"Did you touch her?" The words came out as a growl.
Antonio's eyebrows rose. "Would it matter if I did?"
Something snapped inside me. Before I realized what was happening, my fist connected with his face. Antonio fell backward, his chair toppling as he crashed to the floor. Blood streamed across his lip, bright red against his teeth as he grinned up at me.
"There he is," he laughed, wiping his mouth. "The real Vittorio. I was wondering when you'd show up." He climbed to his feet, spitting blood onto the concrete. "She's made you soft, brother. Weak. The old you would have killed me by now."
I drew my gun, aiming it steadily at his heart. Antonio didn't flinch.
"Go ahead," he taunted. "Pull the trigger. Prove you're still the man everyone fears."
My finger tensed on the trigger as memories washed over me. Livia dying in the explosion, flames consuming everything I held dear. Sophie tied to that chair in Falco's warehouse, bruised and defiant. Her voice trembling when she confirmed she was carrying my child. The medical record Antonio had discovered and sent to taunt me—violating something sacred before it had even begun.
All my life, I'd protected the wrong people. Stood by my brother out of some misplaced sense of family loyalty while he destroyed everything he touched.
I lowered the gun.
Antonio's face split into a triumphant grin. "I knew it. You don't have the—"
For a split second, I saw the boy who'd taught me to throw my first punch, who'd held me when nightmares about Father's violence woke me screaming.The man before me had killed that boy the moment he threatened Sophie—the moment he chose cruelty over family.
I raised the gun again and fired twice in rapid succession. The shots echoed through the empty warehouse as Antonio's body jerkedbackward. Surprise flashed across his face before he collapsed to the floor, blood pooling beneath him.
Silence fell, broken only by the faint dripping of water somewhere in the distance. I stared down at the body of the man who had once been my brother, feeling nothing but a hollow sense of finality.
I knelt beside him, pressing two fingers to his throat to confirm what I already knew. No pulse. The blood was warm against my skin as it soaked through his shirt, staining my hands crimson. Antonio Ricci was dead.
The door behind me opened, and Enzo stepped in, gun drawn. He took in the scene—Antonio's body, the blood, the gun still in my hand.
"It's done," I said quietly. "He was never my brother."
Enzo nodded, holstering his weapon. "What about his men?"
"They're loyal to money, not to him. Offer them positions or pay them off." I tucked my gun away. "Have the body disposed of. I don't want him found."
"And Sophie?"
I glanced at my watch. Almost midnight. "She'll be waiting."
Dawn was breaking as I returned to the estate, casting long shadows across the manicured grounds. I hadn't bothered to change or clean up—Antonio's blood still stained my shirt cuffs, a smear of it dried on my hands.
The house was silent as I made my way to my study. I knew she would be there, waiting. Sophie had a habit of finding her way to me, even when I tried to keep her at a distance.
She sat in one of the leather armchairs, her knees drawn up to her chest, making her look smaller than she was. Her hand rested protectively over her stomach—a gesture I'd noticed more frequently since I'd learned of the pregnancy. When she looked up, her eyes widened at the sight of me, but she didn't flinch.
"You're back," she said simply.
I crossed to the bar and poured myself a whiskey, downing it in one swallow before pouring another. The alcohol burned a path down my throat, doing little to wash away the night's events.
"It's over," I said, my voice rough from disuse. "Our child will never know the monster his uncle was."
Sophie watched me carefully, her expression unreadable. "You killed him."
It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "Yes."
She nodded slowly, accepting this truth without judgment. In that moment, I realized how extraordinary she truly was—this woman who had survived Antonio, who had fought and clawed her way to freedom, who now carried my child and faced a world of violence without flinching.
I crossed the room and knelt beside her chair, my eyes level with hers. Slowly, deliberately, I placed my bloodstained hand over hers, where it rested on her stomach.
