Chapter 2 - The Fall of the ShadowInside the bedroom, Victor was still pointing his pistol at Damian's heart, completely unaware that his execution timeline had just been shattered.
"Say goodbye to your empire, brother," Victor sneered, raising his sightline to align the barrel with Damian’s forehead.
BOOM!
The heavy mahogany double doors didn't just open—they exploded inward in a shower of shattered wood, torn hinges, and flying brass fittings!
A flashbang grenade arced through the splintered doorway, bouncing flat against the Persian rug before detonating with a blinding white light and a thunderous, ear-splitting report!
FLASH-CRASH!
Victor shrieked as the shockwave knocked him sideways, his vision whited out, his hands flying to his ears as his gun clattered flat against the floorboards!
I instinctively threw myself over Lila, shielding her eyes and body as six heavy-set, fully armored Vance Security operatives swarmed into the smoke-filled room with tactical rifles raised.
"ON THE GROUND! DON'T MOVE!" Marcus Vance’s baritone thundered through the smoke.
CRACK!
Marcus didn't waste time negotiating. He stepped through the haze, his heavy combat boot slamming directly into Victor’s chest, pinning the traitor flat against the marble floor before locking high-tensile steel handcuffs around his wrists behind his back.
"GET THE DOCTOR! GET THE ICU TEAM UP HERE NOW!" Marcus roared toward the hallway.
Victor thrashed against the floorboards, spitting blood, his eyes wide with frantic, delusional fury. "MARCUS! HE’S DYING ANYWAY! I AM THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY NOW! I ORDER YOU TO STAND DOWN!"
Marcus looked down at Victor with an absolute, weightless disgust. He leaned down, pulling a small blue bottle from Victor’s inner jacket pocket—the exact bottle Lila had pointed out minutes earlier.
"You're not the head of anything, Victor," Marcus said coldly. "Except Federal Cellblock B."
Two private medical officers rushed into the room carrying a portable oxygen ventilator, emergency IV lines, and a gurney. They immediately began stabilizing Damian, hooking him up to pure oxygen and high-potency saline flushes.
Damian’s chest rose and fell heavily beneath the mask. His dark eyes slowly turned away from his thrashing brother, moving across the room until they found me and Lila sitting near the wall.
He pulled the oxygen mask slightly off his face, his trembling, gaunt hand extending toward the little girl.
Lila didn't flinch from the smoke or the heavy boots. She stood up, smoothing down her pastel-blue princess dress, clutching her stuffed rabbit in one arm as she walked over to the bed.
She reached out her tiny hand and touched his wrist once more.
Safe? she signed, her hazel eyes bright and clear.
Damian offered a tiny, weak, but genuine smile—a look of profound, weightless reverence that transformed his severe features.
May you like
He raised his hand and clumsily signed back two words she had spent three days trying to teach him:
MY... ANGEL.
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