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“ENOUGH!” he roars, and the gunfire stutters to silence. “Drop your weapons, both of you, or the girl dies!”

My eyes find Stefano’s across the warehouse. Time seems to slow as our gazes lock, a lifetime of longing compressed into seconds. I see the war raging in those amber depths—twenty years of vengeance versus the terrifying possibility of losing me.

“Don’t,” I mouth, tightening my grip on the metal shard hidden in my palm. I can see the moment he understands my intent, the almost imperceptible nod that passes between us.

“Last chance,” Giancarlo presses the gun harder against my temple. “Weapons down, or—”

I drive the jagged metal into his thigh with every ounce of strength I possess. Giancarlo howls, his grip loosening just enough for me to twist away. At the same moment, Stefano and Luca both fire.

Time fractures into jarring snapshots: Giancarlo staggering backward, crimson blooming across his pristine white shirt. Luca disappearing through a side exit, a trail of blood marking his path. Guards scattering like cockroaches exposed to light.

And Stefano, moving toward me with single-minded focus, eyes never leaving mine.

The burning pain in my side registers a heartbeat later. I look down to see red spreading across my shirt, wet and warm. “Oh,” I say, suddenly lightheaded. “That’s not good.”

Stefano reaches me just as my knees buckle, catching me against his chest with a desperate curse. “Isadora! Please stay with me.”

“Not going anywhere,” I manage, though my voice sounds distant to my own ears. “Is he...?”

“Wounded, not dead,” Stefano answers, lifting me into his arms. His heartbeat hammers against my cheek as he navigates through the warehouse toward the exit. “Luca vanished. We need to move before reinforcements arrive.”

The world blurs as he carries me through the rain to a waiting car. Pain pulses through me with each heartbeat, but I focus on Stefano’s face—on the fierce determination in his eyes, the tight set of his jaw, the smear of blood along his temple that I want to wipe away.

“Hold on,” he says, settling me in the passenger seat. “Just hold on, Isadora.”

The car roars to life, tires squealing as we tear away from the warehouse. I press my hand against my side, feeling the warmth seep between my fingers. Not fatal, I think hazily. Too low for major organs. Just hurts like hell.

“Your head,” I mumble, noticing the blood still trickling down his neck. “You’re hurt.”

His laugh is sharp with disbelief. “You’re shot and worried about my head?”

“Your brain’s your best feature,” I say, a weak attempt at humor as darkness nibbles at the edges of my vision. “Need to protect it.”

Stefano’s hand finds mine, squeezing tight. “Stay awake, Isadora. Talk to me.”

“Where are we going?” The world outside blurs into streaks of neon and shadow as he weaves through late-night traffic.

“Safe house. Doctor waiting.” His voice sounds strained, tight with something that might be fear. “Twenty minutes. Just stay with me for twenty minutes.”

I try to focus on his profile—the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his lips that have traced every inch of my body, the eyes that saw past every mask I’ve worn. Even bleeding and desperate, he’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

“Stefano,” I whisper, needing to say it while I still can. “I love you.”

His breath catches, hands tightening on the steering wheel. “Don’t. That sounds like goodbye, and I’m not losing you. Not now. Not ever.”

The car accelerates, the world outside becoming a meaningless blur. I drift in and out of consciousness, anchored only by Stefano’s voice as he alternates between desperate demands that I stay awake and quiet, broken Italian that sounds like a prayer.

“Keep your eyes open,principessa. We’re almost there. Just hold on.Per favore, amore mio, stay with me.”

The darkness grows heavier, more insistent. I feel myself floating away despite my best efforts, Stefano’s voice becoming more distant with each ragged breath.

The last thing I hear before consciousness slips away completely is his voice, raw and broken, finally saying the words he’s been holding back.

“I love you too, Isadora. Don’t you dare leave me now.”

And then there is only darkness, warm and welcoming, pulling me under like the tide.

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