Chapter 5: The Reckoning at Highland Park
The mansion went black as the main power grid was cut from the outside.
"Move!" Dante screamed, pulling his weapon and firing two blind shots toward Victor’s desk. But Victor was already gone, slipping into the familiar shadows of the house he had built into a fortress.
Alarms blared across the twenty-acre estate as Dante’s loyalist soldiers breached the perimeter, realizing it was a kill-or-be-killed scenario. Gunfire echoed through the marble hallways, shattered glass raining down like winter ice.
Upstairs, Norah had barricaded Leo’s bedroom door with a heavy oak wardrobe. She stood in the center of the room, holding a heavy iron fire poker, her heart hammering against her ribs as footsteps approached the door.
"Norah! Open the door!" Bianca’s frantic voice clawed through the wood. "Give me the boy! If I have the boy, Victor won't shoot!"
"Go to hell, Bianca!" Norah shouted back, positioning herself firmly between the door and Leo's bed.
The door splintered. A heavy boot kicked through the paneling, and Bianca stumbled in, her face twisted into an ugly, desperate mask, a small silver pistol raised in her hand. "I’ll kill you both, I swear to God—"
A shadow materialized out of the hallway behind her.
Victor’s hand wrapped around Bianca’s wrist, twisting it until the bone clicked and the gun clattered to the floor. With a cold, emotionless shove, he threw her into the hallway, where two of his most loyal capos immediately pinned her to the ground.
Victor entered the room, his suit torn, blood dripping from a shallow graze on his temple. He looked at Norah, then at Leo. "Are you hurt?"
"We're fine," Norah breathed, lowering the poker.
"Stay here," Victor commanded. "It's time to finish this."
He walked down the grand winding staircase into the main foyer, where Dante stood near the shattered glass entrance, surrounded by the bodies of his fallen mercenaries. Dante was bleeding from a chest wound, his gun trembling as he pointed it at Victor.
"I was always better than you, Victor!" Dante gasped, coughing up crimson. "Clara should have been mine! The family should have been mine! You were soft! You let a woman change you!"
"Clara didn't change me, Dante," Victor said, walking down the steps without even drawing his weapon, completely unfazed by the barrel pointed at his chest. "She just kept the monster on a leash. And you killed her."
Dante pulled the trigger.
Click.
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The chamber was empty. Victor’s tech team had altered the firing pins in Dante’s personal armory hours ago.
Victor reached the bottom of the stairs. He didn't use a gun. He used his bare hands, delivering a swift, merciless justice that echoed through the empty ballroom, ensuring Dante Moretti would never breathe the Chicago air again.
