Chapter 10
The sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting long, sharp shadows across the manicured lawns of the Roswell estate, though the cinematic light remained bright and vividly colored. At the towering wrought-iron front gates, Brielle Sutton stood completely alone. She wore her expensive party dress, shivering slightly in the cooling breeze, her designer luggage stacked haphazardly around her heels. The rosy flush of her skin had been entirely replaced by a sickly, terrified pallor.
She looked up at the massive security cameras tracking her every movement. Two of Damon’s heavily armed bodyguards stood just inside the gate, their professional suits immaculate, their faces devoid of any pity. They watched her in silence.
Finally, a convoy of three sleek, black government-issued SUVs roared down the private access road. They came to a screeching halt just outside the gates, gravel flying under their heavy tires.
The doors of the lead vehicle flew open. Two men stepped out. They were Brielle’s older brothers, both possessing the same fair, aristocratic features as their sister, but their expressions were twisted with explosive, humiliated rage.
"You stupid, arrogant bitch!" the oldest brother shouted, marching toward the gate. He didn't offer a word of comfort. He reached through the iron bars and aggressively grabbed her luggage, yanking it toward the vehicles. "Do you have any idea what you have cost this family today?"
"I'm sorry!" Brielle sobbed, tears ruining her makeup as she frantically tried to explain. "It was a mistake! Damon overreacted!"
"He sent us the video, Brielle!" her other brother yelled, his American accent cracking with fury. "You tied his kid to a post! You provoked a war with the most dangerous syndicate in the state over a temper tantrum!"
As the brothers hauled her belongings into the SUV, the heavy iron gates slowly began to hum, sliding open just enough for a single man to step through.
Damon Roswell stepped out from the shadows of the gatehouse and into the bright evening light.
The Sutton brothers immediately froze, their political arrogance evaporating in the face of the veteran Mafia boss. They instinctively took a step back, recognizing the lethal, unyielding power radiating from his tailored suit and broad shoulders.
"Damon," the oldest brother stammered, attempting to adopt a diplomatic tone. "We are taking her off your hands. My father wants to arrange a meeting tomorrow to discuss a peaceful resolution to this... misunderstanding."
Damon did not look at Brielle, who was weeping uncontrollably near the tires of the SUV. He fixed his cold, sharp gaze directly on the two men.
"There will be no meeting," Damon stated, his deep voice carrying clearly over the idling engines of the vehicles. He spoke with measured, terrifying precision. "You tell your father that the alliance is dead. If he signs a single warrant, if he sends a single federal agent near my businesses, I will not respond in a courtroom."
The brothers swallowed hard, their fair skin turning pale.
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"Take her," Damon commanded, turning his back on them as the heavy iron gates began to close again. "And tell the Judge to lock his doors tonight."
The gates locked with a definitive, metallic clang. Damon walked back up the long, bright driveway toward his estate, where his sons were waiting safely inside. He had severed the ties to the political elite, choosing a path of absolute, bloody sovereignty to protect his bloodline. The war had officially begun, and Damon Roswell was ready to show the city exactly why he was the undisputed king.
