They’re almost done when… fuck.
Andrea slips in through the patio doors. My hands curl into fists as I watch him reach into his jacket, extracting a gun with practiced ease. Ian turns, but it’s too late.
The flash of the muzzle is followed by Ian dropping to the floor, blood blooming across his chest.
Alina’s scream is silent on the footage, but I can see her mouth open in horror. Before she can run, Andrea is on her, grabbing her by the throat, slamming her against the wall with enough force to make her head snap back. Bile rises in my throat as I watch his hand tighten around my wife’s neck.
The footage continues, showing their struggle in merciless detail. Andrea’s mouth moves, speaking words I can’t hear but can imagine—threats, taunts, explanations for why he’s going to murder my wife.
I watch Alina fight back with desperate strength, clawing at his hand, kicking, gasping for air. My chest fucking tightens. I should have been there, should have protected her.
My wife.
My wife, whom I love more than life itself. Why is it only now I can admit that to myself?
When she breaks free, reaching for the knife block, I find myself leaning forward, silently urging her on. The strugglethat follows is chaotic—Andrea’s larger frame giving him the advantage, but Alina’s desperation making her unpredictable.
Then it happens. Andrea lurches forward, and the knife slides into his stomach. His surprise is visible even on the grainy footage, the shock in his eyes as he staggers back. Alina stands frozen, hands trembling, before turning and fleeing from the kitchen.
The footage ends. My grip has left indentations in the wooden table edge, splinters digging into my palms.
“She was defending herself,” I say, my voice deadly calm despite the storm raging inside me.
“Clearly,” Colin agrees. “She had no choice.”
I straighten, moving to the kitchen where it all happened. The floor has been cleaned, but I can still see faint stains on the white tile. Ian’s blood. Andrea’s blood. Maybe even Alina’s.
“She thinks I’ll blame her,” I murmur, the realization crystallizing with brutal clarity. “She ran because she thinks I’ll want revenge for killing him.”
Colin says nothing, waiting for my orders, for my reaction to my dad’s death. He’s expecting grief, anger, something. But all I feel is fear for Alina and regret that I wasn’t here to kill Andrea myself.
“She has no money, no phone, no ID. Nothing,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “She’s a-fucking-lone out there, vulnerable.”
“La Fortunahas a GPS tracker,” Colin reminds me. “Standard in all Russo watercraft. We can find the boat.”
“I know,” I snarl. “That’s why I came back. I didn’t have my phone or anything on me.”
Colin holds his hands up in a placating gesture. “Sorry, boss.”
Shaking my head, I force myself to keep my cool. “No, I’m sorry,” I rasp. “Just… start tracking it immediately.” My mind shifts into strategic mode, compartmentalizing everything butthe priority; finding my wife. “And get me a phone. I need to call the family.”
Colin retrieves my phone from his pocket, murmuring something about me dropping it.
“Thanks,” I bark, already opening the group chat with the family.
It rings only once before Enzo’s voice comes through.
“Rafe? What’s happening?”
“Emergency family meeting,” I reply, hearing the clicks as others join the call. “Everyone there?”
“I’m here,” Matteo’s voice, followed by murmurs from Remus, then Piper, and finally Raven.
“Andrea’s dead,” I state without preamble. “He came to the island, shot Ian, and tried to kill Alina. She stabbed him in self-defense and ran.”
There’s a moment of stunned silence before Matteo breaks it. “Holy shit. Little Red killed him? Remind me never to piss her off.”
“Matteo,” Raven hisses, but I can hear the concern beneath his inappropriate humor.
