There was none.
“Vincenzo,” he said carefully. “I’m the only one who knows where Elena is. Kill me now, and she’s lost to you forever.”
The words struck harder than any bullet.
Pain shot through my chest, raw and immediate, cutting deeper than anger, deeper than betrayal.
Renzo exhaled quietly beside me.
I couldn’t look at him.
Because the shame of what I had done sat heavy in my chest.
I had accused him.
Trusted Ciro over him.
Ordered his execution without proof.
Without hesitation.
“Renzo...” I said quietly.
The words felt foreign.
Heavy.
“I’m sorry.”
He didn’t respond immediately.
Then—
A small, bitter half-smile crossed his face.
“Don’t,” he said simply.
His voice was calm and detached.
“I’m not the one who needs your apology.”
A pause.
His eyes flicked toward the ICU doors.
“Once Elena is safe—if she’s even safe—I will be gone from the family, no longer a part of it.”
That hit harder than anything else.
“You know the rules,” he said, voice heavy. “A family that brands me a traitor cannot keep me, even though I’ve never been one.”
“I could have been executed for nothing—and the truth would have died with me.”
My chest sank.
Two of my most trusted men will be gone.
One marches toward certain death.
