“The council isn’t here,” I replied simply. “It’s just us now.”
With my free hand, I drew my weapon and pressed it to his temple. Then I let him go, moving back without looking away from his face.
I reached toward Isabella, tucked her into my side, and covered her eyes.
Her hands intercepted mine, pulling my hand away.
“No,” she said firmly. “I want to see this. I need to see this.”
I met her gaze briefly, seeing the resolve there. Then, something even more powerful happened—Isabellastepped forward and placed her hand over my hand on the gun.
In that moment, we were truly partners in every sense of the word. United in purpose, in justice, in the elimination of a monster who had preyed on an innocent child. Her hand was steady over mine, her presence unwavering at my side.
But as I began to apply pressure to the trigger, I felt her hand tremble slightly. Her eyes fluttered closed at the last second, unable to watch despite her determination.
In that moment of vulnerability, I understood something essential about Isabella Salvini. As tough as nails, as badass as she was, there remained a softness inside her worth protecting. A part of her that refused to become as ruthless as her family legacy, as monstrous as those who had hurt her.
I squeezed the trigger.
The sound was surprisingly muted in the small room. Moretti slumped to the floor, the expression of disbelief frozen on his face. No dramatic speeches, no cinematic last words—just the clean, decisive end he deserved.
The silence afterward felt heavy but not oppressive—no regret, no celebration, just completion.
I put my weapon back at the small of my back and turned to Shorty, scanning her face carefully. “You okay?”
She looked at Moretti’s body, then back at me, her expression surprisingly calm. “I thought I’d feel different. More…something.”
I understood completely. “Sometimes, justice just feels like closing a door.”
She nodded slowly, processing. I watched her closely, searched for signs of shock or distress but found none. Instead, she seemed lighter somehow, as if a shadow had been lifted from her shoulders.
We exited the cell together. Roman nodded at me, then followed us. He probably had manipulated the video feed for me.
The two guards stationed at the end of the corridor looked up as we approached.
“The prisoner attempted escape,” I stated flatly. “I had no choice.”
The guards exchanged glances, then nodded. Hopefully nobody would question too deeply. In the chaos of everything, Moretti’s death would hopefully be a footnote at best.
And if not, I was ready to deal with the consequences.
We were halfway down the corridor when Nina intercepted us, her expression tense but unsurprised.
“Kozlova is furious,” she said without preamble. “She’s waiting in the comms center. Says if you’re not there in ten minutes, she’ll have the entire security team looking for you.”
I felt a grim smile tug at my mouth.
Nina’s eyes flicked to Isabella, then back to me. “I’ll tell her you’re on your way.”
As she departed, I took Isabella’s hand in mine. It felt right there, perfectly sized to fit against my palm. We walked away from the cells together, our linked hands symbolic of everything that had shifted between us, within us.
“What now?” Isabella asked as we stepped outside into the early morning light.
“Now we face Kozlova. Then your brothers. Then we get off this island. Preferably with your family and mine intact.”
She squeezed my hand. “And after that?”
“After that,” I said, meeting her gaze, “we figure out how and where to live without anyone else dictating our every move.”
