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And she says—softly, breathlessly—

“Baby… we have a baby, Vieri.”

Then her eyes flutter shut.

Her breath is still against my cheek. But her weight is shifting—slumping—like her body has given up before I have.

Blood soaks through my shirt, seeping hot against my chest. My vision blurs, but I blink through it, not now, not now.

I lower her gently to the grass. “Hold on,” I whisper. “You hear me? Hold on.”

Enzo’s already beside me, yelling for help, pressing his hands against her wound. The dark haired girl is screaming somewhere, her cries cracking like glass.

Bellandi is on his knees, blood spilling from his throat, his knife still red, still warm with Lunetta’s blood. The bastard’s choking on his own breath, but he’s still moving.

My hand closes around the blade. He raises his head, tries to speak—maybe a plea, maybe another curse. I don’t care.

I cross the distance in four strides.

The old bastard lifts his head just in time to see me crouch.

“This is for her.”

I slam the knife into his left eye.

His scream is inhuman. It rips through the night like the sound of a soul being torn in half.

Blood bursts up in a geyser, hot and thick, painting my face, my hands, soaking through my sleeves. The eye collapses beneath the blade with a sickening pop, cartilage crunching as I push the steel deeper, twisting it until his body spasms under me like a dying animal.

He bucks—once, twice—but I don’t stop. I twist again. His fingers twitch at my boots. I ram the blade once more.

His body jerks once more, then goes slack, face frozen in a grotesque snarl—mouth open, teeth bloodstained, one socket empty and leaking black.

I rise, covered in red. My breath is loud in my ears. The knife clatters to the ground.

Behind me, I hear Enzo shout something—Omero’s voice cuts through it—but all I see is Lunetta.

I run to her. Drop to my knees. Pull her into my arms.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper, pressing my lips to her temple, brushing the blood-stuck hair from her face. “I’ve got you, baby girl. Get the car,” I bark. “Now!”

Chapter Thirty – Lunetta

One year Later

The doors to the lecture hall creak shut behind me. My feet feel like stones in my shoes. My hands tremble faintly from too much caffeine and not enough sleep.

Bea’s hand wraps around mine. “You didn’t pass out mid-sentence,” she says with a grin. “Proud of you.”

I nod, lips curved faintly. But my eyes are already scanning past the crowd of students trickling down the steps.

And then I see him.

He’s standing by the curb just past the parking sign, one foot crossed over the other, hands casually tucked into his jacket. A baby carrier is strapped tightly to his chest—Carmela curled inside, her plump cheek squished against the black cotton, her tiny mouth slightly open as she sleeps. Her breath fogs a faint circle on Vieri’s shirt.

God, how does a man like him make holding a baby look like the most natural thing in the world?

He lifts his head at the same time I do. Our eyes meet, and my chest aches.