Chapter 3 - The Declaration
The ballroom erupted into chaos.
Don Alphonse reached for his weapon, but before his hand could clear his holster, Marco fired two silenced rounds. The heavy Chicago Don collapsed onto the marble floor with a thud, dead before he hit the ground.
Vivian screamed, dropping to her knees beside her father’s body, her gold dress instantly stained with dark crimson. The Chicago guards tried to draw their weapons, but they were vastly outnumbered. Within four seconds, every single Marchand enforcer in the room was disarmed, forced to their knees, or shot dead where they stood.
Don Falcone, Don Ricci, and Don Marcone stood with their guns drawn, breathing heavily, staring at the bloody scene in absolute shock.
“Marchand tried to slaughter us all,” Don Ricci hissed, spitting on Alphonse’s corpse. “He was going to wipe out the East Coast commission in one night.”
“And he used his own daughter to set the trap,” Falcone added, glaring down at the weeping, hysterical Vivian. He raised his gun, pointing it straight at her head. “Finish her, Damiano. Clean your house.”
Vivian looked up at Damiano, tears ruining her makeup, her hands shaking violently. “Damiano, please! My father forced me! I had no choice! I love you!”
Damiano stood up slowly. He didn't even look down at the woman he was supposed to marry in seventy-two hours.
“You touched my home,” Damiano said, his voice terrifying in its quiet finality. “You brought war under my roof. And worst of all... you threatened a child.”
He turned to Marco. “Take her to the basement. She will answer every question about the rest of the Chicago network before she joins her father.”
As Marco dragged the screaming Vivian out of the room, Damiano turned back to the remaining three Mafia dons. They were staring at him, their hands still resting near their weapons, their minds rapidly calculating the new reality. With the Marchand family crushed in a single evening, Damiano Moretti was no longer just the boss of New York. He was the undisputed king of the entire eastern seaboard.
“The treaty is void,” Don Marcone of Boston said cautiously. “The commission is shattered, Damiano. There is a power vacuum in Chicago now that will cause a war across three states.”
“There is no vacuum,” Damiano corrected him calmly. “Chicago belongs to New York now. I will take their territory by morning.”
He paused, his eyes sweeping across the three powerful men. Then, he reached out his large, scarred hand and wrapped it firmly around mine.
I gasped, my heart hammering against my ribs as he pulled me up to his side. Emma blinked, clutching my apron as Damiano’s grip tightened around my fingers, public and unyielding.
“And one more thing,” Damiano announced, his voice echoing off the marble walls like a decree from God. “Look at this woman. Look at this child.”
Don Falcone narrowed his eyes. “Who are they? Your servants?”
“This is Sophia,” Damiano declared, his gaze locking onto the dons with lethal intensity. “And this is Emma. As of tonight, they are under my personal protection. Anyone who looks at them with bad intent looks at me. Anyone who speaks a word against them declares war on the Moretti family.”
I stared at him in utter shock. “Damiano... what are you doing?” I whispered furiously beneath my breath.
May you like
He didn't answer me. He looked down at the three dons, his face an impenetrable fortress.
“Sophia’s daughter saved your lives tonight,” Damiano continued, his tone leaving no room for argument. “If not for her, every man at this table would be meat under mahogany. From this second forward, she is untouchable. And her mother... will take Vivian’s place at my side.”
