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Suzette doesn't flinch. She watches him with detached coldness, the perfect executioner. “You showed me how to get power at any cost. I only learned from the best.”

Giancarlo moves faster than any of us can react. His gun clears the holster, and with a deafening crack, a bullet tears through Suzette’s forehead.

She crumples to the floor, her eyes wide with disbelief even in death. Her blood pools around her in a grotesque halo.

Before the shock can fully register, Giancarlo turns and fires again, this time into the chest of his second-in-command. The man collapses without a sound.

Giancarlo sways, gun trembling in his hand. His gaze lifts to mine. For the first time, he looks utterly human—broken, small, lost.

He meets my eyes and breathes out my real name in a rasp. "Stefano..."

I hold his gaze, my chest tight.

"I'm sorry," he says, almost a whisper, thick with something that might be regret—or maybe just a final, desperate plea for absolution.

Then, without waiting for forgiveness, Giancarlo turns the gun on himself and pulls the trigger.

The room plunges into chaos.

Blood. So much blood.

For a moment, there is only stunned silence. Then a ragged sob—Luca. He stands over his mother's body, shaking, disbelief etched into every line of his face.

I straighten, my pulse thundering in my ears. The culmination of two decades of planning lies at my feet, wrapped in death and silence. Giancarlo's reign is over. But as I look at Luca, broken and feral with grief, a flicker of unease twists inside me.

I move toward Isadora, needing to get her out, to shield her from the carnage we’ve unleashed. My hand itches for hers, for the anchor she has become in the storm that is my life. In my mind, I’m already planning the next move—securing the estate, rallying my men, ensuring no one loyal to the old regime rises against us.

The sharp intake of breath cuts through the thick silence.

The scrape of a shoe against the marble floor.

I turn—too late.

A gunshot cracks the air.

Pain explodes in my back, hot and blinding.

I hit the ground hard, the breath driven from my lungs. Through the haze of agony, I see Luca standing over me, gun in hand, tears streaming down his face.

"You stole everything!" he screams, voice raw and breaking.

Isadora is there in an instant, throwing herself between Luca and me. Vittorio and my men surge forward, disarming Luca, dragging him away as he thrashes and curses.

I struggle to breathe, the pain knifing through me with every heartbeat. Every pulse is a hammer strike of agony.

"Stay with me," Isadora pleads, pressing her hands to my wound, her touch the only anchor in a world spiraling into darkness.

I lock eyes with her, forcing a smile. For her. Always for her.

"Not… going anywhere," I rasp, though the darkness claws at the edges of my vision.

Giancarlo's empire has fallen. The truth has been dragged into the light. Blood has paid for blood.

And in Isadora's eyes, I see the only future worth fighting for.

Even if I have to claw my way back from the edge of death to claim it.

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