Page 50 of Devil’s Gambit

"I want us to take over. Together." I press against him, feeling his body respond despite everything. "Don't pretend you don't want it too. Don't act like you actually want to raise cows in the Alps or whatever pastoral fantasy you're selling."

He laughs, dark and appreciative. "Fuck the cows."

"Exactly." I grin up at him. "We take it all. Everything Sal had. Everything the Commission owes us for their games. Domenico set this all in motion—we should thank him by taking everything he thought he controlled. And when he's no longer useful? We remove him from the board. Permanently."

"Christ." His hands find my waist, pulling me closer. "You're already thinking like a queen."

"Your queen."

He kisses me again, quick but intense. "We rule together."

"Together," I agree, then pull back as reality intrudes. "But first, we have to deal with the immediate problem."

"The FBI."

"The FBI." I move away from him, mind already working. "They need their witness. Their neat little bow on this case."

"What are you thinking?"

I pick up Sal's gun from where it fell and check the cylinder. One bullet left, as I remembered.

"I'm thinking we give them what they want." I hold the gun out to him. "Shoot me."

The words land like a bomb. Dante takes a step back.

"What the fuck—absolutely not."

"Listen to me." I move toward him, pressing the gun into his hand. "The FBI needs a victim. A clear narrative. Abused wife kidnapped by violent husband, shoots him in self-defense. But it needs to look real. I need to look like I fought for my life."

"There are other ways?—"

"No, there aren't." I meet his eyes steadily. "This is the cleanest solution. You shoot me in the leg, non-lethal but dramatic. I call Sofia, play the traumatized victim. I testify about Sal's crimes, redirect everything away from you."

"This is insane."

"This is smart." I guide the gun to point at my leg. "One shot, Dante. Through the muscle, not the bone. I'll bleed, I'll scar, but I'll heal. And more importantly, I'll be the perfect witness."

"I can't shoot you." His voice is strained. "Bella, you're asking me to?—"

"I'm asking you to trust me." The words hang between us, heavy with meaning. "Trust that I know what I'm doing. Trust that I can handle this."

"This is absolutely fucking insane?—"

"So was not trusting me before." I let the words land, watching them hit. "We both know where that led us. All of this—tonight, this whole mess—started because you didn't trust me."

The gun steadies in his grip. I can see the moment my words register, the recognition of what I'm referring to without saying it. The chair. The ropes. The decision that sparked everything.

"Besides," I continue, voice steadier now, "I'll be useful in the hospital. I can handle the legal matters, the FBI, and the testimonies. I can clear your name while playing the victim. Get you completely out of their crosshairs."

"Bella—"

"Do you really want to make that mistake again?" My voice is quiet but firm.

I can see it in his face—the war between protecting me and respecting my choice. But we both know I'm right. We both know what happened last time he decided he knew better.

"Fuck," he whispers, raising the gun.

"Trust me," I say, closing my eyes. "Just trust me."

The silence stretches for what feels like hours but is probably only seconds. I keep my eyes closed, breathing steady, waiting.

The shot, when it comes, is still a surprise.

Pain explodes through my thigh—not my knee like I expected, but the meaty part of my upper thigh. Less damage but more blood. Smart. The pain is immediate and overwhelming, dropping me to the floor with a scream I don't have to fake.

"Fuck, fuck, I'm sorry—" Dante's beside me instantly, hands hovering over the wound, blood already soaking through his fingers. "Let me stop the bleeding?—"

"No." I grip his wrist with bloody fingers. "Leave it. It needs to look worse than it is." I'm already pulling out my phone with my other hand. "You have to go. Now."

"I'm not leaving you like this?—"

"You have to." I'm dialing with shaking fingers, each movement sending fresh waves of pain through my leg. "Please, Dante. Trust me. Trust that I know what I'm doing."

He looks at me—bleeding on the floor, dress destroyed, probably going into shock—and his expression breaks.

"Don't you dare die."

"Not planning on it." I manage a weak smile. "Now go. Run. Before?—"

The phone connects.

"Go!" I mouth at him.

He kisses me one more time—hard, desperate, tasting like goodbye—and then he's gone. His footsteps fade as Sofia's voice fills my ear.

"Bella? Bella, where are you?"

Time for the performance of my life. I let all the pain, exhaustion, and genuine trauma flood into my voice.

"Sofia... oh God, Sofia, I need help." My voice cracks. "Sal's dead. I shot him. He was going to kill me, and I—there's so much blood. My blood, his blood, I can't tell anymore. He went on a rampage, killed his own men?—"

"Where are you? Tell me exactly where you are."

I give her the address, letting myself sob—real tears because my leg feels like it's on fire and I'm probably going into shock for real now.

"He shot me," I whisper. "Before I got the gun. My leg—I think I'm dying?—"

"You're not dying. I'm fifteen minutes out. Keep pressure on the wound. Can you do that?"

"I'll try." I drag myself to lean against the overturned chair, Sal's corpse in my peripheral vision. "Sofia... I was so scared?—"

"He's dead now. He can't hurt you anymore."

"Yeah," I whisper, looking at his still form. "He's definitely dead."

"Just hang on. Help is coming."

I end the call and let my head fall back against the chair. My blood mingles with Sal's on the linoleum, creating abstract patterns in the growing puddle. The pain in my leg has become a constant throb, beating in time with my heart.

Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes to perfect my story, to arrange my face into the right expression of trauma and relief. Fifteen minutes to become the victim the FBI needs me to be.

I think about Dante, hopefully far away by now. About the empire we're going to build on the ashes of the old one. About Domenico's shocked face when he realizes we've outplayed him at his own game.

The queen of an empire built on blood and lies and love twisted enough to be unbreakable.

When the sirens come, I'll be ready.

I always am.