It clipped me hard enough to steal half a breath, and something inside me... slipped.
I staggered back a step.
Renzo surged forward, sensing it.
He fought like a man with nothing to lose—wild, brutal, relentless.
His shoulder slammed into me, driving me back, forcing me to pivot to keep my balance.
My heel scraped against the polished floor, barely catching myself before I went down.
“You’re not making it to that altar alive,” he growled, already swinging again. “I’ll kill you, puta, and feed your bones to the dogs.”
I blocked—but slower now.
His knuckles grazed my cheek, snapping my head sideways.
Pain flared, sharp and grounding—and then something darker answered it.
A crack beneath my skin.
My control.
Gone.
The world narrowed.
Sounds dulled. My heartbeat roared louder than anything else, pounding against my skull like a war drum.
The room—this wedding hall, these walls, this moment—bled into something else entirely.
Memories clawed at me.
Amy, my best friend.
The night in enemy territory when I had ended her life with a hundred and fifteen punches.
The precision, the force, the cold calculation.
It had changed me then—and now, as I blocked and guided this man’s attacks, that same dark, lethal part of me threatened to rise.
Some of his strikes began landing.
My stomach grunted under the impact.
My shoulder stung.
My hand throbbed.
Panic started creeping in.
I could feel myself spiraling, the storm in my mind whispering that once I lost control, there would be no coming back.
“Stop... please, stop,” I begged, my voice trembling but firm.
But he didn’t.
His boot slammed into my ribs, a shockwave of pain ripping through me.
