Chapter 158 The Blessing from the Nemesis
“Took you damn well long enough,” Kael groused, leaning heavily on his good leg as Val approached their staging post just outside the palace perimeter.
The explosions had detonated precisely as planned, the charges Kael had spent the night of the ball planting in the estate’s foundations. He had anticipated this move; he knew the De Luca pride wouldn't heed a civil request to return his wife. But he hadn't anticipated the internal rot. That leeching son of a bitch, Ronan, had double-crossed not only the Russians but Vittorio himself. Kael found a dark amusement in the fact that the old man had been swindled by the boy he’d plucked from the gutter years ago, but the humor died the moment he thought of Lilia.
She was trapped in the center of the crossfire.
“I thought you were biding your time,” Val responded, handing Kael a heavy bulletproof vest and fresh magazines. A medic hovered nearby, reaching for the gash on Kael's forehead, but he dismissed them with a sharp flick of his hand.
“The bastard has my wife,” Kael spat, racking a round into his sidearm and wiping a smear of blood from his nose. His ears were still ringing from the blasts, but the sound was secondary to the white-hot focus of his mission. The last time he saw her, Ronan was dragging her toward the upper wings. He’d been beaten like dog shit—chained down by that coward so he couldn't fight back during the interrogation. Fortunately, Ronan’s handiwork with the restraints was as sloppy as his loyalty; Kael had broken free the moment the first bomb went off.
“I’m coming with you,” Val said, slinging his rifle.
“No. Stay with the others,” Kael commanded, his voice a jagged edge. “I’ll face this motherfucker myself. Sasha,” he nodded toward Lilia’s reaper friend, “don’t leave the team. Kill everyone on sight, except the servants.”
“Got it, boss.”
Kael didn't wait. He moved back toward the crumbling palace entrance, the air thick with the smell of cordite and ancient stone dust. As he rounded the foyer leading to the grand staircase, a low, wet groaning sound stopped him in his tracks.
Propped against a cracked marble wall, hand clutching a blooming red stain on his side, sat Vittorio De Luca. The "Signore" looked small, his skin the color of ash as blood seeped between his fingers.
“Lilia...” the old man slurred, his hazel eyes finding Kael’s.
Kael’s instinct was to finish the job—to drill a bullet into the head of the man who had kept his wife captive. But the image of Lilia’s face, of the way she’d looked at her grandfather with a desperate need for family, stayed in his hand. He crouched down, grabbing Vittorio by the collar and yanking him forward.
“Look what your beloved adopted son has done,” Kael snarled into his face.
“My granddaughter,” Vittorio wheezed, wincing as he struggled for oxygen. “She’s... all I have left.”
Kael cursed under his breath. He had a war to win, but Lilia would never forgive him if he let the old man bleed out in the dirt. He hooked his arms under Vittorio’s armpits, hoisting the dead weight of his enemy to his feet.
“You’re one lucky old bastard. Be thankful you’re my wife’s grandfather. I’d have gutted you already if it weren’t for her.”
He dragged the old man toward a clearing, shooting without batting an eye at any of Ronan’s rebels who dared to cross their path. He shoved Vittorio behind a thick concrete baluster, taking a second to breathe while keeping his weapon leveled at the treeline.
“Ronan...” Vittorio sputtered, blood drenching his shirt.
“I’m going to kill that motherfucker,” Kael growled. He turned to the Signore, his desperation leaking through his mask of rage.
“Where is my wife? Where did he take her?”
“I haven’t seen them since the blast,” Vittorio grunted, his skin turning a translucent, ghostly pale.
“Fuck!”
A gunshot whizzed past Kael’s ear, shattering the stone above them. He shoved Vittorio to the ground and pivoted, kneeling to return fire. Two bodies dropped, but three more emerged from the manicured bushes. Kael grabbed Vittorio by the neck and hurled him behind a larger pillar just as a hail of bullets chewed into the concrete.
“You’ve lost control of your men, old man.”
“Ronan... betrayed me,” Vittorio panted, regret flashing in his fading gaze.
“Yeah,” Kael sniggered, the irony of agreeing with his nemesis not lost on him. “You figured that out just now?”
“I treated him like my own...”
“Surely regret comes first,” Kael snapped sarcastically. To his surprise, the old man let out a dry, rattling laugh.
“Why didn’t you kill me just now?” Vittorio asked, meeting Kael's mossy eyes.
“For the sake of my wife. That’s why you’re still breathing, old hog.”
Vittorio nodded, unfazed.
“You really love her.”
“Took me a while to figure it out,” Kael admitted, his voice dropping to a low, honest vibration.
“But yeah. More than my life.”
The confession felt strange in the middle of a war zone, shared with the man who had started it all. Kael prepared to move, checking his magazine, when a taunting voice echoed from across the courtyard.
“Well, well, well. Who would have thought that Kael Aslanov and Vittorio De Luca would join forces? Too bad the old cretin has already lost everything.”
Ronan stepped into view, flanked by half a dozen gunmen. Kael’s jaw tightened. He reached for a blade tucked in his vest, using the polished steel as a mirror. He was outnumbered, his ankle was shot, and he had a dying man as a passenger.
“Where is my wife?” Kael roared.
“Eager, aren’t we? Soon, she’ll be a widow... and then my bride,” Ronan cackled.
“Don’t move, old hog,” Kael muttered to Vittorio, holding his shoulder to keep him down.
But Vittorio removed Kael’s hand. A faint, sad smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “Tell my granddaughter I love her so much,” he panted, his face contorting in pain. “Even though we were together only a short time... she brought a happiness into my life I never thought I’d feel again.”
“What the hell are you doing?” Kael demanded.
Vittorio reached up and patted the side of Kael’s face with a bloodied hand.
“I give you my blessing, son.”
With a final, staggering surge of strength, the old man pushed himself away from the pillar and walked out into the open, a target painted in his own blood. Kael stayed pinned in the shadows, stunned by the sacrifice of his mortal enemy.