Chapter 9
Damon gently untangled himself from his sons, giving them each a reassuring squeeze before standing up to his full, imposing height.
"Stay here with the guards, boys. I will be right back," Damon said warmly, before turning to follow Marcus out into the hallway.
The heavy doors clicked shut, isolating the children in safety. The bright, cinematic lighting of the corridor illuminated the serious expression on Marcus's face.
"What is the situation?" Damon demanded, his voice instantly dropping back into the cold, calculated register of the Mafia boss.
"Judge Sutton received the footage, just as you planned," Marcus reported, adjusting the cuffs of his professional suit. "He is furious. He completely disavowed Brielle’s actions and claims he had no idea she was mistreating the children."
"He's a politician. He lies for a living," Damon stated flatly. "What did he say about the alliance?"
"That's the problem, Damon," Marcus sighed, his American accent tense. "He considers the breaking of the engagement a public humiliation for his family. He says that if you throw his daughter out onto the street, it makes him look weak to his political rivals. He is demanding that we keep the engagement intact, at least publicly, for another six months."
Damon let out a low, dangerous laugh. "He wants me to keep the woman who tortured my sons in my house for optics?"
"He threatened to leverage the federal wiretaps if you refuse," Marcus warned, his fair skin paling slightly. "He says he can have the FBI raiding our warehouses by midnight if you don't play ball."
Damon turned and stared out the massive window at the end of the hallway, looking out over the sprawling, brightly lit grounds of his estate. He saw the black SUVs of his security detail patrolling the perimeter. He had built this empire through blood, negotiation, and fear. He had tolerated the Sutton family's arrogance because their political cover was invaluable.
But today, the rules had fundamentally changed.
"Marcus," Damon said slowly, his voice a lethal, vibrating hum that echoed off the high walls. "Tell the men at the warehouses to burn the ledgers and move the inventory to the secondary safe houses. Initiate the blackout protocols."
Marcus’s eyes widened in shock. "Damon, if we do that, we are essentially declaring open war on a federal judge. The Suttons will mobilize the entire state police force against us."
"Let them," Damon replied, turning his head to look at his trusted Capo with eyes as cold as a winter storm. "I am not negotiating the safety of my children for political cover."
"What about Brielle?" Marcus asked, his hand instinctively resting near his concealed weapon. "She is currently waiting at the front gate with her luggage."
"Leave her at the gate," Damon commanded, his handsome face hardening into a mask of pure, unadulterated resolve. "When her brothers arrive to pick her up, tell them to deliver a message to the Judge."
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"What message, Boss?"
"Tell them," Damon whispered, the sheer, deeply masculine power of his authority filling the bright corridor, "that if they want to use their federal badges against my family, they had better send an army. Because I am going to paint the streets with them."
