The gun trembles against my chest, and I can feel Aria’s pain. Her finger hovers over the trigger, but her tear-drenched eyes tell me everything.
She can’t do it.
Despite everything I’ve put her through, she can’t pull that trigger.
I don’t know what that means. She said she can’t keep fighting and loving me. But a part of me hopes that someday, the love will kill the fight in her.
“Aria,” I whisper. “It’s okay. Whatever you choose, it’s—”
The gunshot explodes through the hallway like thunder.
I close my eyes. Just for the briefest second. Thinking this is it—the moment it all comes to an end.
Aria gasps. Her pistol clatters to the marble floor as she jerks backward, eyes wide with shock and terror. The sound reverberates off the walls, sharp and final, echoing through my bones.
And I’m still standing.
We both spin toward the source—the far end of the corridor.
My father steps into the light.
He emerges from the darkness like the end of something sacred. And it’s his eyes that make my blood turn to ice water—utterly devoid of mercy.
And he’s looking straight at Aria.
In his right hand, he holds a smoking pistol pointed at the ceiling.
A warning shot.
“Pathetic.”
The word sends ripples of dread through my chest. His gaze moves from Aria to me, and I see the disgust there.
The profound disappointment of a man who has just witnessed his son’s complete and utter failure.
“For over two decades,” he speaks with venom, “I believed the DeLuca bloodline to be extinct. And here you are, my own son, protecting the very poison I thought I’d eliminated.”
Aria takes a step backward, her hand moving instinctively to her stomach.
The protective gesture doesn’t go unnoticed by my father. His eyes narrow.
“You knew,” he continues, advancing down the hallway with measured steps.
Each footfall echoes like a countdown.
“You knew who she was when you married her. When you brought her into my house. When you let her spread her legs and contaminate our bloodline.”
“Father—” I start, but he cuts me off with a look that could freeze flame.
“I should have seen it sooner. The way you protected her. The way you refused to let me meet her.” His laugh is like broken glass. “My own son, seduced by the enemy. Led around by his cock like a dog in heat.”
I step slightly forward, positioning myself between him and Aria. “Whatever you think you’re going to do—”
“Think?” He raises the pistol, and now it’s pointed directly at Aria’s heart. “I’m not thinking, boy. I’m acting.”
Aria’s breath comes in short, panicked gasps. “I’m pregnant,” she whispers, the words tumbling out in desperate hope. “Your grandchild. Salvatore, please—”
“My grandchild?” The words explode from him like venom. “You think I want that bastard abomination growing in your diseased womb? You think I want Bianchi blood mixed with DeLuca filth?”
Her face goes white as marble. “No. Please. The baby is innocent—”
“The baby is exactly what I want to kill most.” His finger tightens on the trigger, and I can see the madness dancing in his eyes now.
The fanatical certainty of a man who has convinced himself that murder is justice. “No Bianchi blood shall ever mix with the dirty DeLucas. Not while I draw breath.”
Time slows to a crawl. I see his knuckle whiten as he prepares to fire. See Aria’s eyes widen in helpless terror.
I see the future laid out like a curse—my wife and child gone, my father’s twisted legacy preserved through violence.
No.
Not her. Not them.
Never them.
This is it. No more shadows, no more pretending. This is where the Bianchi name ends—or begins again, on different terms. On hers.
I make my choice.
I throw myself forward just as the gun discharges.
The bullet slams into my chest like a sledgehammer, punching through tissue and bone. The impact spins me sideways, and suddenly I’m falling, the world tilting and blurring around the edges.
“Marco, no!”
Aria’s agonizing scream rips through the air. She sounds like a woman watching her world shatter. Like a woman who cares.
I smile.
She cares.
Her voice follows me as I fall.
I want to tell her not to cry. To save her tears for someone who didn’t deserve every awful thing he got. I want to tell her this was worth it—she was worth it. That I’d do it again. A thousand times.
But my lips won’t move. My body won’t respond.
So I give her what I can. Not words, not strength. Just my eyes.
I find her gaze as the world begins to tilt and dim, and I hold it with everything I have left.
I chose you, I try to say without speaking. Not my father. Not the empire. You.
Let that be my last vow.
Blood. There’s so much blood.
It spreads beneath me in a warm, sticky pool, soaking through my shirt. Each breath is agony, like drowning in reverse, and I can feel my strength draining away with every heartbeat.
I don’t know if I stopped him.
I don’t know if she’s safe.
I can’t see her. Can’t hear her.
Run, Aria. My mind screams it even if my lips can’t move. Run. Get out. Save yourself. Save our baby.
If he’s still standing, if he reloads, if she hesitates—
God, please. Let her live.
I gave everything to buy her one more second. Let it be enough.
And if I die here, bleeding out on the floor of my house—
Let it mean something.
Let it mean she gets away.
Let it mean our child has a chance.
Darkness closes in, thick and final. I try to hold on, just for one more glimpse of her.
But all that’s left is her name, echoing in the silence of my mind.
Aria…
Let my final breath be a promise. That I loved her. That I chose her. That I would do it again—even if it ends here, bleeding into silence.
