Chapter 8 - The Blood on the Floor
Julian stopped dead in his tracks, pulling Lena behind his back as his weapon aimed directly at Arthur’s chest.
“Get your hands off my daughter, Arthur,” Julian warned, his voice dropping into a register that was terrifying in its absolute stillness.
Arthur didn't flinch. He gestured casually with the remote control in his hand. “I wouldn't squeeze that trigger, Don Vance. This remote is synced to four charges attached to your foundation walls. You shoot me, my finger relaxes, and this entire estate collapses onto our heads.”
Julian’s eyes flicked to Grace. The little girl was pale, but she wasn't crying. Her dark gray eyes met Lena’s over Julian’s shoulder, holding an eerie, unspoken trust.
Arthur’s gaze then drifted past Julian, locking onto Lena’s face.
A slow, sickening smile spread across the old Don’s face. “Well, well. Look at what my scouts found wiping tables in East Boston. You have your mother’s jawline, girl.”
Lena felt a spike of pure hatred rise through her fear. She stepped out from behind Julian, holding her silver pistol with both hands, aiming it straight at the man who had abandoned her mother.
“Don't call me 'girl',” Lena spat out, her voice remarkably clear despite the gunfire echoing from the lower floors. “I’m not your daughter. I’m Clara Brooks’ child.”
Arthur chuckled, a cold, dry sound. “Clara was a fool. She thought she could hide my blood in Dorchester. But blood always finds its way home, Lena. You belong to the Moretti empire.”
“She belongs to no one,” Julian cut in, taking a half-step forward to draw Arthur’s focus back to him. “What do you want, Arthur? You breached my home, endangered your own flesh and blood, and threatened a child. Name your terms so I can kill you and end this.”
Arthur’s smile vanished, replaced by an ugly, bitter sneer. “I want what you took from me three years ago, Vance! The waterfront distribution rights! Sign over the harbor deeds, hand over the girl, and I walk out of here.”
He gestured toward the hospital bed where Sophia lay unconscious under the ventilator. “Or I press this button, and you can join your dead wife in hell.”
“She isn't dead,” Grace spoke up suddenly, her small voice cutting through the heavy tension in the room.
Arthur frowned down at the child. “What?”
Grace looked at the hospital bed, then up at Arthur. “My mother isn't dead. She’s sleeping. And Papa promised she would wake up.”
Arthur laughed mockingly. “Your mother is a ghost, little girl. Just like—”
Before Arthur could finish his sentence, a loud clank echoed from the floorboards behind him.
Roman stepped out from a hidden service access panel directly behind Moretti’s armed guard. With lightning speed, Roman swung a heavy tactical baton, striking the guard in the temple and dropping him instantly to the tile floor.
Grace ducked beneath the falling guard and scrambled across the floor toward Lena.
“Now!” Julian roared.
Julian lunged forward, tackling Arthur Moretti to the ground before the old Don could depress the trigger on the detonator.
The two mob bosses hit the floor in a brutal struggle. The silver remote flew from Arthur’s hand, skidding across the polished white floor toward the open doorway.
Lena didn't hesitate. She dove forward, grabbing Grace with her left arm and sliding across the floor to scoop up the remote with her right hand.
“Got it!” Lena yelled.
Arthur, pinned beneath Julian’s weight, let out a furious roar, reaching into his coat for a hidden knife.
Julian grabbed Arthur’s wrist, twisting it back violently until a sharp crack echoed through the room. Arthur screamed in pain as the bone snapped, dropping the blade.
Julian stood up, panting heavily, his face shadowed in absolute fury. He drew his pistol and aimed it directly at Arthur Moretti’s forehead.
“This ends now, Arthur,” Julian said softly.
“Wait!” Lena called out, standing up while holding Grace tightly against her hip.
Julian paused, his finger on the trigger, looking back at her. “He threatened my family, Lena. He threatened you.”
Lena walked forward, standing beside Julian, looking down at the broken, groaning old man on the floor—the man who shared her blood, but had offered nothing but terror and destruction.
“Don't kill him because he threatened me,” Lena said, her hazel eyes cold and steady. “Lock him away. Take everything he owns. Make him spend the rest of his life watching his empire belong to you.”
Julian stared at her, seeing a remarkable, terrifying strength in the twenty-year-old waitress. Slowly, a proud, dark smile touched his lips.
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“A far better punishment,” Julian agreed softly.
He lowered his weapon, signaling to Roman, who was standing by the door. “Roman. Put Mr. Moretti in the basement vault. Call the federal prosecutors. It’s time we leak Arthur’s tax ledgers to the authorities.”
