"When the ruthless Mafia boss unboxed his birthday gifts, he never expected to find his own starving, barefoot grandson freezing in the snow—and the bloody revenge that followed." / Chapter 27 / 60

Chapter 27 - The blood oath

The rain poured down in sheets, washing the blood from Richard's face and plastering his silver hair to his forehead. He stood alone in the center of the pier, surrounded by black water and cold iron. His left shoulder was numb; his right leg was trembling under the agony of torn ligaments.

Slowly, deliberately, Richard lowered the combat shotgun to the wet timber of the pier. He kicked it backward into the dark water. It vanished with a hollow splash.

"You win, Arthur," Richard said, his hands raised at shoulder height, empty and dripping with rain. "Let the boy go. He doesn't know anything. He's just a terrified child."

"A child worth forty billion dollars," Arthur sneered, his grip on Noah tightening until the boy gasped for air. "Do you know what Father told me the night he chose you to lead the syndicate? He told me I was too ruthless. He told me I lacked the heart to keep the family together. And look at you now—broken, bleeding, your house burned to ash, your daughter dead—all because of your precious 'heart.'"

"Sarah isn't dead," Richard said quietly.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed slightly in the rain.

"I pulled her out before the smoke reached the foundations," Richard continued, taking one single, measured step forward. "She’s at St. Jude’s under the personal guard of twenty Capos who took the blood oath to me thirty years ago. The Council knows what you did, Arthur. The Five Families held an emergency tribunal twenty minutes ago. You're not just an exile anymore. You're an open contract. Ten million dollars to every hitman from Montreal to Miami for your head."

Elena’s eyes flickered with a sudden, sharp doubt. Her rifle wavered for a fraction of a second toward Arthur. "Is this true, Arthur? Did the Council convene?"

"Shut up, you stupid bitch! Keep your weapon on him!" Arthur snarled, his composure cracking for the first time. "It doesn't matter what the Council says! Once we board that sub and clear the continental shelf, we have the funds to buy our own country!"

"He's lying to you, Elena," Richard said, his voice deadly calm, locking eyes with the woman who had haunted his past. "Check your encrypted phone. If the transfer had been authorized, your offshore account would have received the ten percent retainer. Has it pinged yet?"

Elena’s breathing hitched. Her hand dropped from the rifle’s foregrip, instinctively reaching for the tactical phone secured to her chest pocket.

That split second was all Richard needed.

He didn't draw a gun—he didn't have one left. Instead, he lunged forward, not toward Elena, but toward the massive iron winch control box mounted to the pier piling three feet to his right.