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My brothers nod, allowing me to take the lead.
“Here we are. Now, I can show you who I really am behind my political persona. I usually undress for these things. I hate to soil my shirts with cockroaches’ blood, but tonight, I’m making an exception.” Baring my teeth to show how unhinged I am, I add, “Me covered in your blood will be the last thing you see before I deliver you straight to hell.”
I peel my jacket off and throw it on my armchair, letting the monster loose. Revenge courses through me in a river of sweet satisfaction.
In one move, I slice off pieces of Lawrence: an ear, one finger, then gouge out an eye. Next, I move to the shooter—gurgled sounds of pain mix with terror, creating the sweetest music for my ears. Blood drenches me while I look at the pile of appendages and fresh skin at my feet.
When I grab the machete, some piss themselves, some faint, while the others whimper.
“Look at you. What’s left of your dynasty now? What’s left of your future? Nothing because you came for the wrong people.”
The ones watching us should heed this warning. I stare at the clock. It’s already morning, and Violet has been in surgery for hours.
I jerk my chin toward the guys to have a turn. I move to the cabinet, preparing a syringe. Then I inject each man with an adrenaline shot.
Kieran plunges a knife and twists it in one’s stomach. Cato uses two others as his personal punching bag; their faces are disfigured with all the blows. Hayden shoots toes off the other shooter with a precision that is admirable. Wails echo around the room. I glance at the spectators on the screens. Some shift in their seats, the brutality too extreme even for them, while others enjoy the show with diabolical glints of satisfaction in their eyes.
My phone rings, blaring through the room. I hold my breath as I answer it.
“She’s out of surgery and she’s stable. She’s recovering in the intensive care unit,” Alessandra says.
At the news, my heart kick-starts. Relief is so potent that it almost knocks me out as I hang up.
The guys look at me, wearing relieved expressions.
I turn to our enemies and say, “Call yourselves lucky. I’m needed elsewhere.”
I light a match and throw it in their direction. The match hits the ground, landing on the gasoline line connecting to the circle surrounding them, flickering to life. The fire engulfs them one by one. Their screams and cries bounce off the walls, piercing my eardrums until all is quiet except for the crackling of the fire. I look toward the screen. “The show is over.”
“Delightful as always,” Tristan, the head of the New York family, says. And the rest bow their heads in respect.
After a quick shower, I change into a fresh suit. We meet up at the cars, looking presentable after the carnage.
“Better?” Kieran asks.
“It’ll keep me satisfied for a few years.”
We chuckle, and before I get in my car, I say, “I’m going to take Violet away for a while.”
“We all need a break,” he replies.
When we reach the hospital, Aurora and Chiara are in the VIP area, hands clasped together. When they see us, they hug me and then go to their husbands. Alessandra approaches, wearing her scrubs and exhaustion blankets her features.
I hug her and say, “Thank you.”
“Anything for the family.”
Hayden pulls her into his arms, and she says, “She was lucky. That bullet was one inch away from her heart. She lost a lot of blood. She’s a damn fighter, Cam.”
I nod, emotions clamping up my throat. Violet is the greatest gift for the greatest sinner.
I rush inside. Violet is alive. She’s mine, and not even death will change that.
Fogginess envelops me as I sit upright, only for pain to shoot through me. I remember what happened. Someone pointed a gun at Cameron, and I reacted.
“Don’t move. It’s a damn miracle that the bullet wasn’t fatal. One inch...” His voice breaks, and he takes my hand in his trailing kisses down my palm. Tears wet my palm, and he rests his head inside the palm of my hand. His open vulnerability pulls at my heartstrings, and I comb my fingers through his hair.
“I am fine. I wouldn’t have abandoned you.”
