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Bellandi looks at me. “True, you hid it from them didn’t you? Greedy little boy.”

A girl—short, dark curls, fast feet—slinks low behind Bellandi, dangerously close to the edge of the cliff. She falls on him and a flash of steel arcs across his throat.

He chokes. His eyes flare wide as blood spurts from the gash. He stumbles forward, gasping for a breath that won’t come. His gun slips from his fingers, hitting the ground with a dead thud.

Lunetta bursts from the trees, eyes wild, lips trembling. She runs over to me, and she falls to her knees, sawing at the ropes around my wrists. The twine is soaked and stiff with sweat and blood.

Her hair brushes my arm. Her scent—no, her presence—wraps around me like warmth after frostbite. I stare down at her, disbelieving. Her hands fumble once, twice, then get faster.

“You’re real,” I breathe, voice cracking. “You’re real.”

Her hands don’t stop, but her eyes flick up to mine—shining, red-rimmed. “Of course I am,” she whispers. “I came back.”

The last knot slips free. Before I can even lift my arms, she reaches for my face.

And then she kisses me.

Her lips are soft, insistent, aching with relief. It’s not rushed or frantic—it’s a homecoming. Her fingers tangle in my hair as she leans into me. And I—I kiss her back.

One arm wraps around her waist, the other slides up her spine. I drag her into my chest like I could fold her into my body, bury her somewhere deep inside where no one could ever take her again.

Her tears wet my skin, and I don’t know if they’re hers or mine.

She’s sobbing into my mouth, and I don’t care. My hands are shaking, clutching her tight, trying to convince myself she’s not a hallucination born from blood loss.

“You came back to me,” I murmur, breathless against her lips.

“I had to.”

I press my forehead to hers. Our breaths tangle. The world around us is chaos—boots, yells, footsteps—but here, in this moment, nothing exists but her.

“Vieri—” she starts to say something else, but a sharp voice slices through the haze.

“For the love of heaven,” Riccardo groans behind us, “can we just go?”

Alfio and Omero tear through Riccardo’s bindings while I pull Lunetta into my arms.

I walk with her in my arms, one step at a time, down the path toward the headlights. She feels like home. And I’d carry her through hell if I had to.

“Fuck, look out!” Omero shrieks.

I turn too late. It’s Bellandi.

His body’s soaked in blood, his eyes burning with rage, charging toward me like a feral animal.

I feel Lunetta twist in my arms.

“No—” I shout.

She spins in my grasp, she steps in front of me.

The knife sinks in. Her gasp slices through the night.

Blood pours from Lunetta’s stomach. Her hands go to it instinctively. She stumbles into me, collapsing against my chest.

I drop to my knees with her, holding her. “No. No. No. Lunetta—no.”

She looks up at me. Her mouth trembles, but she smiles.