Chapter Ten: Blood in the Ballroom
691 Words
The ballroom erupted into chaos.
Glass shattered. Screams echoed. Gunfire thundered like a storm as cartel guards surged forward, their weapons raised. The once glittering gala became a warzone—confetti falling like ash, the chandeliers casting flickering shadows over the bloodstained floor.
Areniel ducked behind a marble column, her breath sharp and controlled. Her blade was already slick with crimson. Beside her, Kendra reloaded her stolen handgun with clinical precision. Across the hall, Renelle crouched behind a toppled dessert table, microphone still clutched in one hand, the glint of her heel dagger catching the light.
This was it.
The trap had been baited—and Don Cataldo had walked straight into it.
But he wasn't going down easy.
Flanked by six heavily armed guards, the Don stood at the head of the room like a general surveying his battlefield. His eyes locked on Areniel, and for the first time in a decade, father and daughter faced each other across a river of blood and betrayal.
“You’ve grown,” he said, voice calm despite the chaos.
“You haven’t,” Areniel replied, standing tall. “Still a coward hiding behind guns and gold.”
He smirked. “You should have stayed dead.”
Kendra fired first.
The shot clipped his shoulder, but the guards moved fast—closing ranks, returning fire. Areniel sprinted left, ducking under tables and leaping over bodies. She reached Renelle and yanked her behind a stone pillar.
“You good?” she asked.
Renelle’s hands trembled, but her eyes burned. “I want him dead.”
“Then let’s end this.”
---
Salvadore had warned them this day would come.
He had given them everything—training, weapons, strategy—but what he couldn’t give them was the resolve to finish it.
That had to come from within.
And now, with the cartel on high alert, and the girls outnumbered, that resolve was all they had.
Kendra was a storm—moving with military precision, disarming enemies, and dishing silent kills. Renelle, though less trained, used the environment to her advantage, luring guards into traps, setting fire to linens, throwing knives like lyrics from her mouth.
But Areniel…
Areniel moved like vengeance itself.
Her eyes never left Don Cataldo. She cut through the crowd, dodging bullets and blades, carving her way to the man who took everything from her. When they finally clashed, it wasn’t with words—it was with fists, blood, and history.
He blocked her knife with a cane sword. “I should’ve drowned you myself.”
“You tried.”
She twisted, dodged, sliced his cheek.
He growled, swiping low. “I gave you life.”
She stabbed forward. “Then I’m taking yours.”
Their duel danced across the ballroom floor—father and daughter, mentor and weapon. But this time, the weapon had found its own edge.
And it was sharper than he ever expected.
---
Elsewhere in the mansion, Riley watched the monitors, her hands clenched around the arms of the velvet chair. She had underestimated them. She thought they were broken girls—ghosts of a failed legacy.
But they had become monsters.
“No,” she whispered. “This is my empire.”
She stood, grabbed a compact pistol from her drawer, and stalked toward the secret passage leading to the ballroom.
If her father couldn’t stop them, she would.
---
By the time she arrived, it was too late.
Don Cataldo lay on the ground, blood pooling beneath him. Areniel stood over him, chest heaving, eyes unreadable. Kendra guarded the exits. Renelle knelt beside a fallen guard, taking the key to her cuffs.
Everything had fallen into place.
Except one thing.
“Drop the weapon,” Riley hissed, emerging from the shadows, gun aimed at Areniel’s heart.
The girls turned.
“No more games,” Riley said. “You think this is justice? You think you can rewrite bloodlines?”
“No,” Areniel said softly, stepping forward. “I think we can burn them.”
Kendra threw a flash grenade.
Light exploded.
Gunfire rang out.
And when the smoke cleared, Riley was gone.
---
- Writer
