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Just enough time to finish this. Once and for all.
Carlo and I grapple across the concrete, rolling perilously close to his brother's still-twitching body. The warehouse floor is slick with blood now, making it hard to maintain any grip or leverage. My hands slip against his arms as he twists beneath me, reaching again for his weapon.
This time, his fingers close around the grip.
I grab his wrist with both hands, using my entire weight to slam his arm against the floor. Once. Twice. His knuckles scrape against concrete, but his fingers refuse to release the gun.
"You're nothing," he snarls, face contorted with hate. "Your father was nothing. Your brothers were nothing. Just pretenders playing at power."
The gun wavers between us as we struggle for control. Every muscle in my body screams in protest. Blood and sweat sting my eyes, blurring my vision further. The edges of consciousness begin to fray, darkness threatening to pull me under.
No. Not now. Not when Ava's life hangs in the balance.
With strength born of sheer desperation, I manage to twist Carlo's arm at an unnatural angle. The tendons in his wrist stretch to their limit. Something snaps—a bone, maybe—and the gun clatters to the floor, spinning away from both of us.
Carlo howls in pain, but it transforms quickly into a manic laugh. "They're coming, Rega," he gasps, eyes darting to the door where the pounding has already begun. "You're trapped. We're all trapped. How does it feel, knowing you brought her here to die?"
The words slice deeper than any blade. Because he's right. This is my fault. All of it. The bruises on Ava's face. The danger to our child. The impossible situation we're now trapped in.
I should have protected her better. Should have seen the Fiori trap coming. Should have been smarter, faster, stronger.
Behind us, the door groans under the assault. Wood splinters. Metal bends.
Carlo's eyes gleam with triumph. "You lose, Monster."
Something dark and ancient surges through me then. It’s a rage so pure it transcends pain, transcends exhaustion, transcends the limitations of my broken body. I pin him fully beneath me, my hands finding his throat as easily as if they were made for this purpose.
"My name," I growl, tightening my grip, "is Stefano Rega."
His eyes bulge as his oxygen cuts off. His good hand claws at my face, my arms, my chest—finding every wound, every bruise, every broken rib. Pain explodes through me, but I don't relent. Can't relent.
Not when Ava's life is on the line. Not when our child's future hangs in the balance.
Carlo's struggles grow more desperate, more frantic. His face darkens as his lungs scream for air. I lean my full weight into my hands, staring into his eyes, watching the moment he realizes this warehouse will become his tomb.
"You took my family from me once," I say, voice steady despite the chaos within me. "Never again."
The sounds of the door giving way barely register. Ava's voice calling my name feels distant, underwater. All that exists is this moment. This kill. This revenge for every wound, every betrayal, every threat to what's mine.
Carlo’s struggles weaken. His eyes begin to roll back. Victory is so close I can taste it.
Then a sudden, sharp movement catches me off guard. Carlo bucks beneath me with his last reserves of strength, using his legs to push off from the ground. We roll, positions reversed, his weight now crushing me into the concrete.
The sudden shift sends waves of dizziness and nausea through me. My grip loosens just enough for him to gulp a desperate breath.
"You first," he rasps, hands finding my throat now. "Then her. Then your heir."
The threat against Ava, against our child, ignites that primal, unstoppable force again.
With strength I didn't know I still possessed, I slam my forehead into the bridge of his nose. Cartilage gives way with a sickening crunch, blood pouring down his face. The blow stuns him just long enough for me to heave him off me.
We roll again, a deadly dance across concrete and blood. The warehouse tilts and sways around us as my concussion worsens, but I focus on one thing only: ending this threat. Permanently.
I manage to position myself above him once more, but my strength is fading fast. My body, pushed well beyond its limits, threatens to give out entirely. Blackness creeps in at the edges of my vision, my consciousness slipping away in slow pulses.
No. Not yet. Not until he's gone. Not until Ava is safe.
With the last of my strength, I lift Carlo's head by his hair and slam it against the concrete floor. The sound is sickening—wet, heavy, final. His eyes glaze, but I can't stop. Won't stop.