Page 126 of I'm sorry, Princess

Andres doesn’t respond. His eyes are locked, obsessed, on Luciano, who hasn’t moved a muscle, his cold stare meeting Andres like he knows it’s already too late. Andres adjusts his aim, now lining up a headshot.

“Don’t fucking do it,” I mutter, but it’s too late.

Everything explodes.

Gunfire erupts like a goddamn war zone. Concrete shatters, glass rains down from nearby lights, and the air thickens with the metallic tang of blood and gunpowder.

“Get in the fucking car!” Dante roars, drawing his men back. But it’s chaos.

Two of my own men go down instantly, bullets punching through torsos like wet paper. Screams tear through the night. Luciano’s bodyguards open fire in a sweeping arc, their rifles barking death into the open lot.

We scramble for cover behind a low concrete barrier. Dante’s crew is scattered, some firing, others trying to stay uninvolved. I can see it in Dante’s face, he’s trying to play neutral, but his hands are tied. Luciano is still his Don. His fucking family.

“Fucking hell,” I snarl as another round snaps past my head.

But Andres? The fucker’s not running. He launches forward like a beast let off its chain, barreling toward Luciano. His gun is discarded, he’s going hands-on.

He drives a fist into Luciano’s face, snapping the old man’s neck to the side with a crunch that echoes over the gunfire. Luciano stumbles back, dazed, blood pouring from a split lip, but he raises a shaky hand to strike,

Andres decks him again, this time slamming his head into the side of a car door.

“Fuck’s sake!” I sprint over, grab Andres by the shoulder, and yank him off the Don before he kills him too.

“What the fuck, man?!” I hiss, my eyes blazing into his.

He gives me a curt nod, like that was all part of the plan. It fucking wasn’t.

We spin around, bullets still flying, and make a break for the car. But three of Luciano’s hulking dogs are standing between us and my Lambo. Each one looks like they bench press SUVs for breakfast.

Great. One more thing.

Suddenly, Dante appears out of the smoke like a goddamn avenger. His fist slams into the jaw of the biggest one, and I swear I hear the crunch of bone. The guy topples like a felled tree.

The second one lunges.

Andres twists mid-run and drives his foot straight into the guy’s face, side kick, full force, perfect form. His boot connects with a sickening crack, sending the bastard reeling back, blood spurting from his mouth.

I take the third. The second he’s in range, I throw a punch so hard my knuckles burn. His head snaps sideways, a geyser of blood flying from his nose.

He stumbles but doesn’t fall.

“That black eye looks lonely,” I grin darkly, rolling my shoulders, the adrenaline pounding in my chest. “Let’s give him a friend.”

I slam a second punch into the other side of his face, feeling the bone give under my fist. He howls, both hands clutching his face now, blinded, staggering.

“You wanna dance, stronzo?” I spit, pushing him aside as we sprint the last few meters to the Lambo.

Sirens wail in the distance.

Shouts echo from rooftops. Sniper rifles click into place, fucking hell, this just turned nuclear.

Blood is everywhere. Mine. Theirs. Doesn’t matter. My shirt’s soaked. My shoes are sticky from brain matter.

And somewhere behind us, Luciano’s men are still dragging bodies.

“Get out of here.” Dante’s voice is low, tight with fury. Before I can turn, he grabs my arm, hard. His grip bites into my skin like steel. “You need to fucking explain yourself.”

I give him a short nod. Not the time. Not the place. But I owe him. I know what that look in his eyes meant, not just anger. Betrayal.