Chapter 9 - The Bloodline Restored
Before Vincent could pull the trigger, Sophie acted.
She didn't run. She didn't scream.
She reached into her apron pocket, pulled out the heavy, glass bottle of high-lactose concentrated formula she had snatched from the kitchen counter earlier, and hurled it with all her strength straight at Vincent’s face.
The heavy glass bottle struck Vincent directly across the bridge of his nose with a sickening CRACK.
Vincent let out a howling scream of pain, dropping the shotgun as blood burst from his broken nose, blinding his vision.
In that split second of distraction, Dominic lunged forward like a striking cobra. He seized the barrel of the dropped shotgun, twisted it out of Vincent’s hands, and slammed the heavy stock against the chin of the first mercenary, dropping him instantly.
Gino rounded the corner with his assault rifle, unleashing a heavy volley that took down the second guard.
Dominic kicked Vincent legs out from under him, slamming his younger brother face-first onto the cold concrete floor, pinning his neck beneath his polished leather shoe.
Vincent choked, spitting blood onto the floor, looking up at Dominic with wide, terrified eyes. “Dominic... please... we’re brothers... blood...”
Dominic leaned down, his face inches from Vincent’s, his dark eyes colder than the grave.
“You tried to starve my son,” Dominic whispered, his voice stripped of all human warmth. “You tried to murder his mother’s memory.”
Dominic didn't hesitate. He pulled a heavy tactical knife from his belt and plunged it deep into the floorboards an inch from Vincent’s ear.
“Gino,” Dominic said coldly. “Take him to the basement. Hand him over to Don Carmine’s men. Let the Commission decide what happens to a traitor who breaks the blood oath.”
“With pleasure, boss,” Gino growled, dragging the screaming, bleeding Vincent down the dark hallway.
Silence slowly returned to the mansion, broken only by the crackle of distant fires and the wail of approaching police sirens in the distance.
Dominic turned around slowly.
Sophie was standing near the wall, her face pale, her breathing fast and shallow, her arms wrapped tightly around the small, warm bundle against her chest.
Nico had slept through the entire assault, protected by the heavy warmth of her coat and the quiet beat of her heart.
Dominic walked over to her. He raised his hand, gently brushing a smudge of dark soot from her cheek.
“Are you hurt?” he asked softly.
May you like
“No,” Sophie whispered, looking up at him, her body shaking from the shock. “Is... is it over?”
“It’s over,” Dominic said, pulling her gently against his chest, wrapping his heavy arms around both her and his son. “Nobody is ever going to touch either of you again.”
