Chapter 6 - The Price of the CrownMarco Russo stood in the doorway, his silk jacket stained with soot, a silenced pistol dangling loosely in his right hand. A triumphant, arrogant smile spread across his face as he saw me standing alone in the dim bedroom.
"Smart girl," Marco laughed softly, stepping across the threshold. "You realize resistance is—"
I didn't let him finish.
Before he could raise his weapon, I lunged forward and brought the heavy brass candlestick down with every ounce of strength I possessed, smashing it directly against his gun-hand.
Marco roared in pain as the pistol clattered across the hardwood floor. He stumbled back, clutching his bruised wrist, his eyes widening in shock as he realized the quiet, obedient ornament of the DeLuca syndicate had just attacked him.
"You little—"
He lunged forward, grabbing me by the arm and spinning me around, pressing his forearm hard against my throat to cut off my air. The breath locked in my lungs, and black spots danced across my vision, but I dug my fingernails deep into his wrist, refusing to go down without a fight.
"Let her go."
The voice was a low, terrifying growl that echoed from the doorway, carrying the weight of absolute death.
Marco froze. He slowly turned his head toward the entry.
Enzo stood in the doorway.
His clothes were torn, his knuckles stained with blood, and his dark eyes were wide, empty pools of pure, unbridled fury. He held no gun. He didn't need one. The sheer, crushing aura of violence rolling off him made Marco’s men—who were supposed to be securing the downstairs—conspicuous by their absence. They were either dead or broken.
"Enzo," Marco choked out, tightening his arm around my throat with a desperate, panicked grip. "Step back, or I snap her neck right now. She’s nothing to you! You never even touched her!"
Enzo took one slow, deliberate step into the room.
The air grew so heavy I could barely breathe, but when our eyes met across the dim bedroom, there was no fear in my gaze—only absolute trust.
"You’re right, Marco," Enzo said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "For three years, I didn't touch her. I protected her from my enemies, from my world, from myself. I gave her space because I thought I was being merciful."
Enzo took another step closer, the floorboards groaning under his weight.
"But I was wrong," Enzo continued, a dark, terrible smile touching his lips. "I didn't protect her. I starved her. And the moment you walked into that ballroom and tried to take what was mine... I realized I would rather burn Chicago to ash than spend one more second pretending she doesn't belong to me."
"Stay back!" Marco screamed, panic cracking his voice.
"Do it," I whispered, choking out the words beneath Marco’s arm.
Enzo didn't hesitate. He crossed the remaining distance with the explosive speed of a striking predator. Before Marco could react, Enzo’s hands closed around the younger man’s throat, yanking him away from me with such catastrophic force that the sound of snapping bone echoed sharply through the bedroom.
Marco crumpled to the floor like a broken doll, motionless.
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I stumbled forward, gasping for air, but before I could hit the floor, Enzo caught me in his arms. He pulled me against his chest so hard I could feel the violent, frantic hammering of his heart against my ribs.
"I've got you," he whispered, burying his face in my hair, his voice breaking for the first time in my life. "I’ve got you, Ava. I’m never letting you go."
