His older cousin Clive violently pulled the chair backward

The Moretti underboss groaned, clutching his bleeding shoulder as he looked up at the towering figure of Lachlan Bellcroft. The cinematic lighting of the burning SUVs cast flickering, violent shadows across Lachlan’s handsome, angular face. The artistic tattoos on his hands gripped the weapon with absolute, terrifying stability.

“He said you were weak,” the underboss gasped, coughing heavily. “He said you were distracted. That the family was fracturing over the wedding.”

“Is protecting my family a distraction, or is it the very foundation of my strength?” Lachlan asked softly, his deep voice carrying clearly over the crackling flames of the ruined vehicles.

The underboss had no answer. He squeezed his eyes shut, anticipating the final shot.

“Will you return to your boss and inform him that the Bellcroft syndicate is no longer accepting unsolicited visitors?” Lachlan asked.

The underboss opened his eyes in shock, realizing he was being spared as a messenger. He nodded frantically. “Yes. Yes, I’ll tell him.”

Lachlan lowered his weapon slowly. He turned his broad shoulders, looking back toward the massive, brilliantly lit mansion. The gunfire had ceased entirely. His men were securing the perimeter, moving with the disciplined efficiency that made the Bellcroft family the most feared in the city. The ambush was a total, devastating victory.

“Are the casualties on our side confirmed?” Lachlan asked his lead enforcer as he walked back toward the main house.

“Two wounded, Boss. None critical,” the enforcer reported proudly. “We completely crushed them. The Morettis won't recover from this loss of manpower for years.”

“Will you ensure the wounded are given the best medical care available, and double the hazard pay for every man who fought tonight?” Lachlan instructed, holstering his weapon.

“Yes, Boss. What about Clive?” the enforcer asked.

Lachlan paused, his sharp jawline tightening. Clive had orchestrated this massacre. He had sold the family secrets and invited an invading army onto their property.

“Do you believe a traitor deserves the comfort of a quick resolution, or should he sit in the dark and imagine what I am going to do to him for a few more days?” Lachlan asked softly.

“Let him rot, Boss,” the enforcer smirked.

Lachlan nodded, ascending the marble steps of the portico. The adrenaline was finally beginning to ebb, leaving behind a profound, aching exhaustion. He had defended his empire, secured his borders, and solidified his rule. But as he stepped through the heavy oak doors into the pristine grand foyer, his mind was entirely focused on the woman waiting in the dark.

He didn't stop to address the terrified wedding guests who were slowly emerging from the secure bunkers. He walked with rapid, purposeful strides, his leather shoes clicking loudly on the marble floors. He bypassed the main staircase, heading directly for the heavy, reinforced steel door of the wine cellar bunker.