Chapter 4 - The Lion Awakens
A low, guttural growl tore out of Vincent Moretti’s chest as he forced his battered body off the marble floor.
Two of his loyal bodyguards, Anthony and Mateo, rushed forward to assist him, but Vincent raised a single bloody hand.
Nobody touched the Don when he chose to stand.
The silence in the room became so heavy that the agonizing creak of his broken ribs seemed to echo off the walls.
Vincent dragged his right leg forward, planting his heavy Italian leather shoe firmly into his own pool of blood.
His tailored tuxedo was shredded across the back, his silk shirt soaked through with dark crimson, but his spine straightened like tempered steel.
He wiped the blood from his left eye with the back of his hand, smearing it across his chiseled, scarred face.
He stood at his full height of six feet four inches, looking less like a wounded victim and more like an escaped demon from hell.
His dark eyes locked onto Marcus Kane with a lethality that made the chief bodyguard physically take a step back.
“You swear on your mother’s grave, Marcus?” Vincent asked, his voice low, dry, and terrifyingly calm.
Every capo in the room lowered their heads, recognizing the deadly tone Vincent used before a mass execution.
“I gave you a life when you were a two-bit stickup kid on the South Side,” Vincent said, taking a slow, steady step forward.
“I gave you the keys to my house, the codes to my gates, and the responsibility of guarding my daughter’s life,” he continued.
Marcus’s hands began to shake violently, the barrel of his Glock trembling as he held it pointed at Chloe.
“Don Vincent, please... let me put a bullet in her head right now to prove my loyalty!” Marcus pleaded, tears of terror in his eyes.
“Put the gun on the floor, Marcus,” Vincent said softly.
The words were not shouted; they were delivered with the absolute, unquestioned authority of an emperor.
Marcus looked around the ballroom and saw twenty silenced pistols leveled directly at the center of his forehead.
He swallowed hard, knelt slowly, and laid his weapon onto the polished stone floor.
The second Marcus’s fingers left the grip, Anthony stepped forward and kicked the pistol twenty feet across the room.
Vincent did not even look down at the surrendered weapon; his eyes shifted to the top of the marble stairs.
Chloe was pressed flat against the wall of the upper landing, her chest heaving as she realized Marcus had betrayed her.
The woman who had entered the room as the soon-to-be mistress of a billion-dollar empire was now a cornered rat.
“Vincent... my love... you know I love you,” Chloe whimpered, her hands trembling against the silk wallpaper.
“The stress of the wedding... the threats from the Detroit family... it made me paranoid, it made me sick in the head!” she sobbed.
“I’m pregnant, Vincent! I’m carrying your son! You can’t kill the mother of your unborn child!” she screamed desperately.
A sickening hush fell over the room once more as the guests looked between Chloe and the bleeding Don.
Even Silvio looked over at Vincent with a flicker of hesitation in his weathered eyes.
Under the syndicate’s ancient laws, an unborn child could grant sanctuary to even the most traitorous woman.
Chloe saw the hesitation in the room and instantly leaned into the lie, placing both hands over her flat stomach.
“Yes! I was going to announce it tonight after the toast!” Chloe cried out, her tears flowing freely.
“Kill me, and you murder your own blood, Vincent! You’ll be cursed by the commission forever!” she shouted.
Lily stepped forward from her father’s side, her small chin held high and her eyes flashing with pure disgust.
“She’s lying, Daddy,” Lily stated calmly, holding up the phone once more.
“Her medical records from the private clinic on Michigan Avenue are saved in her email draft folder,” the child revealed.
“I opened her iPad while she was having her hair done this afternoon, because she left it on my vanity,” Lily said.
“She had a surgical procedure three months ago that makes it impossible for her to ever have children,” the nine-year-old stated cold-bloodedly.
Chloe’s face turned from pale to an unnatural, ghostly gray.
The last, desperate shield she had manufactured had been completely dismantled by the little girl she tried to eliminate.
Vincent turned his head slowly, looking down at the young housemaid who was still trembling on the floor.
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“Elena,” Vincent called out, his deep voice softening with an unfamiliar, profound warmth.
“Come here, child,” the Don commanded gently.
