Chapter 7 - THE COMMISSION'S JUDGMENT
I didn't think. I didn't breathe. I just reacted.
As Leo raised his gun toward the twins, I lunged forward, throwing my body entirely over the babies, bracing for the burning impact of a bullet.
But the gunshot never came.
Instead, a deafening, metallic CRACK echoed through the hallway.
I opened my eyes.
Damien had used his last ounce of strength to grab the heavy fire extinguisher from the wall panel next to him. He swung it blindly upward, smashing it directly into Leo’s knees.
Leo howled in agony, his gun firing wildly into the ceiling as his legs buckled beneath him. He crashed to the marble floor, the weapon skittering away.
Before Leo could recover, the grand mahogany doors at the end of the hallway burst open, ripping off their hinges.
A flood of men poured into the mansion. But they weren't wearing the tactical gear of Leo’s rogue soldiers. They wore sharp, immaculate black suits.
At the front of the pack was a man in his seventies, leaning heavily on a silver-headed cane. His face was weathered, his eyes ancient and cold.
The remaining men loyal to Leo instantly dropped their weapons, falling to their knees in absolute terror.
"Don Carlo," Damien coughed, spitting blood onto the marble as he forced himself up onto one knee.
Carlo Romano. The head of the Chicago Commission. The man who sat above all five families.
Don Carlo walked slowly down the blood-stained hallway, ignoring the bodies, his eyes fixed entirely on Leo, who was writhing on the floor clutching his shattered knees.
"Leo Moretti," Don Carlo said, his voice barely a whisper, yet it commanded the entire room. "You were exiled to Palermo. You were told if you ever set foot in Chicago again, your life would be forfeit."
"Carlo, listen to me," Leo begged, blood spilling from his lips. "Damien is weak! He let a waitress into his inner circle! He’s compromised! I was reclaiming the family for the Commission!"
Don Carlo looked at me, huddled on the floor, clutching the crying twins to my chest. He looked at the silver syringe of digitalis lying on the floor beside me.
"You orchestrated the murder of a mother," Don Carlo said softly to Leo. "You poisoned infants. You corrupted a trusted physician. These are not the actions of a Don. These are the actions of a coward who could not win a war like a man."
Don Carlo struck his cane against the marble floor. A sharp, echoing crack.
"The Commission does not tolerate cowards."
Two of Carlo’s men stepped forward, grabbing Leo by the arms and dragging him toward the door.
"Wait! Damien, tell them!" Leo screamed, panic finally shattering his arrogant facade. "I'm your brother! Blood of the covenant! Damien, please!"
Damien, clutching his bleeding side, looked at the brother who had destroyed his life. His eyes were dead.
"Take him to the warehouse," Damien told Carlo's men. "I'll deal with him myself when I heal."
Leo’s screams faded down the hallway, swallowed by the storm outside.
Don Carlo turned his ancient eyes to Damien. "Your house is clean, Damien. The Commission recognizes your strength today. You survived a coup from within."
Then, Carlo looked at me. "And you, Ellie Hart. You possess a courage rare in our world. The debt of $47,000 you owe to Chicago Memorial is cleared. Dr. Rossi will be... permanently relocated. You have the Commission's gratitude."
Don Carlo nodded respectfully, then turned and walked out, his men vanishing like ghosts, leaving the mansion eerily quiet.
I couldn't process the words. My debt was gone. Rossi was gone. The nightmare was ending.
But as I looked down, the relief was violently ripped away.
Damien was lying flat on the floor, a massive pool of dark blood spreading across the white marble beneath him.
"Damien!" I screamed, dropping the syringe and rushing to his side, laying the babies gently next to him.
I pressed my hands hard against the shotgun wound in his side, trying to stem the catastrophic bleeding. His skin was freezing cold.
"Ellie," Damien whispered, his eyes fluttering, struggling to focus on my face.
"Don't talk," I sobbed, putting all my weight on the wound. "Stay with me, Damien. The medics are coming. Stay with me!"
He reached up with a trembling, blood-stained hand and cupped my cheek. His thumb brushed away a tear.
"You saved them," he breathed, looking at his sons, who were crying softly against his side. "You saved my family."
"We're going to save you," I cried.
Damien weakly pulled his blood-soaked suit jacket off his shoulders, pushing it toward me.
"Take it," he whispered, his voice fading into a terrifying rattle. "Take the boys. Go far away. Don't look back."
His eyes rolled back, his hand falling limply to the floor.
"Damien! No!" I screamed, pressing my lips to his forehead. "Please, Damien, please!"
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But he didn't move. He didn't breathe.
The head of the Chicago mafia lay dead in his own hallway, and I was entirely alone with his children.
