Chapter 38 Patricide

Chapter 38 Patricide
The final confrontation took place at the old Valenti family compound on the outskirts of Chicago.

It was bitterly fitting.

This was the place where Enzo had grown up under his father's iron fist. The place where Silverfang wolves had murdered his mother, her blood soaking the carpet as she screamed. The place where Don Marco Valenti had forged his son into a weapon of vengeance through pain, discipline, and endless lessons in hatred.

Now it would become the grave of that legacy.

Don Marco Valenti waited for them in the grand courtyard, surrounded by his most loyal remaining captains and a small army of armed men. The old Don stood tall and imposing, his silver hair gleaming under the full moon, his face a mask of cold fury, disappointment, and something darker, the look of a man who had already decided his son was dead to him.

"So this is what you've become," Marco called out as Enzo, Selene, Kael, Damien, and Rafe approached. His voice carried across the courtyard like a death sentence. "A traitor who spreads his legs for a Silverfang whore and her filthy allies. I should have killed you when you were born, boy. I should have smothered you in your crib the day your mother died.
"
Enzo stepped forward, gun in hand, Selene at his side. The bond between them burned like fire. Kael and the others flanked them, ready for war.

"You killed my mother," Enzo said, voice steady but laced with decades of suppressed pain. "You taught me hatred. You turned me into this. But I found something stronger.
"
Marco laughed bitterly, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "Love? For that?" He pointed at Selene with pure disgust. "A half-breed wolf bitch who was sent to murder you? Pathetic. Weak. You've thrown away everything I built for a warm hole and a false bond.
"
The battle began without another word.

Gunfire erupted. Wolves howled. Shadows lashed out.

Enzo and his men clashed with his father's loyalists in a brutal civil war. Bullets tore through the air with sharp cracks. Claws ripped through flesh with wet, tearing sounds. The courtyard turned into a slaughterhouse within seconds. Blood sprayed in hot arcs across ancient stone tiles. Men screamed as they fell, some clutching gaping wounds, others gurgling as their throats were torn open.

Selene fought beside Enzo, claws flashing. She tore through two captains who had once called Enzo "boss," their blood hot and sticky on her hands as arteries sprayed crimson. Kael was a silver whirlwind, ripping apart those who had once been his allies. Damien moved like death, draining enemies with cold efficiency. Rafe laughed maniacally as his shadows crushed bones and tore limbs with sickening crunches.

But Don Marco was no easy target.

The old Don fought like a man who had survived decades of underworld wars. He wielded a silver-loaded pistol with deadly accuracy, each shot precise and lethal. He moved with surprising speed for his age, dodging attacks and countering with brutal efficiency.

He fired at Selene.

Enzo threw himself in front of her, taking the silver bullet in his chest. The impact made a sickening wet sound as the round tore through muscle and bone, exiting in a spray of blood and shredded tissue. Pain exploded through the bond like liquid fire. Selene screamed as she felt it like her own heart being torn open, burning, searing, nauseating.

Enzo dropped to one knee, blood pouring from the wound in heavy pulses, soaking his shirt instantly. But he refused to fall.

"You would die for her?" Marco snarled, advancing with contempt, reloading his pistol with steady hands. "For that tainted whore? You are no son of mine."

Enzo looked up at his father, blood dripping from his mouth. "Yes."

He rose slowly, gun in hand, eyes burning with finality.

"Then you are no son of mine."

The two Valenti men charged each other.

Enzo fired. Marco fired back. Both men took hits. Blood sprayed across the courtyard stones in bright red arcs.

They crashed together in a brutal hand-to-hand fight, father and son, blood against blood. Fists connected with sickening thuds. Knives flashed. Claws raked. Years of resentment, grief, and betrayal poured out in every strike.

Enzo finally gained the upper hand.

He drove his knife into his father's side with a wet, sickening crunch. The blade slid between ribs, tearing through muscle and scraping bone. Marco gasped, eyes widening in shock as hot blood poured from the wound, soaking Enzo's hand and dripping onto the stone below.

Enzo twisted the knife viciously, feeling the blade grind against bone and tear through vital organs. Blood bubbled from Marco's lips as he coughed, spraying crimson across Enzo's face. The old Don's eyes bulged with pain and disbelief.

"You… chose… her…" the old Don wheezed, voice wet and gurgling.

Enzo looked down at the man who had raised him, who had shaped him with pain and vengeance, who had buried his mother and turned grief into an iron vow.

"I chose life," he whispered.

With a final, brutal motion, Enzo drove the knife upward into his father's heart. The blade pierced through muscle and flesh with a wet squelch, scraping against the sternum before sinking deep. Marco's body jerked violently. His eyes bulged wider. A final, rattling breath escaped his lips as blood poured from the wound in heavy, pulsing streams, soaking the ground beneath them.

Don Marco Valenti, the man who had ruled Chicago's underworld with iron and blood, died with a final, gurgling exhale, his body slumping against his son.

Silence fell across the compound.

Enzo stood over his father's lifeless body, covered in blood, breathing hard. The weight of what he had done crashed down on him like a mountain. He had killed his own father. The man who had buried his mother. The man who had forged him.

Selene broke through the remaining fighters and ran to him. She threw her arms around him, holding him tightly as he trembled violently.

"I'm here," she whispered. "I'm here.
"
Kael, Damien, and Rafe gathered around them, forming a protective circle.

The Valenti civil war was over.

Enzo had won.

But the cost had been his own blood.

He looked down at his father's lifeless body, then at Selene, tears mixing with the blood on his face.

"I chose you," he whispered. "And I would do it again."

The four crowns and their queen stood together amid the bodies and burning ruins.

The old world was dead.

A new one was being born in blood and fire.