Chapter 40 #2
Dread clawed at me as I sawed at the ropes, my hands jerking, skin tearing.
I hissed at the pain but pressed on—Elle had to be freed.
My movements quickened; any moment now, I’d have to act.
Alban Berisha stepped onto the platform, his voice dripping with malice.
“Well, pet, let’s see if your husband speaks the truth.
” His filthy hand traced her face, jaw, and neck as she twisted away.
Rage surged—I would slice off that hand for daring to touch her.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” Elle spat in his face, her tigress spirit blazing. My muscles tensed, and I hacked at the bonds with renewed fury.
The silence pressed down, heavy and suffocating. Alban dabbed at his face with a handkerchief, eyes gleaming. “Your husband was wrong—you’re no docile dove. Breaking you will be fun.” His voice was calm, deceptively so. He leaned closer, lips curling. “Shall we let your husband watch, hmm?”
Everyone waits for the eventual storm to erupt. And then it did. A slap cracked across Elle’s face, her head snapping to the side with a gasp—just as the glass doors shattered in an explosion. One of the guards beside me dropped instantly, a bullet tearing through his skull.
Gunfire roared outside, echoing through the ballroom. Men in tactical gear surged in, cutting down our captors one by one. More poured through the breach, replacing the fallen. Bullets whizzed past my ear, the air thick with smoke and chaos.
My hands finally free, I tore at the bonds around my legs. Dante crouched beside me, urgency in his eyes. “Dom, are you okay?” “Forget me—get Elle.” He hesitated. “Now!” I barked. He pressed a gun into my hand, nodded, and sprinted toward her.
On the platform, Alban fought off one of my men.
Catalina tried to drag Elle away, but my tigress resisted, clawing for freedom.
Salvatore, the coward, crept along the wall toward the exit.
With a flick of my wrist, my blade flew—burying itself in his thigh.
He collapsed with a cry, then staggered up again, dragging his useless leg as he limped for escape.
I lunge towards him. A fist connects with his nose. The sound of bone breaking is satisfying. He screams like a girl. As the coward tries to stop the flow of blood, I put a bullet into his kneecaps. Lying on the floor, he begs.
“I’m family—you can’t kill me.” His plea drips with hypocrisy.
I laugh, cold and humorless. “Family? That’s rich coming from you.
You’ve betrayed your own blood, and the Cosa Nostra Family as well.
” My growl fills the room as I press the barrel to his forehead.
The shot cracks, and he collapses lifeless.
I turn toward the platform—my wife is gone.
Catalina lies where she last tried to drag her away, her body motionless, eyes frozen in a blank stare.
Nearby, Dario clashes with Alban. “He’s mine, Dario,” I snarl.
“This bastard dared to touch my wife.” Alban sneers.
“I thought you didn’t care for her, Vitelli?
” “Fuck off,” I spit, slamming my fist into his jaw. He only laughs, blood on his teeth.
“Did you see her face? I don’t think she wants you now.” His words cut deep, reminding me of the lies my angel overheard. Dario’s eyes flicker with confusion by our exchange of words.
My anger surges back, raw and unrelenting. Truth be told, I messed up—badly. I need to end this now, before I can face my wife. Dante will see her safely to the mansion. I kick him hard, sending him sprawling. “Hold him,” I ordered.
Dario and Fabio drag him to his knees. “A blade,” I demand.
Fabio presses the hilt into my hand. “Hold his hand out,” I snarl.
“This is for daring to touch my woman.” My growl fills the room as I bring the blade down, severing his right hand.
His scream rips through the air, echoing off the walls—until it dies abruptly when I drive the steel into his ribs, straight into his heart. His body collapses, lifeless.
I wipe at the blood on my hands, only smearing it further.
Around me, the Albanians lie scattered, broken.
“Dante called. He’s taking Elle back to the mansion, Dominic.
” I nod, but the weight in my chest is heavier than the carnage.
The conversation with her looms ahead, and I dread every word of it.
“Burn it to the ground. Make it look like an accident,” I order. Dario nods, phone is already at his ear. Minutes later, we stand outside Berisha’s mansion, watching as flames devour it, the night sky painted in orange and black.
“Let’s go.” We slide into the backseat of the black SUV, the city lights flickering past as we head toward the mansion.
“Send word to the remaining Albanians—they have twenty-four hours to clear out of my territory.” Dario acknowledges, his silence steady, as if he knows I don’t want conversation.
The closer we draw to Elle, the tighter the knot in my chest becomes.
I ache to hold her again, to feel her in my arms. But her devastated expression lingers in my mind, a reminder of the lies she heard spill from my lips.
Dario’s phone rang, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“Yes, of course. He’s here—I’ll put you on speaker.
” “Dominic… I lost her.” My mind stalled.
“Lost who?” I barked. “Elle. She begged me to stop… and then she was gone.” “What the fuck do you mean?” “She was sick, Dominic. She asked me to stop.” The words blurred, drowned in the roar inside my head. All I could hear was that she was gone.