Chapter 10
The rhythmic, agonizing pop of the ball machine echoed across the private tennis club for another long, brutal minute. The bright video colors of the summer afternoon felt entirely disconnected from the dark, methodical punishment being inflicted. Evelyn had collapsed completely, huddled on the green surface, weeping uncontrollably as the high-velocity strikes left dark, swelling bruises across her arms and legs. She had been physically and psychologically broken, stripped of every ounce of her aristocratic arrogance.
Damon finally hit the stop switch. The machine powered down with a dying mechanical whine.
The silence that followed was heavy and absolute. Damon adjusted the cuffs of his tailored dark three-piece suit. He didn't spare another glance at the weeping woman on the service line, nor the bleeding man near the racket rack. They were no longer a threat; they were simply ghosts of a dead syndicate.
He walked slowly across the court toward the gate. The two bodyguards stepped aside as he approached Cora and Hazel.
Cora was still trembling, holding her smartphone tightly against her chest, but she stood tall as the Boss approached.
Damon looked down at the twenty-seven-year-old attendant. The cold, intimidating stare softened entirely. "You protected my blood today," Damon murmured, his deep American accent thick with genuine gratitude. "What is your name?"
"Cora, sir," she whispered, her fair, rosy face pale but resolute.
"You no longer work here, Cora," Damon stated softly. Before the panic could set in, he continued. "You are now the head of security for my daughter's personal detail. Your salary is tripled. You answer only to me."
Cora gasped, tears of relief spilling over her cheeks. "Thank you, Mr. Lockwood. I won't let you down."
"I know," Damon nodded.
He dropped to one knee, lifting Hazel gently into his arms. The three-year-old girl wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, burying her face into his shoulder.
"Is it over, Daddy?" Hazel asked, her tiny voice muffled against his suit.
"It's over, sweetheart. They are never going to hurt you again," Damon promised, pressing a firm kiss to her cheek.
He stood up and walked through the gate, carrying his daughter away from the bright, cinematic violence of the court. He pulled a sleek, encrypted smartphone from his pocket. He dialed a single number.
"Silas," Damon said as his lead capo answered the line. His voice dropped back into the measured, cold, and dangerous register of a wartime general. "The Price siblings have breached the contract. The alliance is terminated."
"Understood, Boss," Silas replied instantly. "What are your orders?"
"Execute the takeover," Damon commanded softly, walking toward his armored SUV waiting in the parking lot. "Raid their warehouses. Seize the eastern ports. If anyone claiming loyalty to the Price family resists... eliminate them. Burn their empire to the ground."
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"Consider it done," the capo affirmed, the sound of a firearm being racked echoing faintly through the speaker before the line went dead.
Damon slipped the phone back into his pocket. He buckled Hazel safely into her car seat, ensuring she was completely comfortable. As he slid behind the wheel of the heavy vehicle, he looked back at the tennis club one last time. He had protected his daughter and exposed a traitorous alliance in a single afternoon. But as the engine roared to life, Damon knew the war for total control of the city had only just begun. And the Mafia Boss was more than ready to paint the streets red to keep his throne.
