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He finally pushes himself to his feet. But he doesn’t try to disarm me, doesn’t reach for a weapon of his own. Just stands there, swaying slightly, looking like a man who’s lost everything.

The performance continues.

“I know what you did, Marco.” I press the barrel of the gun to his chest, right over his heart.

“You played me—again. The weapons deal with the Russians, the intel on your compound… You let me build an army just to watch it burn.”

His eyes close, and I see his throat work as he swallows. “Yes.”

The admission hits me like a slap. Even though I was expecting it, hearing him confirm it sends fresh rage coursing through my veins.

“You bastard. You sick, twisted bastard.”

“Yes.”

“You enjoyed it, didn’t you? Letting me think I actually had a chance to finally get justice for my parents.”

“No.” His eyes open, meeting mine with startling intensity. “I hated every second of it.”

“Liar.”

“I hated watching you gather weapons to use against me. Hated knowing you were planning my destruction. Hated that every move you made was leading us to this moment.”

His hand comes up slowly, covering mine where I grip the pistol. Not trying to take it away, just…holding on.

“But I had to know,” he whispers. “If you could choose me. If, when everything was stripped away, you could choose love over vengeance.”

“And now you know.” My finger tightens on the trigger. “I choose vengeance.”

“And this is what hurts the most,” he says, his voice breaking. “I thought what we had meant something to you. I let you in deeper than anyone, Aria. I gave you parts of me no one’s ever touched. And now you’re standing there, looking me in the eye… wanting me dead.”

The words hang between us like a wound neither of us knows how to close. His thumb brushes over my knuckles, not to calm me—but like he’s memorizing the feel of me one last time.

“Then do it,” he says softly. “Kill me, Aria. End this. Take your justice.”

I stare at him, searching for the catch. But all I see is exhaustion. Defeat. A man who’s run out of moves.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” He steps closer, pressing himself more firmly against the gun barrel. “To make me pay for my father’s sins. For my lies. For every moment of pain I’ve caused you.”

“Marco—”

“I love you.” The words tumble out, raw and desperate. “God help me, I love you more than my own life. More than my empire. More than anything I’ve ever built or owned or conquered.”

My hands start to shake.

“I love the way you fight back, even when you’re terrified. I love your stubborn pride, your refusal to bow to anyone. I love that you’re brave enough to point a gun at me when I deserve it.”

“Stop—”

“I love that you’re carrying my child. I love that you’re strong enough to protect the baby from me if you have to.” His voicebreaks. “I love that you came back for answers instead of just walking away.”

Tears blur my vision. The pistol wavers in my grip.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his forehead resting against mine. “I’m sorry for the lies. Sorry for the pain. Sorry for being my father’s son instead of the man you deserved.”

“I hate you,” I choke out, but the words lack conviction.

“I know. You should. I am a monster. I’ve earned your hatred a hundred times over.”