Chapter 9
The mechanical hum of the ball machine roaring back to life sounded incredibly loud in the tense, silent air of the tennis court. The bright, cinematic lighting caught the fear shining in Evelyn's eyes as she stood paralyzed on the service line. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, bracing herself for the impact, completely abandoned by her brother and her pride.
Damon stood beside the machine, his hand resting casually on the release lever. He looked at Evelyn, his cold, intimidating eyes assessing her terror with objective, chilling precision.
"You believed," Damon said, his low, measured voice carrying effortlessly across the distance, "that because you wore my ring, you held my power."
Evelyn sobbed, unable to articulate a response as the machine vibrated heavily on the pavement.
"You believed that my daughter was an obstacle," Damon continued, utilizing the slow, controlled pauses that made his threats so devastating. "But she is the foundation of this empire. You are simply a passing convenience."
Damon didn't hesitate. He pulled the release lever.
The machine let out a deafening, aggressive pop. A high-velocity tennis ball fired across the court at maximum speed. It didn't bounce. It flew like a green bullet, striking Evelyn squarely in the center of her thigh.
"Ah!" Evelyn screamed, her legs buckling instantly from the agonizing kinetic force. The impact left a massive, burning welt against her fair, rosy skin. She dropped to one knee, clutching her leg, tears streaming down her face.
Damon waited. He didn't fire a relentless barrage. The psychological torture of the wait was infinitely worse.
"Stand up," Damon commanded softly.
Evelyn shook her head, weeping openly. "Please, no more! I can't!"
"If you do not stand," Damon whispered, his voice a dead, emotionless void, "I will aim for your face."
Terrified, Evelyn forced herself back up to her feet, her athletic shoes squeaking against the court. She raised her arms, shielding her face exactly as Hazel had done. The humiliating role reversal was absolute.
"Damon, this will break the alliance," Miles groaned from the floor, desperately trying to appeal to the business side of the Mafia Boss. "The eastern port contracts... you need our signatures."
"I don't need your signatures, Miles," Damon replied, not even turning his head to look at the bleeding man. "I have your territory surrounded. While you were busy planning a wedding and bullying a toddler, I was buying out your lieutenants. The merger was a distraction. This alliance has been dead for a month."
Miles’s eyes widened in sheer, catastrophic realization. They hadn't just lost the marriage; they had lost their entire criminal empire. They had walked blindly into a trap, entirely orchestrated by the cold, calculating man standing by the machine.
"You set us up," Miles gasped, blood bubbling on his lips.
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"I secured my future," Damon corrected him smoothly. He looked back at Evelyn, who was trembling violently on the service line. "And now, I am taking out the trash."
He reached for the release lever again, his sharp, refined tattoos flexing in the bright sunlight. The execution of the Price family legacy was continuing, one brutal, high-velocity strike at a time.
