Kidnapping the Assassin: The Mafia Don’s Fatal Mistake

The Red Coronation

Chapter 14

[Elara]

I didn't take the maintenance stairs. I took the grand elevator that led directly from the catacombs into the center of the Cathedral of Saints.

The ascent was excruciatingly slow. The rusted gears ground against each other, the metal cage shivering as it climbed the deep vertical shaft. I sat on the grated floor, Cassian’s head resting in my lap.

I had stripped him of his ruined suit jacket. I used a scrap of his silk shirt to wipe the soot and blood away from his face. In the dim yellow light of the elevator car, he just looked asleep. The harsh lines of his face were finally relaxed, the constant burden of the syndicate wiped completely clean.

I brushed a stray lock of dark hair off his forehead. My thumb traced the cold, sharp curve of his cheekbone.

"You promised me an empire," I whispered to the empty air, the words catching on the razor blades in my throat.

The elevator hit the surface floor with a violent jerk.

The heavy iron doors slid open.

The cathedral above was entirely silent, but it wasn't empty. Over two hundred syndicate men stood in the pews. They hadn't left after the Gauntlet began. They had stayed to watch the monitors, to witness the birth of a new Don.

At the altar, Marco stood in a pristine white suit, surrounded by heavily armed Guild mercenaries. He had the golden chalice in his hand again.

Every head turned toward the elevator.

I stood up. I stepped out of the cage, the heavy, iron-tipped heels of my combat boots echoing like gunshots against the marble floor. My ivory silk skirt, torn at the thigh and soaked entirely through with Cassian’s blood, dragged behind me like a ruined cape.

I carried Cassian’s heavy assault rifle in my right hand. In my left, I held Marco’s dead enforcer by the strap of his tactical vest, dragging his bleeding corpse across the pristine church floor.

I stopped halfway down the center aisle. I let go of the vest. The dead man hit the floor with a wet slap.

A collective, terrified shudder ran through the rows of mafia soldiers. They looked at me, a woman drenched in the blood of their king, walking out of a labyrinth that was supposed to be a tomb.

"She killed him!" Marco shrieked from the altar, pointing a trembling finger at me. "The Viper murdered your Don in the tunnels! Gun her down!"

Not a single syndicate man raised his weapon.

They were killers, but they weren't stupid. They had watched the monitors. They saw the gas. They saw Cassian jump into the pit to save me.

Marco’s face contorted in panic. He snapped his fingers at his Guild mercenaries. "Shoot her! Now!"

Ten suppressed rifles aimed directly at my chest.

"Wait."

The word was spoken softly, but it commanded the room entirely.

The Emissary of the High Table stepped out from the shadows near the baptismal font. He leaned heavily on his wooden cane, his ancient eyes locking onto mine. He looked past me, staring into the dark elevator car where Cassian lay.

"The Don is dead," the Emissary stated. It wasn't a question.

"Yes," I said. The word tasted like ash.

"And you survived the Gauntlet."

"I survived." I hoisted the assault rifle, resting the heavy barrel against my shoulder. "But the trial was tampered with. Neurotoxin isn't part of the old ways. Guild mercenaries aren't part of the High Table."

The Emissary turned his head slowly, fixing Marco with a look of absolute, terrifying judgment.

"No," the old man rasped. "They are not."

Marco took a step back, the golden chalice trembling in his hand. "Emissary, she is a liar! She’s an outsider! You cannot listen to"

"Under the laws of the Commission," the Emissary interrupted, his voice booming through the vaulted ceiling, "when a Don falls in combat, his throne passes to his blood. If he has no blood... it passes to his surviving spouse."

The old man tapped his cane against the marble. The sound rang out like a judge's gavel.

"Kneel before your Donna," the Emissary commanded the room.

For a terrible, stretched second, no one moved.

Then, a massive man in the front pew Cassian’s oldest Capo stepped into the aisle. He looked at the blood staining my dress, looked at the dead enforcer at my feet, and slowly sank to one knee. He bowed his head.

A ripple effect took over the cathedral. Row by row, the deadliest men in the city dropped to their knees. The rustle of expensive suits and the clatter of weapons hitting the floor filled the air.

Only Marco and his ten mercenaries remained standing.

"Kill them all!" Marco screamed, completely unhinged, raising his own sidearm.

He didn't even get a shot off.

I raised Cassian’s rifle and squeezed the trigger. The burst of automatic fire shattered the silence. The heavy caliber rounds tore through Marco's chest, throwing his body backward against the marble altar. He crumpled, the golden chalice rolling uselessly out of his hand, spilling wine that mixed perfectly with his pooling blood.

The Guild mercenaries froze, looking at their dead employer. Then, they slowly lowered their weapons, realizing they were surrounded by two hundred kneeling syndicate soldiers who were now looking to me for their next order.

I lowered the smoking rifle.

I looked out over the sea of bowed heads. I had the army. I had the money. I had everything Cassian had promised me to protect Lily.

So why did it feel like I had absolutely nothing?

I turned on my heel, walking back toward the elevator car. I needed to get him out of this place. I needed to take him home.

I stepped into the cage, dropping the rifle to the floor. I knelt beside Cassian’s body, my bloody hands hovering over his chest, ready to lift him.

My breath stopped.

My eyes darted to his neck. To the sharp line of his jaw.

It was faint. So incredibly faint it was almost invisible beneath the dim yellow light. But the skin over his carotid artery gave a tiny, microscopic flutter.

I ripped my gloves off, pressing my bare fingers against his throat, pressing so hard I almost bruised him.

Thump.

A pause lasting a terrifying five seconds.

Thump.

His heart hadn't stopped entirely. The toxin had slowed his metabolic rate to a near-death crawl, preserving his organs in a state of suspended animation. He wasn't dead. He was drowning in his own body.

A ragged, desperate laugh clawed its way out of my chest.

I looked up at the ceiling of the cathedral, my eyes burning with a sudden, terrifying clarity.

Cassian Rossi belonged to me. And the Viper never let anyone take what was hers.