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Bonetti howled, releasing my ankle. I scrambled forward, diving for the gun. My fingers closed around the grip, triumph surging through my veins as I flipped onto my back.

But he recovered too quickly. Before I could aim, Bonetti hurled himself at me, wrapping his arms around me from behind. His bulk crushed against my spine as he yanked me up against his chest, his breath hot and rancid against my ear.

“Drop it!” he snarled, but I clutched the pistol tighter.

His arms constricted around me like a python, one hand sliding down to capture my wrist. I struggled, kicking backward, but he was too strong, his fingers digging into my flesh as he forced my hand upward. The gun trembled between us as he manipulated my arm, bending it inward until the cold barrel pressed against my sternum.

Time slowed. I felt the bleak finality wash over me. Defeat loomed, inevitable; Bonetti’s strength eclipsed my dwindlingreserves. His vise-like fingers coiled around my wrist, and the cold press of the gun barrel bit into my chest like an omen of doom.

I teetered on the brink of oblivion when suddenly an explosion of sound shattered the cacophony in my mind.

The door thundered open with a force that seemed to shake the very foundations of the room. The air was instantly charged with a tempestuous energy, swirling with black wrath and menacing chaos.

Bonetti didn’t flinch. He kept his hold on me from behind, so tight that I couldn’t twist to see what was happening.

In that split second, instinct screamed louder than any rational thought could orchestrate. My muscles coiled like a spring released, primal survival seizing control over my body. Since his front pressed against my back, I just needed to adjust my position. With a twist and a wrench that defied all logic, I jerked violently within Bonetti’s hold, angling the barrel higher on my chest, into the flesh right under my shoulder.

As if guided by fate itself, my fingers slipped away.

The trigger clicked with an alarming speed.

Agony ripped through me like wildfire—sharp and searing—blossoming outward from where lead kissed flesh. It felt as though molten fire surged through every vein, devouring life yet igniting something far more fierce within.

Amidst the searing torment enveloping me was another sound—a terrible wail of anguish erupting from behind—a feral cry heralding sweet vengeance. Bonetti’s chokehold slackened as surprise and pain overwhelmed him.

My bullet had found its target.

Chapter 50 – Jaxon

The goons lay dead at my feet. A killing rage seared my veins. I wanted to rip their eyeballs out for daring to plot against my woman.

Their end was too merciful.

But the rotten scum inside would not have such an easy fate.

I kicked down the door.

The hinges exploded off the frame as wood splintered across the marble floor.

“Isabella!”

My voice died in my throat.

There she was—my angel, my everything—writhing on the blood-slicked floor with that bastard Bonetti. Her white dress was stained crimson, her dark hair matted with gore. Bonetti’s meaty hands wrapped around her wrists as she struggled for control over the handgun, fighting with the last of her strength.

My heart seized in my chest.

I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move.

I raised my gun, but the sight before me turned my blood to ice.

They struggled on the bloodstained floor in a violent tangle of limbs. Each time I found Bonetti in my sights, Isabella’s body would shift into the line of fire. Every clean shot vanished in milliseconds.

“Dammit to hell!” I growled, circling them, weapon trembling in my hand.

My trigger finger itched. One bullet could end this—if only I could find the shot. But they twisted and turned, a blur of white-red dress and Bonetti's black suit, impossible to separate.

I’d killed men with my bare hands. I’d survived firefights that left dozens dead. But watching Isabella fight for her life while I stood uselessly with a loaded gun—this was true hell.