Page 94 of Corrupted Heir (Mafia Kings: Corrupted 1)

When I put my hand on her shoulder, she jolted.

“It’s going to be okay, Fallon. Close your eyes. Just close your eyes, and don’t look at him,” I said, rubbing her arms up and down.

I was so proud of her, but I wished to hell I’d been the one to shoot the motherfucker on the floor. I pulled her toward me, forcing her face into my chest. I wrapped my arm around her head, blocking any noise and all the death and destruction around us.

“I’d put a bullet between your eyes and put you out of your misery,” I said to Tony, “but that’s too easy. She shot you in the gut, didn’t she? Right in the stomach?”

Tony had lost all color in his face and swayed from left to right.

“Good. A shot to the stomach is one of the most gruesome, slow ways to die. I’d rather you suffered and died alone. Have fun in hell,” I spat.

“I’ll… I’ll get you for this.”

“Sure thing. Fuck off,” I said.

I led Fallon out of the room, picking the Hellcat up on our way out. I closed the door behind us. Her breathing had steadied, and she came up for fresh air.

“Is it too soon to say this?” I looked down at her, more in love than I had ever been. “I fought my way up here to save you, but it looks like you saved yourself. So… I’m proud of you.”

She managed to give me a weak smile.

“I had a good teacher,” she said in a shaky whisper.

“Looks like things have died down. Let’s go check on my mother,” I said. “And hide out while the place gets cleaned up.”

Fallon averted her eyes from the bodies on the floor, some of which were being dragged to a big pile near the front door.

We had no spoils of war to celebrate with, only dead men. Men who had followed their leader into a battle they could never have won.

Chapter Forty

Dominic

The basement door was open, just a crack. It should have been closed, locked tight. But maybe Leo or Dante had gotten here first. Slowly, I pushed the door open, my muscles taut, ready, just in case.

The stairwell landing was empty. No sounds coming from down below. So, why was the back of my neck prickling?

The old wooden stairs creaked as we descended but I could barely hear it over the ringing in my ears. Tinnitus? Maybe. It grew so loud I couldn’t even hear my own thoughts.

“Mamma?” I called out halfway down.

No answer.

When we reached the base of the stairs, I froze.

My mother laid on the ground, not ten feet from me—but flat on her back. She was wearing one of her favorite white dresses, but it wasn’t white anymore. It was red. Her chest, her abdomen, all the way up to her neck. It was like someone had taken a careless paintbrush to her beautiful dress.

A body laid prostrate on the ground next to her, one hand wrapped loosely around a pistol while the other clutched the knife that protruded from his chest. My mother’s knife. Even from here, I could make out the intricate etching on the handle. A decorativeLembellished with whorls that made the initial look imperial.

Bullet whimpered on the ground next to her, nudging my mother with his nose while he scampered around her.

“Mamma,” I cried out as I dropped to my knees beside her. As I fell, the world seemed to crash down with me, crumbling into pieces I’d never be able to put back together. “No. No. No.”

My mother’s eyes fluttered open and closed while her chest rose and fell slowly.

“No, no, no, don’t you die on me.”

I brushed her hand aside and found the wound; a hole in the middle of my mother’s chest, spewing blood. Too much blood. I pressed down on it, trying to stem the flow, but it was too late. In the back of my mind, I knew. I’d seen death so many times. Blood seeped between my fingers and spilled over.

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