The moment my fists collide with Vittorio’s face, nothing else exists.
Not the distant echoes of gunfire still crackling through the villa. Not the frantic shouting of my men beyond the ruined walls. Not even Sofia, standing at the threshold, watching as I tear this bastard apart.
There’s only this.
I should have known Sofia would come for me, that she was not the type of woman who sits back and waits for her man to come home to her. And it hits me—even in the middle of this—that she’s here because she wanted to save my life.
Vittorio grunts as my knuckles crack against his cheekbone, sending his head snapping to the side. Blood spatters across the floor. He tries to twist away, but I grab the front of his shirt and yank him back, driving my knee into his ribs.
He chokes at the impact.
"That all you got?" he spits, grinning through bloodied teeth.
I answer by slamming his skull into the concrete. The sound is a dull, sickening thud.
"You think this is a game?" My voice is a low, lethal growl, barely recognizable even to my own ears. "You tried to take her. You tried to take my family."
Vittorio laughs.
Even now, with my forearm crushing against his throat, with the taste of his own blood thick in his mouth—he laughs.
"You don’t get it, do you?" he wheezes, his fingers clawing at my arm, failing to loosen my grip. "You think you can just take me out and—what? The Salvatores win? You ride off into the sunset with your little whore and your unborn bastard?"
I tighten my hold, pressing down harder. His air cuts off in an instant, his legs kicking out beneath me, fighting for breath.
I should kill him.
I should end this now, snap his neck like a piece of brittle glass, wipe the Lombardis from the face of the earth once and for all.
But then?—
A click.
No. Not a gun.
Something worse.
Vittorio’s lips curl into a vicious sneer.
"You should’ve let me finish my plan, Marco," he rasps, his voice thin but laced with triumph. "Because now, it doesn’t matter what happens to me."
His gaze flicks past my shoulder.
To the wall behind me.
To the panel of still-active explosives, ticking away their countdown.
I freeze.
The world tilts.
Sofia’s voice, sharp and frantic, cuts through the air.
"Marco—"
Vittorio’s grin stretches wider, red-stained and monstrous.
"You were too late," he whispers. "Even if I die, the whole fucking place is coming down with me."
