Chapter 7 - Blood on the Marble
The Moretti estate in the suburbs of Boston was a sprawling, stone mansion surrounded by iron gates and thick woods. Rain slammed against the roof as lightning lit up the sky, echoing the night Clare had almost died.
By two in the morning, the gates were no longer standing.
My tactical team breached the perimeter with explosive charges, blowing the heavy iron doors off their hinges. Smoke and fire erupted across the manicured lawns as my men moved through the grounds like phantoms, neutralizing Moretti’s mercenaries with silent, lethal precision.
I walked through the front doors of the mansion behind my lead team, carrying a black assault rifle.
The foyer was a war zone. Glass from crystal chandeliers littered the marble floor, and the air was thick with the scent of gunpowder and iron. Moretti’s men fought desperately, but they were paid guards fighting for a paycheck; my men were fighting for their lord, fueled by the rage of what had been done to Clare.
We swept through the house room by room, driving the remaining defenders back toward the grand study on the second floor.
Within thirty minutes, the gunfire died down into a haunting, heavy silence.
I kicked open the double doors of the master study.
Victor Moretti was cowering behind his heavy oak desk, a revolver shaking violently in his blood-soaked hands. He was a man in his late fifties, usually sharp and arrogant, now reduced to a trembling mess, surrounded by the bodies of his high-priced security team.
"Julian!" Moretti screamed, his voice cracking with sheer panic as he pointed the gun at me. "Stay back! Stay back or I'll blow your head off!"
I didn't stop. I walked slowly across the room, ignoring the barrel of his gun pointed directly at my chest.
"You should have aimed for me, Victor," I said, my voice low and smooth, reverberating off the wood paneling like a death knell. "You should have put a bullet in my heart two years ago."
"She was just a girl!" Moretti shrieked, backing into the glass windows behind his desk. "She was nobody! She was your weak spot! I wanted to break you!"
"She is my wife," I corrected coldly. "She is the only reason I am letting you speak your final words."
Moretti pulled the trigger.
CLICK.
The chamber was empty. He had fired his last bullet during the breach.
Panic took full control. Moretti dropped the weapon, throwing his hands into the air. "Wait! Julian, wait! We can negotiate! I'll give you the northern territories! I'll give you fifty percent of the shipping lines! Just name your price!"
I dropped my rifle onto the desk, stepping around the wooden barrier until I was standing inches from him.
"My price was paid in five units of blood and four days of agonizing fever," I whispered.
I grabbed Moretti by his lapels and slammed him through the glass window behind his desk.
The glass shattered into a million pieces. Moretti screamed as he fell outward, dropping fifteen feet onto the stone terrace below.
I walked to the edge of the shattered window, looking down. Moretti lay on the stone patio, his leg broken at a grotesque angle, crying out in agony into the rain.
I climbed down the stone fire escape, stepping onto the terrace until I was towering over him.
"Julian... please..." Moretti sobbed, clawing at the slick stone floor. "Have mercy..."
I pulled my sidearm from my holster, racking the slide with a dark, final metallic click.
"Mercy is a human emotion, Victor," I said, looking down at him through the torrential rain. "And you told your assistant that I wasn't human."
A single shot echoed across the estate grounds, drowning out the thunder.
It was over. The war that had haunted the Romano family for a decade was finished in a single night of absolute, unyielding retribution.
I holstered my weapon, turned my back on the body, and walked toward the waiting car.
"Lorenzo," I said as I climbed into the rear seat.
"Yes, Boss?"
"Burn the estate to the ground. Transfer all assets to Clare’s personal foundation for medical research. We are done here."
"And where are we going now, Mr. Romano?"
May you like
I looked out the rain-slicked window toward the highway leading back to the hospital. A soft, genuine smile touched my lips for the first time in years.
"Home," I said. "I'm going home to my wife."
