Page 96 of Forbidden Vengeance

Two more rush me from opposite sides, coordination showing years of partnership. The first loses teeth to my elbow while his friend’s head meets the oak paneling with bone-crushing force. They drop like marionettes with cut strings, joining the growing collection of bodies proving that tradition means nothing against superior training.

Siobhan proves herself her father’s daughter, though not in the way he intended. She moves with deadly efficiency, each shot finding its mark as she systematically eliminates threats. Her clothes are splattered red, her face a mask of cold purpose.

But Seamus doesn’t know how to surrender. With a roar of fury, he grabs one of his fallen men’s weapons and opens fire. The first shot misses Siobhan by inches as I tackle her behind an antique cabinet. Wood splinters around us as he empties the clip.

“Just like your whore of a mother,” he taunts, trying to draw me out. “Another DeLuca bastard thinking he deserves power?—”

I return fire, forcing him back behind his desk. Siobhan slips through like smoke to my left, her own shots pinning down the few men still foolish enough to stand with her father.

“You remember what I did to you that first year?” Seamus calls out. “How you begged? Just like Sean’s boy begged?—”

The rage rises in my chest—memories of chains and basement lessons in respect. But then thoughts of Elena and our baby rise unbidden and it makes me momentarily pause.

This isn’t about my revenge anymore.

Through smoke and gunfire, I catch Siobhan’s eye as we advance on her father’s position. She moves with grace—every bit the queen she was born to be, regardless of what Seamus thinks about women in power.

When I finally have the kill shot—Seamus exposed and desperate—I lower my weapon.

“This one’s yours,” I tell Siobhan, stepping aside. “Consider it my one act of generosity.”

She smiles at me as she raises her gun. “How unexpectedly decent of you.”

“Siobhan.” Seamus raises his hands, blood seeping from his shoulder wound. “Let’s be reasonable. You’ve proven your point. I’ll step back, let you implement your changes. Whatever modernization you want?—”

“Nowyou want to negotiate?” Her laugh holds no warmth. “After Sean? After his boy? After every young captain you sacrificed to maintain control?”

“I’m still your father,” he snarls. “Still head of this family?—”

“Family?” Siobhan’s smile shows teeth. “You want to talk about family after everything you’ve done? After what you’ve said to me?”

“I’ll give you everything,” he tries one last time. “Total control of the operation, my blessing for all your changes?—”

“Go to hell.” The shots are precise—one to the heart, one to the head. Just like he taught her.

Seamus falls behind his massive desk, blood spraying across the family crest carved into ancient wood. For a moment,complete silence fills the study—even the gunfire outside seems to pause, as if the whole compound holds its breath.

Then reality crashes back. Young captains flood the room, their faces a mix of triumph and disbelief. The old guard who survived drop to their knees, offering loyalty to their new leader while their former don’s blood soaks into imported carpets.

“Get him out of here,” Siobhan orders, and Sean’s crew moves with efficient respect. They wrap Seamus’s body in the Irish flag he once used to justify his brutality—a final irony he’ll take to his grave.

A cheer goes up from the compound grounds as word spreads. I watch through bullet-scarred windows as decades of fear transform into celebration. Younger crews embrace, share drinks, mark this moment when everything changed.

I feel tension I didn’t even know I was carrying release from my shoulders. Five years of playing Seamus’s attack dog, of enduring his “lessons” in respect, finally paid in full.

Within hours, Siobhan’s carefully prepared network activates. The alliance we negotiated weeks ago slides into place—her modernized Irish operation working with us rather than against us. Territory agreements are signed, digital systems transferred, power consolidated with surgical precision.

While her father’s body is still warm, his daughter dismantles everything he built and replaces it with something entirely new.

“My father never understood,” Siobhan says later, signing the new territory agreements in what was once Seamus’s office. She uses Sean’s favorite pen—a small but pointed gesture. Her eyes are hard as she looks at the spot where her father fell. “Power isn’t about destruction anymore. It’s about building something sustainable. Something worth protecting.”

Like Elena, or our daughter. Or the future we’re securing not through violence but through careful choices. “Some lessons our fathers never learned,” I agree.

My phone buzzes with Elena’s message:Stella just kicked hard enough to shift my laptop. She knows her papa’s winning.

Those simple words nearly undo me—this normal moment amid our extraordinary circumstances. This chance to be more than Giuseppe’s son, more than the exiled brother, more than all the dark lessons of our world.

Some debts can only be paid in blood.

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