Chapter Fourteen – The Throne Room Burns
You can't kill your past.
But you can put a bullet through its heart.
And watch the empire bleed.
The courthouse reeked of ash and blood.
We moved like ghosts through the wreckage. My crew was half-dead, Mercy limping with a bullet graze along her ribs. I was out of adrenaline, out of lies.
Only truth left.
And truth always comes with a body count.
Adriano was waiting in the old judge's chambers.
Dark suit. No tie. Gun on the desk like it belonged there.
The light hit his face—same eyes as mine. Same jawline. Same rage.
We were mirrors.
Cracked and bleeding.
"You're late," he said.
"Traffic."
He smiled, but there was no joy in it.
"Giovanni?"
"Dead."
"Shame. He would've made a better king than you."
"Then it's a good thing I'm not here to wear a crown."
We didn't waste time.
No speeches.
No drawn-out drama.
We drew.
Two wolves, one bite.
The first bullet clipped my shoulder.
His second missed.
Mine didn't.
Right through his leg. He went down hard, but not out.
He crawled to the desk, hand scrabbling for the backup piece taped beneath.
I kicked it away.
Gun to his face.
"You had a choice."
Blood bubbled from his lips as he laughed.
"So did you."
His eyes locked onto mine.
And for a second, I saw it.
Not the monster.
Not the ghost.
But the brother I might've had—if we'd been born into anything other than violence.
Then he lunged.
One last move.
One last scream.
One last curse.
I shot him twice in the chest.
He dropped.
And this time, he stayed down.
Mercy stood in the doorway, pale and shaking.
"Is it done?"
I didn't answer.
Just stepped over my brother's body.
And sat down behind the desk.
The Romano throne.
Wood scarred with time.
The seat of every sin my father built.
And now?
Now it was mine.
I didn't want the crown.
But it wanted me.
And in this world, kings don't get to be good men.
They just get to be the ones left standing.