Chapter 8 - Blood on the Marble
The bullet grazed the shoulder of Antonio’s suit jacket, ripping through the fine fabric and shattering an antique mirror mounted on the wall behind them.
Before Victor could pull the trigger a second time, Marco Bellini fired three rapid shots from his silenced sidearm.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
Victor Vitelli froze. The revolver slipped from his lifeless fingers, clattering onto the marble floor. He staggered backward, hit the stone mantle of the fireplace, and slid down to the ground, his eyes staring blankly at the painted Renaissance ceiling above.
Silence descended over the grand hall, thick and suffocating, broken only by the smell of burnt gunpowder and wet rain blowing through the open doors.
Antonio scrambled up from the floor instantly, ignoring his grazed shoulder, his hands grabbing Evelyn’s arms with frantic desperation.
“Evelyn! Are you hit?! Look at me!” Antonio growled, his voice laced with a raw, intense panic she had never heard from him before.
Evelyn looked down at her black dress. There was no blood. She shook her head, her breath coming in fast, ragged gasps. “I’m... I’m okay. He missed.”
Antonio let out a harsh, shaky breath, pulling her into his chest with overwhelming force. His arms wrapped around her, holding her so tightly she could feel the thunderous, rapid beat of his heart against her cheek.
“You foolish, incredible woman,” Antonio whispered against her hair, his voice trembling slightly. “You took a bullet for me.”
“I didn't take a bullet,” Evelyn managed to laugh breathlessly, burying her face in his shoulder. “I just pushed you. You’re too stubborn to die tonight.”
Antonio pulled back slightly, his dark eyes searching every inch of her face with intense, unyielding reverence. In front of the six regional bosses, his armed security detail, and the dead body of his traitorous uncle, Antonio Vitelli didn't care about his empire.
He only cared about the woman standing in his arms.
Mateo stepped forward, looking down at Victor’s body, then bowed his head respectfully toward Antonio.
“The traitor is dead,” Mateo announced formally. “The syndicate is yours, Don Antonio. Command us.”
The remaining five bosses bowed their heads in unison.
Antonio turned to face them, his hand still firmly holding Evelyn’s waist, keeping her close to his side.
“Clear this room,” Antonio commanded, his voice restored to its absolute, iron-willed authority. “The old ways of blood, smuggling, and treason die tonight with my uncle. From this hour forward, the Vitelli organization operates entirely under global corporate logistics. Any man who steps outside the law will answer directly to Marco Bellini.”
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“Understood, Don Antonio,” Mateo bowed again.
“And one more thing,” Antonio added, his eyes sweeping across the six powerful men in the room with deadly promise. “Evelyn Foster and her family are under my permanent personal protection. If any associate, captain, or mercenary so much as looks at her with hostility... I will personally burn their entire bloodline to ashes.”
