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This is it. I've failed. Failed Stefano. Failed our child. Failed the future I never thought I wanted until it was within reach.
I close my eyes, waiting for the gunshot that will end everything.
Instead, I hear a roar—primal, inhuman, filled with a rage so pure it transcends language. The sound of restraints breaking. Of a monster being unleashed.
Stefano.
CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE
Stefano
Blood roars in my ears,a thundering rhythm that almost drowns out the chaotic scene unfolding before me.
My vision blurs at the edges, the entire warehouse tilting like a ship caught in a storm. The concrete floor beneath me feels unsteady, my limbs heavy and uncoordinated.
But then I see it.
In one fluid motion—too fast for the Fiori brothers to anticipate—Ava's hand darts to her hair. The ornate hairpin I've seen a hundred times transforms into something deadly as she slashes Marco Fiori's throat with terrifying precision.
The shock of the moment electrifies my system, a surge of adrenaline breaking through the fog of my injuries. Blood sprays in an arc as Marco stumbles, his hands futilely clutching at his neck. His expensive shoes squeak against the concrete as he falls, eyes wide with disbelief.
Carlo reacts instantly, his fist connecting with Ava's face with a sickening crack. The sound triggers something primal in me—a surge of rage so intense it burns through the pain, the exhaustion, everything.
No one touches what’s mine!
She falls, a blur of dark hair and cream-colored dress against the filthy warehouse floor. For a terrible second, she doesn't move.
"AVA!" Her name tears from my throat, guttural and raw.
My body moves before my brain can process what's happening. I lunge forward, ignoring the white-hot agony that tears through my ribs, my shoulders, every battered inch of my broken form. The zip ties cut into my wrists, but the plastic gives way under the force of my desperation.
Carlo turns toward her, murder in his eyes, his hand already reaching for his weapon. But I'm on him before his fingers can close around the grip, tackling him with the last reserves of my strength. We crash to the floor in a tangle of limbs, my momentum carrying us away from where Ava lies.
"You're fucking dead," Carlo hisses, his breath hot against my face. His knee drives up between us, catching me in my already fractured ribs. Stars explode behind my eyes as pain lances through me.
I can't breathe. Can't think. Can only fight.
"I should've killed you years ago," he spits, struggling beneath me. "Your whole fucking family. Should've finished the job when we took out your brothers."
The confession barely registers even though it’s been something I’ve been trying to find out for years. Now it’s just one more sin to add to the Fiori ledger. One more debt that will be paid in blood.
From the corner of my eye, I see Ava moving, crawling toward us. Her face is streaked with blood—Marco's or hers, I can't tell—but her eyes are clear. Focused. The tiny weapon still clutched in her hand gleams in the dim light.
Carlo sees her too. His struggle intensifies, one hand breaking free to reach for his gun. I grab his wrist, crushing it in my grip, but he's strong. I'm running on nothing but fury and fear.
"Ava, run!" I order, though the words come out as little more than a rasp. She ignores me, of course. Always so stubborn. Always so fucking brave.
Instead, she lunges forward, driving the hairpin blade into Carlo's shoulder. He roars in pain, bucking beneath me with renewed strength. His free hand grabs the knife, tearing it from his flesh and from Ava's grip in one violent motion.
Blood wells from the wound, soaking through his expensive suit. The smell of it fills the air—metallic, primal, triggering that dark thing inside me that Chicago's underworld has learned to fear.
I use his moment of distraction to pin him more securely, though every movement sends fresh waves of agony through my abused body. In the distance, I hear shouting. Heavy footsteps. The Fiori soldiers, responding to the commotion.
"The door!" I gasp at Ava, struggling to keep Carlo contained. "Lock it!"
She scrambles to her feet, rushing to the heavy warehouse door. The sound of it slamming echoes through the space, followed by the scrape of metal as she slides something—a pipe, maybe—through the handles to bar it shut.
It won't hold them for long, but we don't need long.