Not one man moved. Not one weapon turned toward me. The atmosphere in the room shifted so sharply it felt physical.Edoardo’s smile faltered first. Then Angelo’s face drained white beneath the blood running down his jaw.
Slowly, I looked around the room. Half the soldiers belonged to Edoardo. The other half to Angelo. None of them raised a gun against me. Because every single person in this city knew the truth.
I was the heir. The true Moretti.
Not the old snake rotting beside the whiskey bottles. Not the spoiled playboy bleeding onto imported marble.
Me.
One of Edoardo’s men lowered his weapon first. Then another stepped backward. Then someone near the windows quietly moved to my side instead of theirs.
Edoardo stared around the suite in disbelief. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Nobody answered him. Because nobody needed to. The crown had already chosen. And it wasn’t him. I smiled slowly.
“You thought they’d die for you?” I asked softly.
Chiara’s fingers tightened harder against my chest. I could feel her listening. Watching. Learning.
“They follow the crown,” I continued coldly. “And the crown is fucking mine.”
Edoardo snarled and reached for his gun. Everything erupted at once. One of his remaining loyal guards fired wildly toward me. Pain exploded through my side like molten metal tearing through flesh.
Chiara screamed as the bullet ripped into me. For half a second, the room disappeared in a white flash of agony. My body jerked violently from the impact. Heat flooded beneath my ribs, blood soaking through my shirt in hot waves.
Sergio roared. Gunfire detonated through the suite. Edoardo’s guard flew backward into the marble column behind him,bullets shredding through his chest hard enough to paint the white stone red.
“BOSS!”
I barely heard him. Because Chiara’s hands grabbed my face.
“Leo!” she cried frantically. “Leo, oh my God!”
Her voice hit harder than the bullet. I looked down at her. Terrified. Shaking. Crying for me. Not herself. I handed her toward Sergio carefully despite blood pouring down my side.
“Take her downstairs,” I managed.
“No!” she cried, clutching harder at me. “No, I’m not leaving you!”
Christ. That nearly fucking destroyed me. I cupped the back of her neck despite the blood slicking my fingers, forcing myself to stay upright through the dizziness clawing at my skull.
“Look at me,” I said. Her watery blue eyes lifted.
“I’m coming back to you,” I said quietly. And I meant it with terrifying sincerity. Even if I had to crawl back dying.
Her lips trembled. Then Sergio physically pulled her away despite her protests. The second she disappeared through the doorway… I stopped pretending to be civilized.
I crossed the suite in three strides and shot Edoardo directly through the knee. The crack echoed brutally through the room. The old man screamed and collapsed beside the bar, whiskey glass shattering beneath him while blood flooded across the marble floor.
Angelo tried to run. Pathetic. I caught him by the throat before he reached the hallway and slammed him into the wall hard enough to crack marble. Blood splattered across white stone.
“You involved her,” I said quietly.
He coughed blood into my face. “You already ruined her.”
The room went dead silent. There it was. The truth. And he dared speak it aloud.
“You lied about her,” Angelo rasped through bloodied teeth. “Destroyed her reputation because you couldn’t stand another man touching her.”
