Chapter 16 - The Iron Cage
"Five seconds, Dante," Marco murmured softly, checking his diamond-encrusted watch. "Decide whether you are a king or an obedient dog."
Matteo didn't move. His eyes met mine, steady and devoid of fear. He gave me a barely perceptible nod, silently telling me that if saving Beatrice and Lily required his death, he was ready to finish the job that had started twelve years ago. He was ready to die so that the innocent could live.
The sight of my brother's selfless resignation snapped something violent and primal inside my soul. For my entire life, I had been an instrument of other people's cruel designs—my mother's enforcer, Lorenzo's pawn, my father's experiment. The cycle ended tonight.
"I choose none of it," I snarled.
Instead of aiming at Matteo, I brought my gun up through the tabletop, firing three rapid rounds straight through the expensive wood. The heavy hollow-point bullets struck Marco's shoulder and collarbone, knocking him backward out of his chair in a shower of splintered mahogany and spilled alcohol.
Simultaneously, Beatrice's voice erupted over the comms with fierce triumph. She hadn't waited to be ambushed; the moment the tactical vans had boxed her in, she had thrown the heavy surveillance vehicle into reverse, violently ramming the lead van into an oncoming municipal bus before detonating an emergency smoke flare into the street.
The entire ballroom erupted into deafening screams as patrons fled in absolute panic from the gunfire. Matteo grabbed Marco by his bloody collar, hauling our wounded father to his feet while using him as a human shield against the private security team rushing the mezzanine.
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Bullets chewed through the ornate walls, shattering priceless mirrors and sending showers of glass raining down upon the polished floor. Marco coughed up blood, his face contorting in furious disbelief as he realized his supreme authority meant nothing to sons who had already died once.
We dragged him toward the private executive elevator at the rear of the penthouse, fighting our way through the corridor step by violent step. Matteo took a round to his bicep but didn't even slow down, returning fire with lethal precision until the elevator doors slid shut, cutting us off from the roaring chaos of the ballroom.
