Chapter 9 - Blood and Iron
Dominic lunged across the private box like a coiled spring.
Hannah dropped to her knees, scrambling beneath the mahogany table as Dominic collided with Rossi. The pistol went off with a muffled, spitting cough, the bullet tearing through the velvet curtain and shattering a crystal sconce against the wall.
Rossi swung the weapon toward Dominic’s chest, but Dominic gripped Rossi’s wrist with crushing force, slamming it violently against the brass railing of the balcony. The gun slipped from Rossi’s numb fingers, tumbling over the ledge and vanishing into the darkness below, landing harmlessly in the empty safety netting above the lower tier.
Rossi roared, throwing a desperate, savage punch that caught Dominic across the cheekbone. Dominic didn't even flinch. He absorbed the blow, his face a mask of primal, unbridled fury.
He drove his knee into Rossi’s ribs, hearing the satisfying crack of bone. Rossi doubled over, gasping for air, but Dominic grabbed him by the throat, slamming him backward against the velvet-covered railing that overlooked the auditorium.
Down below, the music reached its climactic frenzy. The audience erupted into cheers, completely oblivious to the brutal life-and-death struggle happening in the shadows of Box Six.
“You touched her,” Dominic snarled, his fingers tightening around Rossi’s windpipe, forcing the man backward over the thirty-foot drop. Rossi’s feet dangled precariously off the carpet, his eyes bulging with frantic, wheezing terror as he clawed at Dominic’s iron grip.
“Dominic! Stop!”
The voice cut through the red haze in his mind.
Dominic froze.
Hannah was standing behind him, her hands trembling, her throat bruised and red, but her eyes clear. Luca was beside her, his weapon raised, keeping watch on the corridor.
“Don't do it,” Hannah pleaded softly, stepping closer and placing her hand gently on Dominic’s rigid arm. “Don't throw away your life for him. He isn't worth your soul. You are not the monster he wants you to be.”
Dominic looked from Rossi’s terrified, purple face down to Hannah’s soft, pleading eyes. The rage that had sustained him for twelve years—the black poison that had kept him locked in an empty fortress—fought against the warmth of her touch.
Slowly, deliberately, Dominic pulled Rossi back from the precipice and hurled him violently onto the floor of the box.
Luca stepped forward immediately, driving a heavy boot into Rossi’s spine and clicking steel zip-ties around his wrists with practiced, brutal efficiency.
“Federal marshals are in the lobby, Mr. Moretti,” Luca said calmly, wiping blood from his own temple. “Rossi’s entire network collapsed twenty minutes ago. He’s going away for the rest of his natural life.”
Dominic didn't look at Rossi as the disgraced criminal was dragged out through the curtain.
He turned entirely to Hannah.
His hands, which had just been capable of snapping a man’s neck, were shaking as he reached out to touch her bruised jawline. His face crumpled with raw, unbearable tenderness.
“Hannah,” he choked out, his voice breaking. “Hannah, I’m sorry... I’m so sorry...”
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Hannah didn't let him finish. She threw her arms around his neck, burying her face into his chest, holding him with a fierce, unbreakable grip. Dominic wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her dark hair, his entire body trembling as he held the only treasure in the world that mattered.
Above them, the final chords of the symphony faded into glorious silence, followed by the thunder of two thousand people standing in unified applause.
