Hers.
Elena stands outside the SUV, breath shaking, arm steady, Rocco’s spare gun clutched in both hands.
The moment the man drops, the world stops moving.
Dante turns, stunned. “Elena?”
Rocco freezes mid-stride.
And Elena—my wife, my heart, my goddamn miracle—stands there trembling with the gun still raised, her chest rising and falling like she’s trying to breath underwater.
I reach her first.
The gun slips from her fingers the second my hands close around her.
“Dove—” It comes out hoarse, reverent, terrified.
Her body collapses into mine. She’s shaking so hard I feel it straight through my bones. I cup the back of her head and pull her tight against me, whispering into her hair.
“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
She whispers into my shirt, “I saw him—behind Dante. I had to— I had to—”
I pull her face up with both hands.
“Look at me.”
When she does, her eyes are wide and glassy with shock, but she’s here. Present. Alive.
“You saved him,” I tell her. “You saved Dante’s life.”
Her lip quivers. “I didn’t want you to lose him. Or—lose anyone else.”
Christ. She breaks me.
I kiss her forehead—slow, grounding—before wrapping my arm around her and leading her back toward the SUV.
“Let’s get you home,” I murmur against her temple.
Elena doesn’t let go of me.
Not when I settle her into the back seat.
Not when I slide in beside her.
Not even when the car pulls away from the chaos behind us.
She folds herself into my side, burying her face in my chest like she’s trying to hide from the memory of what she just did.
I hold her as tightly as I can without hurting her—one arm around her back, one hand cradling the side of her face.
Her whisper is so small I almost miss it.
“Alessandro… I don’t want to shoot anyone ever again.”
My throat thickens. “I know,Dove.I know.”
“I don’t want that to be part of my life.”
