Gifted To The Don The Real Mafia Heiress Returns Chapter 10
The Coup
Three thousand men. Not one of them breathes.
The captain’s hand shakes on his rifle. His eyes flick from me to Dante behind me, and every drop of color leaves his face.
“She’s bluffing! Take her down!”
Somebody in the back — anonymous, brave — squeezes off a round. It comes straight at my throat.
Dante moves.
He doesn’t draw.
He catches the bullet’s angle with a flick of his wrist and a suppressor pistol from his hip, and the shooter drops before the sound reaches us.
The captain freezes. His second edges close and whispers something into his ear.
Whatever it is drains what’s left of his face.
Lorenzo Colombo has run. Slipped out the back gate of his father’s estate in a housekeeper’s car an hour ago.
The city flips in real time.
Old-world loyalists. Capos Dante’s had by the throat for years.
Every opportunist with a phone. They fold, one after another, and the news moves faster than the men outside can process.
Don Vittorio in his big office is losing his mind. Calls in the reserve — the shooters at the country compound — his last army.
He doesn’t know Dante bought the country compound’s captain three years ago.
Every rifle my uncle’s counting on already belongs to me.
—
Midnight. No moon.
Ricci guards and my Shadows move through the Colombo estate like smoke.
Through hallways I used to run down as a kid. Past the room where they murdered my father.
Nobody fires a shot.
Every gate is opened from the inside. Every guard is either bought or already down.
A bloodless coup. So quiet it feels like a dream.
I walk up the marble steps of the Colombo mansion with that old pistol loose in my hand and Dante half a step behind me.
A bird startles off a balcony and I feel him tense.
I don’t go find my uncle or my cousin. I walk straight to the main hall — my father’s old office.
The throne, they call it around here.
A carved leather chair at the head of a long table.
I don’t sit.
I drop the pistol onto the table. The clang breaks the silence.
I run my fingers slowly along the armrest.
I am familiar with the grain of this leather. “Dante.”
“Miss.”
“Bottle of scotch. A razor. A pistol with one round.”
“Let them pick. I don’t want any mess on this floor.”
“Consider it done.” He goes.
I turn toward the tall windows. The moon is behind cloud.
The whole mansion is quiet enough to hear my own heartbeat. Steady. Cold.
Luca comes in later. Kneels a pace inside the door.
“Miss Colombo. It’s done.”
I nod and start toward the exit.