I take a deep breath, channeling everything Byron taught me about marksmanship.
Three.
The shots crack through the silence like thunder. Enzo's bullets tear through the lock mechanism. I push forward with all my strength, throwing the door open and diving through the opening.
Time slows. Byron stands with his back to me, gun pointed at Damiano ,bloodied and battered but alive. His dark eyes meet mine over Byron's shoulder, widening in surprise.
Byron starts to turn, his reflexes still sharp despite his age and illness.
Too slow.
I squeeze the trigger twice in rapid succession, just as he taught me. Center mass. The bullets hit Byron's arm, gun falling from his hand. He staggers forward, shock registering on his face as he drops to his knees.
"Zoe?" He looks genuinely surprised, like he never imagined his perfect weapon would turn against him.
I watch, frozen, as Damiano lunges for Byron's fallen weapon. He snatches the gun from the floor and levels it at Byron's head.
Byron, with blood seeping through his suit, laughs. Actually laughs.
"All you had to do was give me information, Zoe." His voice sounds different—weaker, but somehow more dangerous. "I made you everything you are. I gave you purpose when you had nothing."
My gun stays trained on him, unwavering despite the storm inside me.
"Instead," Byron continues, "you remained completely useless. Wasting time with your little love story with that bastard." He jerks his chin toward Damiano, whose dark eyes never leave Byron's face. "I expected better from you."
The contempt in his voice cuts through me. Even now, bleeding with two guns pointed at him, he's trying to manipulate me.
"All those years," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "All those stories about my father. You killed him. You killed Bianca."
"I did what was necessary." Byron's eyes narrow. "I would have given you everything when this was over. My empire. My legacy."
"Your legacy of lies," I spit.
"Information, Zoe. That's all I needed from you." Byron's gaze shifts between Damiano and me. "Instead, you were too busy spreading your legs for your father's killer."
Damiano presses the barrel of the gun against Byron's temple. "One more word about her and I pull the trigger."
"Go ahead," Byron taunts.
Two more shots ring out, one for each of Byron's feet. "That was for using me," I say, watching him crumple to the ground. "I can do this all day, making you pay for the lives you've ruined."
Byron howls, his arrogance evaporating as pain tears through him. Blood pools beneath his expensive leather shoes, staining the concrete floor. His face contorts into something primal, something human—far from the calculated mask he's worn for twelve years.
"You ungrateful little bitch," he gasps between ragged breaths.
"Zoe," Damiano says quietly. Just my name, nothing more.
I step closer to Byron, who's now slumped against the wall, his unharmed hand clutching futilely at his bleeding feet. All those years under his roof, believing his lies.
"You killed my father," I say, my voice breaking slightly. "You killed Bianca. You stole twelve years of my life."
"Your father was nothing," Byron spits through clenched teeth. "A desperate nobody who?—"
I press the barrel of the gun against his knee. "My father loved me. That was enough." I scream.
"You won't kill me," he says. "You don't have it in you."
"You're right," I say, lowering the gun slightly. "I'm not you."
