Page 53 of Marrying His Son’s Ex (Forbidden Kings #3)

KASI

The torn pieces of shell company documents scatter around my feet like confetti at a funeral.

Dante’s face is twisted with rage as he stares at the destroyed papers. His breathing is heavy, labored, like a man pushed beyond his breaking point.

“You stupid bitch,” he snarls, advancing on me. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

I back against the wall, my hands instinctively covering my belly as the baby kicks frantically inside me. Through the smoke and gunfire echoing through the mansion, I can’t see Alaric anywhere. Blood pounds in my ears as panic floods my system.

“Two years of work,” Dante continues, his voice rising to a scream. “Millions in assets, all of it ruined because you couldn’t accept your place!”

Tears stream down my face as he aims the gun at my stomach.

“Please,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “Please don’t?—”

“I can’t let you destroy what we built.” Marco’s voice cuts through the chaos, and I see him standing behind Dante, weapon drawn.

“Marco!” I gasp, desperation cracking my voice. “Help me! Please!”

But the cold calculation in his eyes tells me everything I need to know.

“This isn’t about saving you, Kasi.” His voice is flat, businesslike. “You’re an asset. A very valuable asset that my cousin is about to kill.”

Dante spins around, his gun swinging away from my belly toward Marco. “You treacherous piece of shit.”

“You never understood the big picture, Dante. The Russians don’t want a dead martyr. They want a living, breathing signatory who can keep operations running smoothly.”

“She destroyed the documents!”

“It doesn’t matter! Her identity is all we need!”

The cousins face each other across three feet of bloodstained marble, weapons trained on each other, while the sounds of gunfire echo through the mansion.

“She’s mine,” Dante tells Marco.

“She belongs to whoever can use her most effectively,” Marco counters. “Right now, that’s the Bratva.”

“Over my dead body.”

“That was always the plan.”

Marco lunges forward, grabbing for Dante’s weapon. The cousins crash into each other, wrestling for control of the gun as they stumble across the bloodstained marble.

“You treacherous bastard!” Dante snarls, his finger still on the trigger.

“Should have stayed dead!” Marco slams Dante against the wall, both hands fighting for the weapon.

They spin around, grappling violently. The gun goes off twice, bullets punching holes in priceless artwork as they struggle. I press myself against the wall, watching in terror as two men who’ve controlled my life try to kill each other.

Marco gets leverage, slamming his knee into Dante’s ribs. The gun swings toward the ceiling as Dante gasps for air.

“I built this empire!” Dante chokes out.

“You built nothing but problems!”

Three rapid gunshots echo through the room. Dante’s body jerks with each impact, blood spreading across his chest as he slides down the wall, leaving a crimson trail on white marble.

“Cousin,” he whispers, touching the spreading stain.

Marco stands over him, breathing hard, weapon still smoking. “Business is business.”

I stare in horror as Dante’s eyes go blank, his hand falling away from the blood. He’s really dead this time. No faking, no survival, no coming back.

“Now then,” Marco turns to me. “You’re coming with us.”

“Marco, please?—”

“Boris!” he calls out. “Secure the asset!”

Boris Petrov appears in the doorway with two of his men, their weapons trained on the room. “Is finished?”

“Dante’s gone. The woman is ready for transport.”

That’s when Alaric appears behind Boris, his weapon pressed to the Russian’s head.

“Nobody’s transporting anyone,” he says, pulling the trigger.

Boris drops as Alaric spins toward Marco. One shot, center mass, dropping him beside his cousin.

Then Alaric sees Dante’s body.

His weapon falls from nerveless fingers as he stares at his son’s corpse. “Jesus Christ. He’s really dead.”

Around us, gunfire continues as the battle rages through the mansion, but Alaric doesn’t seem to hear it.

“My son,” he whispers, dropping to his knees beside Dante’s body. His hands shake as he reaches out to touch Dante’s pale cheek, all the hardness and authority stripped away. “My boy.”

Tears stream down his face. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him cry. This man, who controls empires, who commands respect through fear and violence, is completely shattered by the sight of his dead child.

“I was going to get you help,” he chokes out, his voice breaking. “Put you in a psychiatric facility somewhere you could get better. You were sick, Dante. So sick. But you were still my son.”

My own tears fall as I watch him grieve. Despite everything Dante did to me, seeing Alaric’s raw pain tears my heart apart. Whatever monster Dante became, he was still this man’s child.

I kneel beside Alaric on the bloodstained marble, placing my hand over his as he cradles Dante’s face.

“I failed him,” Alaric whispers. “I created this monster by teaching him the wrong lessons, by showing him that power mattered more than people.”

“You tried to save him at the end. That has to count for something.”

Around us, the sounds of gunfire are fading as the last Russian operatives are killed or retreat. Smoke drifts through the mansion’s broken windows, carrying the acrid smell of cordite and blood.

“He’s at peace now,” I say softly. “No more anger, no more pain. No more sickness eating at his mind.”

Alaric’s shoulders shake with silent sobs as he closes Dante’s lifeless eyes. “I should have seen it sooner. Should have gotten him help before it was too late.”

“You couldn’t have known how far he’d fallen.”

“Boss!” Benedetto’s voice cuts through our grief, blood streaking his face from a scalp wound. His clothes are torn, and he’s limping slightly. “Cars are ready in the back courtyard. We need to move now. The NYPD is three minutes out, and the feds won’t be far behind.”

Alaric doesn’t move, still staring at his son’s peaceful face. It’s like he can’t bear to leave Dante alone in this destroyed room.

“We have to go,” I say gently, tugging at his arm. “Alaric, please. We can’t help him now, but we can still save ourselves.”

“How do I leave him here? How do I abandon my child again?”

“You’re not abandoning him. You’re honoring his memory by protecting what he couldn’t destroy—our love, our family, our future.”

He allows me to help him stand, but his eyes never leave Dante’s body. I can see him memorizing every detail, storing this final image of his son in a place where grief and guilt will torture him for years to come.

“Boss,” Benedetto continues, his voice taking on urgency as sirens grow louder. “About Mrs. Moretti…we need to discuss her legal situation. Those shell companies, the Russian connections, the federal investigations that are coming—as long as she exists on paper, she’ll never be safe.”

“What are you suggesting?” I ask, though I think I already know.

“Complete erasure. New identity, new background, new everything. Kasimira Vale-Moretti has to die officially.”

The implication settles over us like a shroud as red and blue lights begin flashing through the broken windows. In the distance, helicopter rotors beat against the night sky.

“Can it be done?” Alaric asks, finally tearing his gaze away from Dante.

“It can be done. But it has to be done perfectly, and it has to be done fast. Once the authorities start investigating these shell companies, once they realize the scope of the money laundering operation, she becomes the most wanted woman in America.”

“How long do we have?”

“Hours, maybe less. The financial networks are already compromised. It’s only a matter of time before they connect her signatures to everything.”

I look around the destroyed study, at the bodies of the two men who controlled my life, at the evidence of violence that will bring federal investigators down on us like wolves.

I guess the only way to be truly free is to die completely.

And be reborn as someone else entirely.