Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

Dominic

F rom my vantage point, I watched as chaos erupted below. The pulsating lights, which once bathed the dancers in a kaleidoscope of colors, now illuminated faces twisted in terror. Glass shattered, the sound piercing through the desperate shouts. Patrons scrambled for cover, their earlier euphoria drowned by the sudden onslaught of fear.

I stood motionless, a dark sentinel amid the turmoil, eyes mapping the unfolding disaster. Staff members, accustomed to handling rowdy drunks or the occasional brawl, were ill-equipped for this invasion. They darted about, trying to herd the patrons to safety, but their efforts only added to the disarray. A woman's scream knifed through, her heels clicking frantically against the floor as she fled from an unseen threat.

It didn't take long for me to discern the nature of the disturbance. I caught sight of armed figures weaving through the crowd—sharks in a sea of frantic fish. My enemies had breached my club. As the heir of a mafia dynasty, danger was a constant shadow, but one I never allowed to darken my doorstep. Until now.

With a predator's grace, I reached inside my jacket, fingers closing around the familiar weight of my gun. I drew it from its holster, the metal cold and reassuring in my hand. My thumb flicked off the safety with an almost imperceptible click, a sound lost amid the bedlam but loud as thunder in my own ears.

My pulse remained steady, a counterpoint to the erratic heartbeats echoing around me. I checked the chamber, ensuring it was fully loaded. Not a single muscle trembled as I mentally prepared for the bloodshed to come. There was no room for hesitation; my wife, Alexa, was somewhere in that panicked crowd. I would carve my way through hell to reach her.

Eyes narrowed, I scanned the room below, every fiber of my being honed for combat. My mind was a weapon as deadly as the gun in my hand, calculating trajectories and escape routes, turning the chaotic club into a tactical landscape. I was a man molded by the merciless teachings of my father, a man who understood that love and war were entangled in a vicious dance.

Tonight, I would lead.

I took out my phone and put it to my ear before the first scream finished echoing off the club's vaulted ceiling. "Lock it down," I commanded. "Eyes sharp for Alexa. No one gets in or out until I say."

"Understood, boss."

My men knew the gravity of the situation without further explanation—a testament to the grim education I imparted upon them. As the line clicked off, a symphony of chaos played below. I surveyed the battleground, my gaze a blade slicing through the pandemonium, cutting away the irrelevant to focus solely on the mission at hand.

The heavy thud of boots announced the arrival of the enforcers. They poured into the club like a vengeful storm, faces set in hard lines, weapons drawn. Patrons who had been frozen by fear were now diving for cover.

Gunshots shattered the blare of music, the flashes from the barrels brief illuminations in the low light. I watched, detached yet entirely present, as my men engaged the infiltrators. Each discharge, a potential end. Each body that hit the floor, a message written in blood—this was Gambino territory.

A dark satisfaction curled in my chest as I watched an enemy crumple under the precise fire of my soldiers. Their training held, their shots true. But there was no time for pride; this was only the beginning of retribution.

I stepped over a fallen chair, movements deliberate, unaffected by the screams and the scent of gunpowder. The tightness in my jaw was the only sign of the fury raging within. Someone would pay dearly for bringing this war to my doorstep, for daring to threaten what was mine.

"Stay down!" I commanded, voice slicing through as I passed two men trying to rise. They dropped instantly, obedience an instinctive response to the authority woven into my timbre.

I maneuvered past a toppled roulette table, chips scattered like fallen dreams, gaze darting from shadow to shadow. The scent of sweat and spilled cocktails mingled with the iron tang of blood—an olfactory marker of the night's descent into hell.

A sharp cry cut through the air, a siren call that pulled my attention. I pushed forward, driven by the visceral need to find her, to wrap her in the shield of my presence. Every cell in my body screamed for Alexa, for confirmation that she was safe.

Without Alexa, the kingdom I built from shadows and whispers meant nothing. She was the heart of my dark world, and I would unleash hell itself to keep her heart beating.

The heavy door to the back room groaned under my forceful shove, its protest lost in the chaos echoing through the club. Inside, the sharp tang of fear clung to the air, thick enough to taste. My eyes, accustomed to the low light and shadow play of my domain, found her instantly—Alexa, her bright-blue eyes wide with terror, among a group of girls pressed against the wall.

