I thought leaving Elena was the only way to protect the woman I loved, until a hospital called and revealed she was starving, pregnant with my baby, and being hurt by someone inside my own family. / Chapter 6 / 53

Chapter 6 - The Execution of a Traitor

The muzzle of my SIG Sauer remained locked onto the bridge of Marco’s nose.

In twelve years, that man had pulled me out of burning wreckage, taken a bullet to the shoulder during the 2021 warehouse ambush in Brooklyn, and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with me against every rival syndicate on the Eastern Seaboard. He was more than an employee; he was a brother in arms, the keeper of my secrets, the shadow that shielded my back.

And he had traded all of that for a seat at a table built by Salvatore Moretti.

“Any last words, Marco?” I asked, my voice terrifyingly calm, stripped of all emotion, reduced to pure, cold calculus.

Marco closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, drawing in one final, steady breath of the champagne-scented air. When he opened them, there was no regret—only the stubborn, unyielding pride of a soldier who believed he had fought for a greater cause.

“You’ll still have to deal with Moretti, Boss,” Marco said, his voice steady. “Killing me won't stop the war that’s already coming to your doorstep. The shipments are compromised. Half the captains in Brooklyn have already flipped to his payroll. You’re standing alone, Luke.”

“I’ve always been alone,” I replied. “The only difference is that now, I know who my enemies are.”

I didn't hesitate.

The heavy, muffled thud of the silenced gunshot tore through the silence of the grand ballroom.

Marco stumbled backward once, his eyes locking onto mine with a final, lingering expression of shock before his legs gave out completely. He hit the polished parquet floor with a heavy, final thud, a dark pool of blood beginning to spread across the pristine white marble beneath his head.

Silence descended upon the room once more—heavier, darker, and infinitely more absolute.

I lowered my pistol, the barrel still warm and trailing a thin wisp of cordite smoke into the air. I didn't look down at the body. My gaze shifted slowly back toward my sister, who was still huddled on the floor against the shattered banquet table, shaking uncontrollably, her hands clamped over her mouth to stifle her screams.

“L-Luke... please...” she sobbed, pressing her back against the wooden base of the table as I walked toward her. “I’m your sister... you can't... please...”

I stopped right in front of her, crouching down so we were at eye level.

“You helped orchestrate the slow torture of the woman I love,” I said softly, every word dripping with cold, freezing venom. “You conspired with our worst enemy to murder my unborn child. In any other family, you’d be dead right now.”

Sophie’s eyes widened with a desperate, pathetic flicker of hope. “Y-You’re sparing me? You won't kill me?”

“I won't kill you,” I whispered, watching the relief wash over her face—a relief that lasted for precisely one second before I shattered it completely. “Death is too easy for someone like you. It’s a clean exit.”

“Then... what are you going to do?” she choked out.

“You are going to strip off every single piece of designer clothing, every diamond, every ring, and every token of wealth you’re wearing right now,” I commanded, my voice absolute and terrifying. “You are going to walk out the front doors of this club with nothing on your back but a simple cotton dress. Your bank accounts are frozen, your offshore assets have been seized by my holding company, and your name has been erased from the Mercer trust.”

Sophie stared at me in horror, realizing the true magnitude of the punishment. “You’re... you’re banishing me? Without a dime? How am I supposed to survive?”

“The same way Elena had to survive while you were starving her in a dark room,” I said, standing up and turning my back on her. “From this moment on, you are a ghost in Manhattan. If you ever step foot in a Mercer property, if you ever contact Moretti, or if you ever try to breathe the same air as Elena or my child again... my enforcers won't use a silencer.”

I gestured to Viktor and Leo. “Get her out of my sight.”

Without a word, the two enforcers hauled Sophie up by her arms, dragging her screaming, kicking, and sobbing toward the service exit, leaving a trail of shattered glass and spilled champagne in their wake.

I stood alone in the center of the grand ballroom, surrounded by the wreckage of my family’s betrayal. The glittering chandeliers mocked the darkness in my chest.

My phone vibrated in my coat pocket.