Page 65 of His Eternal Claim

My heartbeat crashes so hard I almost stagger.

I release Crystella’s hand.

She blinks, and the priest falters. I shut my eyes and lift my chin.

My fingers tighten around the cold steel. The priest is wrapping up the opening prayers. Ronan takes a breath.

It’s time.

I slowly reach inside my jacket and pull out my gun. The collective gasp is almost amusing. No one moves except Cosa Nostra men. Their hands hovering near weapons.

Bravery.

Or stupidity. Same difference.

Ricci’s voice cuts through the uproar.

“What do you think you’re doing, boy?”

I glance at him and shrug. “Honestly?”

I cock the gun. Metal clicking loud enough to silence half the church. “I was hoping someone would ask.”

My eyes go straight to Vane, then to Adrian, then Hannah, and then Selene.

My Selene.

Frozen.

Wide-eyed.

Breathing like she forgot how. And I smile.

“One thing you all should’ve learned by now.” I take one step down from the altar. “I get what I want.”

Another step. “Whether God approves…” My gaze locks on Selene. “…or not.”

Then I point the gun directly at Ronan Novak and pull the trigger.

The bullet catches Ronan square in the chest. The impact jerks his body backward, blood spraying across the white altar cloth before he collapses like a puppet with its strings severed.

For a single heartbeat, the world freezes. Then, the dam breaks.

“Papa!”

Crystella’s voice pierces the air as she drops to her knees beside her Father’s bleeding body.

Absolute pandemonium erupts.

The Cosa Nostra’s men react, but they are already a step behind. Heavy oak doors burst open at the back and sides of the cathedral. My men flood the exits and the upper balconies, their automatic weapons leveled, surrounding the area in a tight, impenetrable perimeter. The Cosa Nostra security guards freeze, caught between trying to draw their weapons and realizing they are staring down the barrels of an entire army.

Through the rising smoke and frantic cries, my eyes track only one man.

Vane.

Unlike the rest of the panicked Cosa Nostra members scrambling for cover, Vane is unfazed. He stands like a true mafia predator, radiating cold composure. He doesn’t look at Ronan’s dying body. Instead, his dark eyes lock onto me, tracking the smoking barrel of my gun.

“You should have stayed on your knees, Zagreus, I told you this will not end well,” Vane says.