Chapter 7 - THE WRATH OF VERRONE
The silence in the grand hall was absolute,
the only sound the dripping of blood onto the marble.
Silvio Marchetti looked at Damiano,
and for the first time in fifty years,
the old don felt true fear.
"I'll kill her!"
Silvio threatened,
his hand shaking as he pressed the gun harder against Elena’s head.
"I swear to God,
Damiano!"
Elena looked at Damiano,
her eyes filled with a strange,
calm acceptance.
"Save Mia,"
she whispered,
the words a final vow.
Damiano didn't blink,
his gaze fixed on Silvio’s eyes,
calculating the distance,
the angle,
and the timing.
"You think you can kill me,
Silvio?"
Damiano asked,
taking a slow,
deliberate step forward.
"I died three years ago."
"Everything you see now is just a ghost."
"And ghosts don't care about your threats."
In a movement so fast it was almost invisible,
Damiano drew a second pistol from a hidden holster on his ankle.
He fired a single shot,
the bullet tearing through Silvio’s wrist,
sending the gun flying across the floor.
Silvio screamed,
releasing Elena,
who collapsed into a heap on the marble.
Damiano was on him in a heartbeat,
his large hands wrapping around the old man’s throat,
pinning him against a marble pillar.
"You wanted to know about the girl,"
Damiano hissed into Silvio’s ear,
his grip tightening.
"She asked to borrow a father."
"And I decided to keep the role."
He didn't use a gun to finish it,
he didn't use a knife.
He used his bare hands,
the strength of his rage and his newfound purpose fueling every muscle.
When Silvio Marchetti finally went limp,
Damiano dropped him like a bag of trash,
his eyes cold and empty.
He turned to Elena,
who was looking at him with a mixture of terror and awe.
"Is she safe?"
Elena gasped,
clutching her bruised neck.
"She's in the safe room,"
Damiano said,
his voice returning to its gravelly rasp.
"Rafael,
clean this up."
"Call the cleaners,"
"burn the bodies,"
"and tell the other families that the Marchetti line is extinct."
He walked down to the basement,
his side aching,
his suit ruined,
and he stopped at the hidden door.
He took a deep breath,
wiping the blood from his hands on a discarded rag,
and he entered the code.
The door opened,
and Mia was sitting on the floor,
clutching the red heart,
her eyes wide as she saw him.
"Did I win,
Daddy?"
she asked,
her voice small and hopeful.
"You won,
Mia,"
Damiano said,
kneeling and pulling her into his arms.
"The game is over."
He held her,
the small,
warm weight of her body grounding him in a way that no amount of power ever could.
He had started the day as a borrowed father,
but he was ending it as something more.
He was a protector,
a king with a cause,
and he realized that he couldn't let her go.
The Upper East Side would sleep tonight,
unaware of the slaughter in the Verrone estate,
but the underworld would know.
May you like
The lion had found his pride,
and New York would tremble.
