Lukyan stalks across the room, boots sticky with blood. He levels his rifle at Matteo’s head.
“This one’s for the grave too, Boss,” he says, teeth bared in a cold smile.
Dimitri appears at my side, steadying me with a hand under my elbow. “You all right?” he asks, eyes flicking over my wounds.
“I’ve been worse,” I rasp, though I can hardly feel my hands.
My gaze locks on Matteo. I remember the look in his eyes as he pushed Isabella toward freedom, the split second of mercy that bought her escape. The world narrows to the boy on his knees, the stench of blood and betrayal clinging to us both.
“He let Isabella go,” I say, voice rough with something I don’t want to name.
Lukyan scowls. “So what? He’ll come after us the first chance he gets. This is a mistake, Emil.”
“Maybe,” I say, swallowing back the taste of bile. “It’s my mistake to make.”
Dimitri doesn’t argue, just watches me with that same unreadable calm. Lukyan grunts, clearly unhappy, but lowers his rifle.
I step forward, wincing as every bruise makes itself known. Matteo looks up at me, red-eyed, face streaked with tears and blood. I stare down at him, gun heavy in my hand.
“You saved her,” I say, each word deliberate. “That’s the only reason you get to walk away.”
He stares at me, disbelief and hatred warring on his face. For a long moment, no one moves. My men tense, waiting for a command, a sign.
I nod to Dimitri. “Take the rest. Leave him here.”
Lukyan curses under his breath but obeys, waving the Russians toward the trembling Italian survivors. They herd them out at gunpoint, leaving Matteo kneeling beside his dead father, shoulders heaving.
I holster my gun, turning to go. Matteo’s voice stops me in a raw, broken whisper. “You think this makes us even? You think I’ll ever forget what you did?”
I look back, letting him see every ounce of cold truth I have left. “No, but you get to live with it. That’s more than most men get.”
The room is a ruin of blood, bodies, and broken glass. I step over the debris, my boots slipping on the slick floor. My men close ranks around me, Lukyan’s hand firm on my shoulder, guiding me toward the exit.
Outside, the night is thick with smoke and the tang of cordite. Sirens wail in the distance, but the street is already ours—our cars, our men, our city. Dimitri helps me into the backseat of an armored SUV. As the engine roars to life, I glance once more at the house, the light spilling through the shattered windows, Matteo still kneeling in the wreckage of everything he thought he could hold.
I press a hand to my aching ribs, letting the pain anchor me. I survived. Isabella survived. Vittorio is gone, and the old world is burning.
Lukyan slams the door and slides into the front seat. “You sure about letting that kid live?” he asks, voice skeptical, eyes sharp in the rearview mirror.
“I’m sure,” I say, voice barely above a whisper. “He did the right thing. Once.”
Dimitri drives, his focus absolute, already barking orders into his phone for medics, for cleanup, for extraction. I close my eyes for a moment, exhaustion washing over me in a wave. My mind races not with the violence behind us, but with the thought of her. Isabella. The only thing left that matters.
For years, I believed revenge was the only currency worth fighting for.
Now, as we drive away from the ruin and the blood, I realize what I want most is to get back to her. To hold her again, to tell her it’s over. That she’s safe. That I am, against all odds, still hers.
My hand aches where the wire cut deep, my face throbs with every heartbeat, but I am alive. More than that, I am free—free of Vittorio, of the old debts and grudges, of the history that kept us chained.
Tomorrow, there will be new wars, new dangers. Tonight, as the city passes in a blur, I let myself hope for something else.
A future. A chance to start again.
Behind us, Matteo kneels beside his father’s corpse, a boy orphaned by his own blood, spared by the man he tried to kill. I know what it means to live with ghosts. I know the price of mercy. Maybe, someday, he will too.
For now, I lean my head against the cool window and watch the city lights flicker by, each one a promise that Isabella is waiting, and that for the first time, I have something to lose worth living for.
Chapter Twenty-Seven - Isabella
