
