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"...take over his legacy," she's saying, cold and clinical.
No.
NO.
She can’t be here.
I can’t let her get hurt and —
"Ava," I croak. The sound is barely human, more a wounded animal's whimper than a man's voice. "Run. Please. Run."
Each word is agony. My split lips crack, fresh blood trickling down my chin. I try to lift my head, to see her, to warn her. But my body is a traitor, barely responding to my commands.
The floor feels like it's spinning. Concrete and blood and broken dreams swirling together.
"If it isn’t Stefano Rega." She tuts, her voice cold. But there's something underneath the coldness. Something I recognize.
Is this a trap? A con?
Is this me trying to hope against hope?
I laugh.Pathetic.
My broken mind struggles to piece together what's happening. The Fiori brothers are watching. Waiting. Their eyes gleam with a predatory anticipation that makes my blood run cold—what little blood I have left.
"I'll definitely enjoy finishing this," Ava continues, her voice carrying that clever edge I've always known. The sound of a con artist at work. Of someone playing a deeper game.
I want to scream. To warn her. To protect her.
But I can barely breathe.
"Stefano," she whispers, suddenly close. So close I can smell her familiar scent beneath the warehouse's metallic stench. "You’re at my mercy now. How does it feel?"
Her hand touches my face, so gentle against the brutal landscape of my wounds. It’s a contrast so sharp it makes me want to weep.
And then she slaps me.
The sound cracks through the warehouse like a gunshot.
Pain explodes.
“How does it feel now, huh?”
Her words are more devastating than any punch the Fiori brothers have landed.
I try to talk again.
"Shut up," Ava says, her voice razor-sharp. Cold. Calculating. "I've made a deal with them. I'm going to kill you and take over your legacy. Run the family the way it always should have been run."
The world tilts. Stops. Shatters.
My broken body goes still, not from pain, but from something far worse. Betrayal cuts deeper than any physical wound. Deeper than the broken ribs, the swollen eyes, the blood pooling beneath me.
She's going to kill me.
The woman I love. The mother of my child. The one person I hoped would never?—
A hysterical laugh tries to escape my throat, but it comes out as a wet, broken sound. Blood bubbles between my lips.