Chapter 8 - Reckoning
Viktor dropped his weapon, the metal clattering uselessly against the stone pathway. He looked up at Damian, who stood towering over him, his face illuminated by the flickering flames of a burning armored vehicle nearby.
"Do it," Viktor whispered, closing his eyes, bracing for the inevitable bullet. "End it."
Damian raised his pistol, the barrel hovering inches from Viktor’s forehead. Every fiber of his being screamed to pull the trigger—to avenge six years of stolen nights, phantom grief, and agonizing emptiness. His finger tightened on the trigger, the hammer cocking back with a sharp, metallic click.
“Mama said he has the same dream. There’s a car. And fire. And trees…”
Lily’s innocent voice echoed in his mind, reminding him of what was truly at stake. Killing Viktor on the lawn wouldn't bring back the last six years. It wouldn't erase the nightmares haunting his son’s sleep.
Instead, Damian lowered the barrel.
Viktor opened his eyes in stunned disbelief, gasping for air. "You're... you're not going to kill me?"
"Killing you is too easy, Viktor," Damian said coldly, his voice dripping with absolute contempt. "Death is a mercy you haven't earned. But the federal authorities? The international tribunals? They'll find every offshore account, every shell corporation, every dirty file you've hidden for the last twenty years. You’ll spend the rest of your natural life in a concrete box, completely forgotten by the world."
Before Viktor could speak, Marcus stepped forward, snapping heavy tactical zip-ties around Viktor's wrists and shoving him roughly to his knees.
"Take him away," Damian ordered without looking back. "Lock him in the lower holding cells until federal marshals arrive at dawn."
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As Viktor was dragged screaming into the darkness, Damian let out a long, shuddering breath. The air felt cleaner now—washed of the smoke, the blood, and the ghosts of the past. The war was over. The empire was secure. And more importantly, his son was safe inside.
He turned on his heel and walked back toward the mansion, his boots crunching softly against the gravel path, ready to step back into a light he hadn't allowed himself to see in six years.
