Chapter 13 - Blood on the Marble Floor
The moment Penelope was clear, Larkin closed the distance in half a second.
He struck Thomas with brutal, overwhelming force, disarming him with a single blow that sent the gun clattering across the concrete. Larkin pinned his cousin against the heavy steel machinery, his forearm pressed hard against Thomas's throat.
"You threatened the one thing in this world I cannot replace," Larkin growled, his voice a low, terrifying rumble.
Thomas choked, clawing at Larkin's grip, terror finally washing over his arrogant face. "Larkin... family... please..."
"You stopped being family the day you pointed a gun at her," Larkin whispered.
Victor Volkov stepped forward, raising a hand. "Let our men handle him, Larkin. The Bratva and the Moretti family have a very long, very quiet cell waiting for him in the north. He will never see the sun again."
Larkin held Thomas for three more suffocating seconds, then released him. Thomas crumpled to the floor, gasping for air, before being dragged away into the shadows by Volkov’s stone-faced guards.
The foundry fell silent.
Larkin turned around immediately. He ignored the mob bosses, the capos, and the weapons. He walked straight to Penelope, pulling her into his arms and burying his face in her dark hair.
"Are you hurt?" he murmured, his voice trembling with an emotion he had never shown another human being.
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Penelope wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head against his shoulder. "I'm fine, Larkin. The numbers balanced."
Victor Volkov watched them with a knowing smile, raising a hand in salute. "A good Don knows how to fight, Larkin. A great Don knows who to make his Queen. Do not lose this one."
