Chapter 8 - The Price of a Soul
A shrill, silent alarm pulsed across the secure channels.
Levian saw the shift in her eyes and realized what she had done. “You stupid bitch!” he snarled, lunging forward with the pistol raised.
Laura didn't freeze. Months of dodging angry employers, years of enduring poverty, and the fierce instinct to protect the man she loved took over. She grabbed the heavy crystal decanter of scotch from the corner of the desk and hurled it with everything she had directly into Levian’s face.
The crystal shattered on impact, spraying amber liquid and shards into his eyes. Levian screamed in pain, firing blindly as he stumbled backward. The bullet ripped through the mahogany paneling inches above Laura’s head.
Before he could recover his sight, the double doors were kicked off their hinges with explosive force.
Arturo D’Angelo stepped into the room like a dark demon summoned from the depths of hell.
He wasn't ambushed. He wasn't dead. He wore a full tactical vest, drenched in rain, his eyes burning with an unholy fury that made the room’s air feel icy cold. Behind him, four elite enforcers rushed in, tackling Levian to the ground and disarming him in seconds, pinning the traitor face-down on the bloodstained rug.
Arturo didn't look at Levian. He moved past the fallen men as if they didn't exist, his eyes locked solely on Laura.
He pulled her into his arms, checking her face, her shoulders, her hands with frantic speed. “Did he touch you? Did he hurt you?”
“No,” Laura breathed, clutching his tactical vest, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. “No, I’m okay. Arturo, he was working with Moretti! He planned the whole thing!”
“I know,” Arturo said softly, pressing a kiss to her temple, his voice dropping into a deadly calm that was far more terrifying than any shout. “I’ve known Levian was siphoning funds for three months. I used Moretti’s ambush tonight to draw him out into the open.”
Arturo turned slowly toward the floor where Levian was writhing, pinned under the heavy boots of the guards.
“Arturo... please!” Levian choked out, blood and scotch blinding his vision. “We were brothers! My father served yours for thirty years!”
Arturo drew his signature silver-plated 1911 pistol, racking the slide with a clean, definitive metallic snap.
“My father died an honorable man,” Arturo said, looking down at his former consigliere with utter disgust. “You betrayed your family. You betrayed your oath. And worst of all... you pointed a gun at my woman.”
“Arturo, wait,” Laura said, her voice shaking.
Arturo paused, his finger on the trigger, glancing at her. For a split second, he looked ready to put the bullet in Levian’s skull right in front of her.
“Don't do it here,” Laura whispered softly, placing her small hand over his gun hand, gently lowering his arm. “Don't let him turn this room into another grave. Let the law take what’s left of him, or let your men take him away. Don't make yourself a monster for a traitor who isn't worth the lead.”
Arturo stared at her, stunned by her plea. In his entire life, no one had ever asked him for mercy—not for themselves, but for his own humanity.
He looked at Levian, then looked at the pure, unwavering love in Laura’s eyes.
May you like
Slowly, Arturo lowered the pistol completely, decocking the hammer and returning it to his holster.
“Take him to the harbor basement,” Arturo commanded his guards coldly. “Hand his ledgers over to the Federal Bureau of Investigation anonymously before sunrise. Let him spend the rest of his miserable life rotting in a supermax prison cell in Colorado where Moretti’s ghosts can't reach him.”
