Chapter 8 - The Final Snake
The hallway of the east wing was dark, the blizzard outside casting flickering, ghostly shadows through the tall glass windows.
I walked toward the master suite, carrying a fresh tray of tea and clean bandages. The mansion felt strangely quiet—too quiet. Usually, two guards stood at the entrance of the main staircase, but the landing was completely empty.
My pulse spiked. "Marcus?" I called out, turning around.
No answer.
A sudden, sharp instinct warned me to move. I ducked to the left just like a heavy, gloved hand lunged out from the dark doorway of the linen closet, grabbing for my throat.
I dropped the silver tray. The china shattered against the hardwood floor with a deafening collapse.
I spun around, my back hitting the wall, my hand instinctively reaching for the heavy brass lamp on the console table.
Standing before me in tactical gear was Julian—Dominic's chief of internal security, the man who had worked for the Moretti family for eight years.
"Julian?" I panted, holding the lamp like a club. "What are you doing?!"
A cold, twisted smile touched Julian's lips. He pulled a suppressed pistol from his holster.
"Vance paid well, Lucy," Julian said, his voice flat and emotionless. "Better than Dominic ever did. He promised me full control of the southern territory once Dominic was dead."
"Vance is dead!" I shouted, trying to buy time, my eyes darting toward the stairs. "Dominic shot him ten minutes ago at the summit! It's over!"
Julian hesitated for a split second, shock flickering in his eyes before turning into pure desperation.
"Then I guess I'll just have to finish the job myself," Julian hissed, raising his weapon. "Starting with the maid who keeps ruining every carefully placed plan."
He stepped forward. I swung the brass lamp with everything I had.
He caught the lamp stem with his free arm, wrenching it out of my grip and shoving me violently back against the wall. The back of my head strikes the wood paneling, sending stars exploding across my vision. I crumbled to the floor, gasping for air as he stepped over me, aiming the barrel straight at my chest.
"Goodbye, sweetie," Julian sneered.
BANG.
The sound was louder than thunder, but the bullet didn't hit me.
Julian's eyes went wide. A dark spot bloomed on his chest, and he collapsed sideways onto the Persian rug like a sack of stones, his gun clattering out of his fingers.
Standing at the end of the corridor, framed by the swirling snow outside the window, was Dominic.
His black overcoat was dusted with snow, his face pale, his eyes burning with a terrifying, unholy fury. He dropped his smoking gun, ignored his bleeding shoulder completely as he sprinted down the hall, dropped his knees beside me.
"Lucy!"
His large, called hands gathered me into his arms, pulling me tight against his chest. I could hear his heart pounding frantically—a ragged, disenchanted rhythm that belongs to a man who thought he had lost the only thing that mattered.
"Lucy... look at me, look at me," he rasped, his voice trembling as his thumb gently brushed the blood away from the cut near my hairline.
"I'm... I'm okay," I choked out, wrapping my arms around his neck, burying my face in the cold wool of his coat. "He came out of nowhere... the guards..."
"They're taken care of," Raphael's voice echoed from down the hall as he hurried up the stairs, weapon drawn, taking in the scene with a grim expression. "Julian had three men on the inside. We caught the other two at the gatehouse."
Dominic didn't listen to Raphael. He lifted me easily into his arms, cradling me against his chest as if I were made of fragile glass, ignoring his own torn stitches.
"Dominic, your shoulder—" I protested weakly.
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"Shut up, Lucy," he whispered, his lips pressing fiercely against my temple, his breath warm against my cold skin. "Just shut up and let me carry you."
He carried me straight into the master suite, kicking the oak door shut behind us, locking the world, the blood, and the mafia outside where they belonged.
