Chapter 7: The Currency of Mercy**
Moretti’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief. In their world, turning to the law was the ultimate taboo, an unthinkable breach of omertà. "You're turning state's evidence? You'll destroy yourself, Vance! You'll be locked in a cage right next to me!"
"I've spent the last three years separating my brother’s legitimate logistics companies from your dirty bloodlines," Damon said, rising to his feet. "My hands will face their reckoning when the time comes. But yours? Yours will rot behind bars where your money cannot buy you a single second of peace."
Damon waved his hand dismissively. "Disarm them, strip their comms, and escort them to the front gates. The federal task force is already waiting at the perimeter."
As Moretti and his men were dragged out, cursing and thrashing, Damon walked down to the estate’s basement cells. Victor sat on a wooden bench, his head buried in his hands, waiting for the executioner's bullet. When the cell door clicked open, Victor didn't look up.
"Do it quickly," Victor muttered brokenly. "Just... don't let my nephew suffer."
"Look at me, Victor," Damon ordered.
Victor raised his red, tear-stained eyes. Standing in the doorway behind Damon was his seven-year-old nephew, clutching a paper bag of pastries, completely unharmed. Victor gasped, falling to his knees as the boy ran into his open arms, sobbing uncontrollably.
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"You betrayed me, Victor," Damon said, looking down at the weeping man. "In our world, that earns a shallow grave. But I know what it means to be backed into a corner to save a child. Your debt to this family is paid, but your time here is done. Take your nephew, take the passports on that desk, and never return to this country."
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