"Stay back!" Caldwell's voice cracked. "Stay back or I'll—"
I didn't let him finish.
The shot was instinct—muscle memory, training, years of violence compressed into one pull of the trigger.
The bullet took out his gun hand. Bones shattered with a wet crack. He shrieked—high and animal—and the weapon clattered away across the van's floor.
I was on him before it stopped spinning. I grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the van wall. His eyes bulged, his mouth working soundlessly, trying to breathe past my grip.
"You put your hands on her." Every word tightened my grip. "You took her. Threatened to kill her."
His face turned purple. Veins stood out on his forehead. He clawed at my hand with his good one, fingernails raking skin.
I didn't feel it.
My finger found the trigger, my Glock pressing against his temple now. So easy. Just pull it.
Do it, part of me screamed. He deserves it. He kidnapped her, hurt her, would have killed her—
"Alessio."
Valentina's voice cut through the rage like a knife.
"Don't."
I didn't look at her. Couldn't take my eyes off Caldwell, couldn't release the pressure on his throat that was ending his miserable life.
"He deserves it."
"Yes." I heard her shift, heard the pain in the movement. "But I need you. Not—" Her voice broke. "Not like this. Please."
My finger stayed on the trigger. One pull. That's all it would take.
End the threat. Permanently.
"He would have killed you." The words came out strangled, raw. "Slowly. Would have made me watch—"
"But he didn't." Her voice reached me—gentle, trembling, grounding. "I'm here. I'm alive. You saved me. That's enough."
"It's not enough."
"Alessio." Just my name. But the way she said it—desperate, pleading, certain—made me turn my head.
Our eyes locked.
Blood tracked down her temple from a gash in her hairline. Red marks colored her cheeks, sure to bruise. Split lip. Terror and exhaustion and pain written across every feature.
But alive. Breathing. Looking at me like I was the only thing anchoring her to this world.
"Please," she said, voice breaking completely. "I need you to be the man who holds me when I fall apart. Not this. Please."
The rage cracked.
My hand loosened on Caldwell's throat. He gasped, coughed, and sucked in air.
I let him drop.
For a long moment, I just stood there, chest heaving, the gun still in my hand. Then I holstered it and pulled zip-ties from my pocket. Secured his wrists and ankles with motions that felt mechanical, distant.
