Chapter 7 - The Falling Kingdom
Damian lunged forward, his face twisted in a mask of pure, murderous rage.
“You bitch!” Damian screamed, reaching his hands out toward Vivien’s neck.
Before he could take two steps, Lucian moved.
Lucian caught Damian by the throat in mid-air, slamming him violently against the marble pillar in the center of the living room. The sound of bone hitting stone echoed through the massive house. Damian gasped for air, his feet dangling two inches off the floor as Lucian held him pinned with a single, iron-like arm.
Lucian pulled a matte-black pistol from his shoulder holster with his free hand, pressing the suppressed barrel directly against the center of Damian’s forehead.
“Give me a reason,” Lucian whispered into Damian’s ear, his gray eyes devoid of any human warmth. “Give me one small reason to paint this marble with your brains.”
Damian’s eyes bulged with pure terror. He clawed weakly at Lucian’s wrist, but the mob boss didn't budge a millimeter.
Richard Mercer stood frozen, his hands shaking, his body paralyzed by the sudden, brutal authority of the man holding his former son-in-law’s life in his hands.
“Lucian,” Vivien said quietly from behind him.
Lucian didn't take his eyes off Damian. “He tried to put his hands on you, Vivien.”
“He’s not worth the blood on your floor,” she said, her voice steady, cool, and commanding. “Let the federal agents handle him. It’s a far slower death.”
Lucian held Damian in place for three agonizing seconds before releasing his grip. Damian collapsed onto the floor in a heap, coughing violently, gasping for air as he clutched his bruised throat.
Lucian holstered his weapon smoothly, adjusting the cuffs of his dark jacket.
“Marcus,” Lucian ordered without looking back. “Escort these gentlemen to the gate. If any of their vehicles are seen on Star Island after ten minutes, open fire.”
“Yes, Don Lucian,” Marcus said, pulling his weapon and nodding to his men.
Richard helped Damian off the floor, his face pale and broken. He looked at Vivien one last time—looking for a trace of the obedient, soft-spoken daughter he had spent twenty-five years controlling.
He found nothing. Only the cold, brilliant reflection of a woman who had taken his crown.
Without another word, Richard dragged Damian out of the house, the heavy oak doors slamming shut behind them with a finality that shook the glass walls.
Vivien stood in the center of the room, her chest heaving slightly as the adrenaline slowly ebbed from her system.
Lucian walked over to her, stopping just inches away. He looked down at her face, his expression softening into something fierce and protective.
“You didn't flinch,” Lucian noted quietly.
“I was done flinching yesterday,” Vivien replied, looking up into his dark eyes.
“They are going to fight back, Vivien,” Lucian warned gently. “A wounded animal is dangerous. Damian still has friends in the docks, and your father still has money buried where you haven't looked yet.”
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Vivien reached out, her fingers catching the front of Lucian’s jacket, pulling him just an inch closer.
“Then let’s go hunt them,” she whispered.
