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“I hate that I still love you.”

“I know that, too.”

The confession tears out of me like a physical wound. Because it’s true. Despite everything, some part of me will always love Marco Bianchi.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I whisper. “I can’t keep fighting you and loving you and hating myself for both.”

“Then don’t.” His hands frame my face, thumbs brushing away tears I didn’t realize were falling. “Shoot me, Aria. End it. Set yourself free.”

The pistol shakes harder in my grip. My finger hovers over the trigger, muscles tensed for the final squeeze.

The muzzle digs into his chest. One breath—mine or his—and it’ll be over. But I don’t pull the trigger. I can’t.

God help me, I can’t.

40

MARCO

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.