Chapter 10 - The Execution of Justice Inside the Glass Penthouse and the Ultimate Choice Offered to Delphine
The glass penthouse grew so silent that the distant patter of raindrops against the floor-to-ceiling windows sounded like gunfire.
Viktor Marchetti stared down at the blood-stained ledger resting among the scattered poker chips.
His face, usually carved from arrogant confidence, lost all its color in a matter of seconds.
“You… you set this up,” Viktor stammered, his hands trembling slightly as he gripped the edge of the poker table and pushed himself backward out of his leather chair.
“You fabricated a paper trail to pin your own internal paranoia on me!”
“My paranoia kept me alive while your ambition made you stupid enough to touch my family,” Sloan replied, his voice chillingly calm as he took another slow step forward.
“You thought because Cora was young and naive, you could slip a lethal allergen into her dinner without anyone tracing the supply chain back to your shell company in the Caymans.”
“I’m part of this family, Sloan!” Viktor shrieked, panic finally cracking his polished veneer as he stumbled backward against the marble bar.
“We share the same blood! You can’t just—!”
“My father’s blood died the night you decided my sister’s life was an acceptable collateral cost for your coup,” Sloan interrupted, his hand sliding smoothly beneath his jacket toward his holster.
The three other men sitting at the poker table tried to reach for their concealed weapons, but before their fingers even brushed the leather holsters, Bishop and the tactical enforcers pressed the cold barrels of their suppressed firearms firmly against the back of each man's neck.
“Don’t even think about it, gentlemen,” Bishop warned quietly.
“A single twitch and the floor will need a very thorough bleaching.”
Viktor backed up until his spine hit the marble counter, his chest heaving as he realized there was no escape, no backup coming from the lobby, and no mercy waiting in Sloan’s eyes.
“Sloan… please,” Viktor whispered, his voice cracking with pathetic desperation.
“We can talk about this. We can restructure the territories. You can take sixty percent of the shipping ports—hell, take everything! Just don’t—”
A single, deafening crack echoed through the luxury penthouse.
The suppressed bullet struck Viktor squarely in the center of his chest, tearing through his expensive designer tuxedo and dropping him instantly to the marble floor in a spreading pool of dark, crimson blood.
The jazz music continued to play softly from the ceiling speakers.
None of the other men at the table made a sound.
Sloan lowered his smoking weapon slowly, his face an impenetrable mask of dark, absolute authority.
“Clean this up,” Sloan ordered Bishop without looking back.
“Make sure the shipping channels are reassigned by sunrise.”
“Yes, boss,” Bishop replied, gesturing to the enforcers, who moved with practiced, mechanical efficiency.
Sloan turned his head slowly, looking toward the far corner of the expansive penthouse lounge.
Delphine was standing beside the floor-to-ceiling glass wall, her reflection ghosting against the rain-slicked city lights outside.
She hadn’t flinched when the shot was fired.
She hadn't screamed, covered her ears, or turned away.
She stood there with her arms crossed, watching him with an expression of profound, sorrowful understanding that cut deeper than any weapon ever could.
Sloan walked across the blood-spattered marble floor, stopping a few feet away from her.
“You didn’t turn away,” Sloan noted quietly, his dark eyes searching her face.
“Why would I?” Delphine asked, her voice steady, though a faint tremor betrayed the emotional toll of the night.
“I spent two years sleeping beside the monster who built this empire, Sloan. I knew what kind of blood kept these floors clean long before I ever packed my bags.”
“And yet you saved my sister’s life tonight,” Sloan said, taking another step closer until he was standing right in front of her, the scent of rain and gunpowder enveloping them both.
“Why, Delphine? If you hated me so much—if you hated this entire world—why didn't you just let her die and keep running?”
Delphine finally lifted her amber-brown eyes, locking her gaze directly into his with a fierce, unyielding intensity that took his breath away.
“Because I am a doctor, Sloan,” she whispered, her voice dropping into a poignant, heartbreaking register.
“And no matter how much I despise the man you are, an innocent nineteen-year-old girl didn't deserve to suffocate to death on a restaurant floor.”
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Sloan reached out, his large, warm hand gently gripping her chin, forcing her to look up at him.
“You saved my family,” Sloan murmured, his voice thick with a dark, consuming obsession.
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