Chapter 6 - The Fall of the House of Vance“Damian! Look out!”
I threw myself backward, shoving Damian hard to the side just as a deafening volley of automatic gunfire tore through the concrete floor where we had been standing a fraction of a second earlier.
Chips of concrete and lead shrapnel exploded into the air.
Damian hit the ground, rolling instantly into a tactical combat crouch, his Sig Sauer tracking upward toward the catwalk with terrifying speed.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three controlled shots echoed through the cavernous refinery.
Up on the catwalk, Liam Vance dropped his rifle, clutching his right shoulder as a spray of blood bloomed across his white designer shirt. He stumbled backward against the rusted iron railing, gasping in shock as the metal shrieked under his weight.
Before Vance could raise a backup pistol, Renzo and two snipers stepped out onto the lower platform, their weapons locked directly on his chest.
“Move an inch, Liam, and I’ll turn you into Swiss cheese,” Renzo called out coldly.
Vance’s knees buckled. He slid down the rusted railing, his hands stained with his own blood, glaring down at us with pure, unadulterated hatred.
Damian stood up slowly, brushing concrete dust off his tactical vest. He didn't rush up the stairs. He walked over with the slow, terrifying deliberation of a executioner approaching the guillotine.
I scrambled to my feet, my heart pounding against my ribs, adrenaline singing through every vein in my body.
“You... you can’t touch me, Cross,” Vance spat, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “The federal prosecutor... the city council... they’re all in my pocket! If I go down, half of Boston goes down with me!”
Damian stopped ten feet away from him, looking down at the broken rival boss with cold, utter detachment.
“You forget, Liam,” Damian said softly, his voice carrying clearly up to the catwalk. “You’re operating in a city built on real estate. And right now... I own the land beneath your feet, the banks holding your debt, and the federal task force currently raiding your warehouses in East Boston as we speak.”
Vance’s eyes widened in sheer, paralyzingly terror. “What... what did you say?”
“Your empire is gone, Liam,” Damian continued smoothly. “By noon, your assets will be frozen, your enforcers will be in federal custody, and your name will be wiped off every deed in Suffolk County. You lost.”
With a swift, brutal motion, Damian motioned to Renzo.
Two operatives marched up the stairs, slapped titanium cuffs onto Vance’s wrists, and hauled the bleeding crime lord to his feet, dragging him away toward the waiting transport vehicles without a backward glance.
The refinery fell silent once more. The smoke from the flashbangs slowly drifted out through the shattered windows, mixing with the pale morning sunlight.
Damian turned around. His green eyes searched the gloom until they found me standing by the conveyor belt, covered in dust, holding Marcus Vance’s inhaler.
In two long, furious strides, Damian crossed the distance between us, grabbed me by the shoulders, and pulled me violently against his chest, burying his face in my hair.
“You absolute, reckless, insane woman,” he choked out, his voice thick with raw emotion that he rarely let anyone see. “You jumped in front of a bullet for me.”
“You would have done the same for me,” I whispered, wrapping my arms tightly around his waist, feeling the solid, living warmth of his body against mine.
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“I would have burned this entire city to the ground before I let a single hair on your head get touched,” Damian corrected fiercely, pulling back just enough to frame my face with his large, calloused hands. He stared at me with such profound, absolute devotion that my breath caught in my throat. “Don't ever do that again, Clara. Do you hear me? You are not a soldier. You are my life.”
I smiled softly, reaching up to brush a streak of soot off his cheek. “Then you better keep me close, Mr. Cross. Because according to your own security protocols, I’m the only one who knows how to keep you alive.”
