Chapter 13 - The Bloodbath at the Abandoned Warehouse
Below the catwalk, the aftermath of the battle settled into an absolute, uncontested victory for Liam Mercer.
Victor Vance was on his knees, surrounded by Leo’s tactical team, weeping and begging for mercy before the council elders.
The twelve elders, realizing that Liam had returned stronger, more ruthless, and entirely victorious, stood up and bowed their heads in absolute submission.
Liam carried me down the industrial staircase in his arms, refusing to let me walk. When he reached the warehouse floor, he set me gently onto a clean chair Leo brought forward, keeping one protective hand resting on my shoulder.
Liam turned his cold, piercing gaze onto Victor Vance.
“Thirty years,” Liam said, his voice echoing through the vast space. “My father trusted you with his life, and I trusted you with the syndicate’s wealth.”
“Liam... please...” Victor sobbed, his hands clasped together. “Julian forced my hand! He threatened my family!”
“You gave the order to poison my medicine,” Liam said calmly. “You gave the order to murder Clara. In this family, treason has only one sentence.”
Liam looked at Leo.
“Take him to the river docks. Let the harbor police find him at dawn.”
Leo nodded grimly, signaling his men to drag the weeping traitor away into the stormy night.
Liam then turned to the twelve council elders. His presence was overwhelming, radiating the undisputed authority of a king who had survived fire, poison, and betrayal to claim his rightful throne.
“The Mercer syndicate is under my sole command,” Liam declared, his voice ringing with power. “Julian’s faction is eradicated. Any man who questions my authority, or threatens anyone under my protection, will join him in the dirt.”
The elders bowed their heads in unison.
“All hail Mercer,” the eldest member whispered, placing his right fist over his heart.
“All hail Mercer,” the rest of the council repeated in a unified, reverent chorus.
Liam looked down at me, the ruthless warlord disappearing instantly, replaced by the man whose gentle touch had made me fall irrevocably in love.
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He reached down, taking my hand in his, lifting it to his lips and kissing my knuckles with profound tenderness.
“Let’s go home, Clara,” he whispered.
