Chapter 23
Chapter 23: The Weight of the Trigger
The nursery door was blown off its hinges. Enzo charged into the room, his eyes wild, his weapon raised. The sight of Preston wrestling with the mastiff on the floor sent a surge of pure, lethal adrenaline through his veins. He didn't hesitate; he brought the butt of his weapon down across Preston’s jaw, sending the old man crashing against the light oak crib.
Bruno retreated on Enzo's sharp whistle, guarding the door, his teeth bared and dripping blood.
Enzo stood over Preston, the barrel of his gun pressed firmly against the center of the old man's forehead. His finger tightened on the trigger, the muscle in his jaw ticking with a violent, ancient rage. For Nathan. For Harper. For the child. It would take less than a pound of pressure to end the nightmare forever.
"Do it," Preston spat, wiping blood from his cracked lip, his smile twisted into a grotesque, defiant sneer. "Shoot an unarmed old man in front of your pregnant wife, Don DeLuca. Show her exactly what kind of monster she married. Put that blood on your child's hands before it's even born."
Enzo’s breath was ragged, his vision tunneling. The darkness of his syndicate upbringing screamed at him to pull the trigger, to eliminate the threat permanently.
"Enzo, stop."
May you like
Harper’s voice wasn't a scream; it was a quiet, absolute command that cut through the thunder of his rage. She walked over to him, her bare feet stepping over the shattered glass, and placed her small, steady hand over the top of his weapon, gently lowering the barrel away from Preston’s head.
"He wants you to kill him," Harper said, looking down at her father with an expression of profound, beautiful pity. "He wants to die a martyr to his own arrogance. He wants his death to be the thing that corrupts our home. We don't give him that power. He doesn't get to die in the light, Enzo. He belongs in the dark."
