Chapter Forty-Nine
Massimo
The instant Oliver seized my wife, instinct took over. Without a moment’s hesitation, I drew my gun and aimed it directly at him, every muscle in my body coiled with dread. My worst nightmare was unfolding right in front of me, and the air crackled with the threat of violence. In that split second, I knew there was no possible way Oliver would escape this situation unharmed—if I didn’t kill him, her brother certainly would. The stakes had never been higher, and I was prepared to do whatever it took to protect her.
The moment our plane touched down at the airport, urgency pulsed through me. I immediately sent a text to Stella, hoping she could help, since Guilio’s attempts to reach King had failed. I wasn’t sure why Stella came to mind—maybe it was the way her eyes softened when I revealed the truth to Miranda. Perhaps she saw something in me that others didn’t. Regardless, when Stella replied, urging me to hurry, I felt a surge of relief. At that moment, I knew I had an ally.
The drive from the airport sped by much faster than I remembered, and as we approached the compound, we were waved through the gates without delay. Stella greeted us at the entrance and led us through the clubhouse with brisk efficiency. Outside, I found my wife in the thick of a tense confrontation with Oliver and Dylan Franks—better known as Bullseye, the Golden Skulls’ club enforcer.
Bullseye’s voice cut through the tension with unmistakable force. “Look here, you little shit, I don’t give a flying fuck who the hell you are. No one, and I mean no fucking one, will ever make my sister do anything she doesn’t want to fucking do.” His words left no room for argument. His message was clear to everyone present.
I didn’t hesitate as I strode forward, refusing to be intimidated by the hostile glares and muttered threats from the men surrounding me. I was well aware of the risk I was taking by showing up here without warning—her family’s resentment toward me was no secret. Still, I was resolute; there was absolutely no chance I would let Oliver Thorpe be anywhere near my wife. Even if it meant she would despise me for the rest of her life, I was prepared to eradicate every threat to her safety, no matter what it cost me.
When Oliver moved in behind her, my body instinctively tensed, bracing for the worst. Sensing my agitation, Guilio reached out and placed a steadying hand on my shoulder. “Breathe, brother. He’s not going anywhere,” he murmured, grounding me in the moment.
“Come on, Miranda, you’ve outgrown these people. You don’t need them—especially Vitale. He’s just muscle for hire—he doesn’t care about you.”
I watched my wife’s eyes widen as she turned around slowly. “Wait... I never told you my real name.”
Oliver’s face twitched with anxiety, his gaze darting nervously among the gathering crowd. He raked a shaky hand through his hair and faltered, “It’s not a big deal. I figured it out a while ago. Can we just go, please?”
Miranda pressed further, her tone insistent. “How do you know? Who told you?”
Before Oliver could answer, Jackson Williams, Miranda’s brother, also known as Ravage, emerged from the forest with hissignature machete in hand. His presence was intimidating as he demanded, “Yeah, I’d like to know that too.”
I saw the flicker of fear in Oliver’s eyes, right before he grabbed my wife and placed a gun against her head.
For that alone, he was a dead man walking.
“Stay back!” Oliver commanded, his voice strained as he wildly looked around. A man unhinged, desperate for escape. “It didn’t have to come to this. You all could have just let her go with me. I would never have hurt her!”
“Oli, what the hell are you doing?” my wife shouted, her beautiful eyes, so full of life and joy, now frantically pleading with me to help her.
“Steady, brother,” Aurelio whispered. “We have him. You take care of our sister.”
With that reassurance, I holstered my gun and took a careful step forward, my hands raised in a show of peace. Keeping my voice calm and clear, I called out to Miranda, “Baby, just look at me.” I needed her to focus on me, to find some sense of safety in the chaos.
Oliver’s eyes darted between us, his expression twisting with bitterness and rage. He spat out his words, the venom in his tone unmistakable. “Shut up, Vitale! She wouldn’t even be in this mess if it weren’t for you. Why couldn’t you just die like I planned?”
Not thinking, I stopped, spread my arms wide, and smiled. “Then go ahead. Take your shot.”
“NO!” Miranda shouted, and I watched in horror as she turned, stepping in front of his weapon, just as the sound of a gun recoiled before Oliver and my wife fell to the ground.
With adrenaline surging, I rushed to Miranda’s side, urgently pulling Oliver’s lifeless body away from her. As I gathered her into my arms, she fought against me with all her strength, her grief fueling every desperate move. Realizing she needed space,I released her and sank to the ground, watching as she crawled to Oliver—her best friend. Tears streamed down her face as she desperately tried to revive him, moaning and gasping between sobs. No one dared to intervene, each of us frozen by the magnitude of what had just occurred. When it became too much to bear, I leaned over, gently but firmly grasped her, and held her tightly against me. She thrashed and screamed, her anguish raw, continuing to wrestle for freedom from my hold, her heartbreak echoing all around me.
Miranda’s cries echoed through the clearing as I tried to hold her, desperate to offer any comfort. “I hate you! I hate you all!” she screamed, her grief and fury uncontainable. I knew deep down that nothing I could say would ever ease the pain or change what had just happened.
Ravage kneeled beside us, his tone gentle but insistent. “Sis,” he said, trying to reach her through the storm of her emotion. “He was going to kill you.”
But Miranda was inconsolable. She turned her rage toward Jackson, shoving me away as she stood. “NO!” she screamed, her voice raw with anguish. “I could have talked him down. He trusted me. He was my friend. He just wanted to help me, and you killed him!”
Stella moved in, gently taking Miranda’s hands, her voice steady. “Sweetheart, listen to me,” she pleaded, searching Miranda’s face for any sign of understanding. “Your friend wasn’t who he said he was. You heard him. He tried to kill your husband.”
Miranda yanked her hands away, her body trembling as grief gripped her. She shook her head, refusing to accept what she’d just heard. “No. Oliver would never do that. He’s incapable of hurting anyone!” she cried, her voice barely holding together as she clung desperately to the memory of her friend.
I watched as she stiffened, wiping away her tears with shaking fingers. Her voice became firm, her tone determined, cutting through her grief. “I’m done. I can’t do this anymore.”
Her gaze swept over the family she once loved with her whole heart, then she fixed her eyes on me with a look that cut deep, as if I were responsible for all of her pain. Her voice came out small but resolute, nearly breaking. “I never want to see any of you ever again,” she said, and I watched her hands curl into fists, her nails biting into her palms as she fought to hold herself together.
