Chapter 17 - The Fall of the House of Romanov
Before Nikolai’s men could even unholster their weapons,
the storm hit.
Vincent’s shooters opened fire with suppressed handguns,
taking out Nikolai’s four balcony guards with terrifying,
surgical precision.
The heavy thuds of bodies hitting the hardwood floor sent the ballroom below into absolute panic,
guests screaming and diving beneath champagne tables.
Nikolai,
desperate and cornered,
lunged forward,
grabbing Carmine by his collar and shoving him toward Gabriel as a human shield.
At the same time,
Nikolai whipped a snub-nosed revolver from his belt,
aiming it directly at my chest.
"If I go down,"
Nikolai roared,
"the nurse comes with me!"
He didn't get the chance to pull the trigger.
Six months of physical therapy,
six months of built-up rage,
and pure adrenaline exploded through Gabriel Moretti.
Gabriel swatted Carmine aside like a ragdoll,
sending his uncle crashing through a glass cocktail table,
and closed the distance between himself and Nikolai in a fraction of a second.
Gabriel’s left hand grabbed Nikolai’s wrist,
twisting the weapon upward so hard the bone snapped with a sickening crack.
Nikolai screamed in agony as the revolver clattered onto the rug.
Without slowing down,
Gabriel slammed his right fist straight into Nikolai’s jaw.
The force of the blow lifted the heavy Russian boss off his feet,
sending him crashing through the balustrade railing.
Nikolai tumbled over the edge,
plunging fifteen feet down onto the central dance floor below,
landing with a heavy,
resounding thud.
Silence instantly reclaimed the ballroom.
Nikolai lay groaning on the polished floor,
his face covered in blood,
his leg bent at an unnatural angle.
Gabriel stood at the edge of the balcony,
looking down at the fallen Russian lord like an ancient judge.
He straightened his dark tuxedo jacket,
adjusted his black tie,
and turned to look at Carmine,
who was bleeding from a cut on his forehead,
crawling backward on his hands and knees.
Carmine looked up at his nephew,
his eyes filled with pure,
unadulterated terror.
"Gabriel... please..."
Carmine sobbed,
clasping his bloody hands together.
"I'm your blood!"
"I'm your father's brother!"
"Have mercy!"
Gabriel looked down at his uncle with eyes that were cold,
dead,
and completely devoid of pity.
"You took my life for six months,
Carmine,"
Gabriel whispered softly,
his voice carrying over the whimpering man.
"You put poison in my body."
"You sent hitmen after a woman whose only crime was nursing me back to health."
"Mercy died the moment that bullet hit my study window."
Gabriel turned to Vincent,
who stepped up onto the balcony with hand restraints ready.
"Take my uncle back to the estate,"
May you like
Gabriel ordered coldly.
"Prepare the rose garden."
