Chapter 8
The silence in the grand ballroom was broken by a pathetic, wet groan. From the wreckage of the ceremonial lantern stand, Tristan Morelli slowly regained consciousness. The forty-year-old senior capo pushed a shattered glass pane off his chest, his expensive tailored suit ruined and stained with blood. He spat a mouthful of crimson onto the pristine marble floor, his fair, rosy face hideously bruised and swelling rapidly from Cassian's devastating counterpunch.
Tristan struggled to his knees, his eyes darting frantically around the locked room. He saw his mother trembling in the center of the floor, and he saw Cassian standing protectively near Elena and the child. Realizing their coup had been entirely exposed, Tristan’s fear mutated into a desperate, cornered fury.
"You're a fool, Cassian!" Tristan slurred, his American accent thick with blood and malice. He grabbed the edge of a champagne table to pull himself up. "You think you can rule this city with a heart? The other families are circling! They smell weakness! My mother and I did what had to be done to keep the Morelli name feared!"
"You kept the name feared by threatening pregnant women in the middle of the night?" Cassian asked, his raspy voice dropping into a tone of chilling, absolute mockery. He slowly turned his head to look at his bleeding cousin.
"She is a civilian!" Tristan shouted, pointing a shaking finger at Elena. "She knows nothing of our world! She would have made you soft! I am the one who secured the northern ports while you were weeping over her memory!"
"You secured nothing," Cassian stated coldly. "You stole from my table and called it ambition."
Vivienne, sensing the apocalyptic doom descending upon her son, threw herself forward. Her luxurious formal gown dragged across the floor as she dropped to her knees, grasping at the fabric of Cassian's tailored trousers.
"Cassian, I beg of you, spare him!" Vivienne sobbed hysterically, her pearl jewelry clattering against the marble. "Execute me! I orchestrated the lie! I gave the orders! Tristan only followed his mother's commands! He is your blood! You cannot kill your own blood!"
Cassian looked down at the woman who had helped raise him. The bright, cinematic lighting offered no warmth to the cold, unforgiving planes of his handsome face. He reached down and gently, but firmly, pried her ring-adorned fingers off his suit. He stepped back, severing the physical and emotional tie completely.
"You severed our bloodline three years ago," Cassian whispered, his voice vibrating with lethal certainty. "When you put a gun to the head of my unborn child."
He turned his attention to the surrounding capos, the hardened men who ran the streets of the city. He needed to re-establish absolute dominance and remind the syndicate exactly who wore the crown.
"Silas. Marcus," Cassian commanded, his voice echoing clearly across the vast, brightly lit room.
May you like
Two massive, heavily armed bodyguards stepped forward from the perimeter, their faces grim and professional. "Yes, Boss."
"Strip them of their pins," Cassian ordered, his eyes locked onto his aunt and cousin. "Strip them of their phones and their weapons."
