Chapter 10 - THE TRIBUNAL OF BLOOD
-10
The subterranean armory of the Alighieri estate was a cavernous, stone-lined chamber normally reserved for weapon maintenance and strategic planning. Now, under the harsh glare of industrial overhead lights, it served as a tribunal.
Three captured Vanguard lieutenants—men in torn tactical gear, bound hand and foot with heavy plastic zip-ties—were forced onto their knees on the cold concrete floor. Standing over them were six of Dante’s deadliest enforcers, their assault rifles pointed unwaveringly at the prisoners' skulls.
As I walked into the armory, carrying Leo in my arms with Dante walking protectively beside me, the prisoners raised their bruised, bloodied faces. One of them—a heavily scarred man with a cold, unrepentant sneer—locked eyes with me.
"Well, look what the cat dragged in," the prisoner spat, his voice dripping with venom. "The little waitress from Bellagio. Who would've thought Elena’s brat survived the fire?"
Before the words had even fully left his mouth, Dante moved with terrifying speed. He crossed the concrete floor in two strides, grabbed the man by the collar of his tactical vest, and slammed him back down onto the concrete with enough force to rattle the stone walls.
"You don't speak her name," Dante growled, pressing the barrel of his silver Beretta squarely against the man's forehead. "You don't have the right to breathe the air she walked on."
"Go ahead, Alighieri," the prisoner laughed, coughing up a spatter of dark blood onto the floor. "Kill me. Kill us all. The Vanguard council is already voting on phase two. You can't kill an idea, and you can't stop the restructuring of this city. Your bloodline ends with her and that baby!"
I watched the exchange with a strange, cold detachment. Just twenty-four hours ago, I would have vomited at the sight of such violence. But looking at the men who had orchestrated a twenty-six-year campaign of terror against my mother, my father, and now my innocent son, something shifted deep inside my chest. The fear burned away, leaving behind a cold, hard resolve forged in the fire of my new reality.
I stepped forward, gently shifting Leo to one arm, and stopped just a foot away from Dante and the kneeling prisoner.
"Mara, step back," Dante warned, keeping his gun pressed to the man's head. "Let me handle this."
"No," I said, my voice carrying a quiet, unwavering authority that made even the hardened syndicate enforcers pause. I looked down at the Vanguard lieutenant, my dark eyes mirroring the exact same cold, dead look Dante wore so often. "You mentioned phase two. What is it?"
The prisoner sneered, looking up at me with defiant hatred. "Go to hell."
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I didn't blink. I reached into my coat pocket, pulled out the tactical pistol Dante had given me in the bedroom, and calmly cocked the hammer. The metallic clack echoed loudly off the stone walls. I pressed the muzzle directly against the man's other temple, matching his posture with chilling precision.
"You're going to answer my question," I said softly, "or the last thing you'll ever hear in this life is the sound of my safety clicking off."