"Where is he?" one of the intruders snarled, pressing the cold muzzle of a gun to the temple of a whimpering girl beside Alexa. "Speak, or I start making examples!"

My gaze remained ice-cold as I assessed the scene, mind calculating odds and angles with lethal precision. The tension in the room was a living entity, each shallow breath from the hostages feeding its insatiable hunger. Alexa's lips parted, but no sound escaped—a silent testament to her resilience even when staring down the barrel of death.

I edged closer, a shadow among shadows, focus narrowing as I observed the subtle cues given by the girls. One of them, a brunette with a tremble in her hands that didn't match the terror in her eyes, caught my attention. There was a stiffness to her posture, a careful placement of her feet, as if ready to move—not away from the threat, but alongside it.

"Dom," she whispered.

It was all I needed. Alexa's gaze met mine, a silent plea for salvation that steeled my resolve. Now was the moment to strike, to reclaim my world from the precipice of destruction. I could see it in her eyes; she understood the gravity of the situation, recognized the necessity of the violence about to unfold. And though it pained me to taint her view of me further, she would forgive me for what I was about to do—for her, for our future, for the empire we were entwined within.

The darkness of the room seemed to gather around me, an extension of my will as I moved, a predator poised to restore order to my realm. My shadow stretched across the wall, a silent herald of the retribution to come. The low hum of fear from Alexa and the other captives faded into a distant echo as my focus narrowed, every sense attuned to the task at hand.

I glided forward, a specter amid chaos, my movements deliberate and silent. My gun, an extension of my wrath, whispered promises of swift justice. The first intruder turned just as my arm swept in a vicious arc, the silenced muzzle kissing the air before exhaling death. The body crumpled without a sound, a puppet severed from its strings.

The second adversary barely had time to register the blur of motion before I was upon him. There was no hesitation, only the fluid dance of predator and prey. A sharp crack, a stifled grunt, and another lifeless form joined the first, their threats extinguished under my unyielding resolve.

With the immediate danger nullified, the room's atmosphere shifted, the weight of terror giving way to a fragile relief. But my stormy eyes remained vigilant, reading the subtle shift in the air as I scanned the room for any further threat.

"Clear," I announced, voice calm despite the adrenaline that coursed through my veins. I beckoned to my men with a terse gesture, the bodies of the fallen intruders a grim testament to my effectiveness.

"Bring them," I commanded, gesturing toward the remaining infiltrators who had been subdued by my men during the skirmish. They were dragged to their feet, hands bound, expressions a mix of fear and defiance.

My office became a chamber of judgment, the low light casting shadows on the walls that seemed to sway with anticipation. I seated myself behind the imposing desk, the embodiment of power and control. "Talk. I want names. I want motives."

Their resistance was met with cold indifference, a chilling reminder of the futility of their silence. One by one, they broke, words tumbling out in desperate bids for mercy—a mercy I had no intention of granting.

"Enough," I said, tone slicing through their pleas. I stood, radiating authority as I moved to stand in front of the one whose eyes flickered with a hint of deception.

"Your lies are a poison," I growled, inches from the man's face, my presence an oppressive force. "And I am the antidote. Now, tell me about the traitor."

The man's resolve withered under my scrutiny, the truth clawing its way out from behind sealed lips. I listened, my mind already weaving the strands of betrayal and deceit into a noose.

"Take them away," I ordered once I extracted every shred of information. The intruders were hauled off, leaving me alone in the quiet aftermath, the darkness around me holding whispers of loyalty and treachery in equal measure .

My fingers twitched imperceptibly at my side, each muscle coiled tight with the urge to rush to Alexa, to assure myself of her safety with my own eyes, to enfold her in my arms and shield her from the world's darkness that I knew all too well.

But I remained still, a statue of restraint. I could not afford the luxury of yielding to my desires, not when any sign of weakness could unravel the threads of power and respect I had woven so meticulously.

"Boss."

"Not now," I cut through the interruption, my voice a blade that left no room for argument. I turned my back, facing the expanse of the city that lay beyond the window, a sprawling web of shadows and secrets. And somewhere out there, Alexa waited for me, her faith in my return a beacon I dared not snuff out with my presence just yet.

My dark eyes reflected a tumultuous sea of emotion, a man torn between the ferocity of my love and the iron grip of duty. As the night bled away, questions hung in the air like specters—whispers of betrayal, the identity of the traitor among those I trusted, and the consequences that loomed ominously on the horizon.