Page 130

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.