Chapter 10
The atmosphere in Damon’s private study was warm and secure, heavily guarded by the two syndicate enforcers stationed inside. Evelyn Reed closed the door softly behind her, engaging the heavy brass deadbolt once more. She smoothed her black A-line skirt and walked over to the massive leather sofa where Alfie was curled up, wrapped in a thick, cashmere blanket.
The seven-year-old boy was fighting sleep, his trusting blue eyes heavy with exhaustion. The formal dinner jacket had been draped over a nearby chair, leaving him in his crisp buttoned shirt.
“Is my dad coming, Evelyn?” Alfie asked softly, stifling a yawn.
“He will be here very soon, Alfie,” Evelyn promised, sitting gently on the edge of the sofa and brushing a stray lock of hair from the boy's forehead. “He just has a few things to clean up downstairs. You don't have to worry about Miss Lisette anymore. She is gone.”
Alfie nodded slowly, the tension finally leaving his small body. Within minutes, the rhythmic sound of his deep breathing filled the study. He had fallen fast asleep, oblivious to the massive gang war that was currently being orchestrated in his name.
Downstairs, Damon Whitmore was no longer the polite host of an engagement dinner. He was a general preparing for a massacre. He stood in the mansion's heavily fortified communications room, surrounded by his top lieutenants. The ivory wall panels and crystal chandeliers were replaced by glowing monitors and tactical maps of the city.
Damon stripped off his tailored suit jacket, rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt to reveal the extensive, refined tattoos wrapping entirely around his powerful forearms. He leaned over the central table, his cold, observant eyes tracing the locations of the Marzano family's primary strongholds.
“Have our strike teams moved into position around the Marzano docks? Are the snipers holding the high ground above their downtown casino?” Damon asked, his deep voice carrying absolute authority.
His chief lieutenant nodded grimly. “Yes, boss. We are locked and loaded. We just need the green light.”
Damon looked at the map, his sharp jaw setting into a brutal, unforgiving line. The engagement ring Lisette had worn was sitting heavily in his pocket, a cold reminder of the betrayal that had infiltrated his inner sanctum. He had extracted the names he needed from the basement. Now, it was time to execute them.
“Do you believe we should offer them a chance to surrender, gentlemen, or should we simply burn their empire to ash while they sleep?”
The men around the table exchanged dark, knowing glances. There would be no surrender.
Damon stepped away from the table, retrieving his heavy, suppressed pistol from a locked cabinet. He racked the slide with a sharp, metallic clack, holstering it securely at his hip. The war for the city was about to explode, and the Whitmore syndicate was taking no prisoners.
He walked out of the communications room and headed toward the grand staircase, intent on seeing his son before he left to command the assault. As he reached the top of the stairs, he found Evelyn standing guard outside the study doors, her posture elegant and unyielding.
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Damon paused, looking at the beautiful housemaid who had inadvertently become the catalyst for the greatest mafia war the city had ever seen.
“Are you prepared for the violence that will inevitably wash over this city tomorrow, Evelyn? Will you stand by my son's side when the wolves come scratching at our door?”
