But Cas isn’t just some damsel waiting to be rescued.
She locks eyes with me, and in that split second, I see her determination—she’s not giving up, not willing to let her father’s death be in vain. Her eyes dart over to my father’s makeshift greenhouse, to the rake hanging from the wall.
I take another step, forcing Giuliano back. “Careful now. I would so hate for this to get messy.”
Without warning, Cas drives her elbow into Giuliano’s ribs, catching him off guard. It’s enough to make him falter, just a heartbeat of hesitation, but it’s all I need.
I grab the rake, swinging it in a wide arc. The metal teeth catch Giuliano’s arm, tearing his grip away from Cas and knocking the knife out of his hand.
Cas stumbles forward, free but disoriented, and I rush to her, shoving her behind me. I barely have enough time to take comfort in her reassuring warmth, her familiar scent, when Giuliano lets out a scream in frustration.
“NO!”
He’s on me in an instant, fists flying. He’s fast for an old man, his strikes precise, honed by decades of street brawls and backroom deals. I barely dodge his first punch, but his second catches me in the gut, knocking the wind out of me.
I stagger back, the rake slipping from my grasp. A pair of hands grip my shoulders, holding me steady.
“Rocco!”
Giuliano seizes the opportunity, grabbing a nearby pair of shears, their blades gleaming under the penthouse lights.
“You’ve always been weak,” Giuliano sneers, advancing. “Too soft to lead. Too soft to be my son.”
I tear myself away from Cas’ comforting embrace. “And you’re too desperate to see this is over.”
I dart left, and he lunges, the shears aimed at my chest, but I sidestep, grabbing a potted plant from a nearby table and smashing it over his head.
Giuliano staggers, dazed, shards of ceramic and soil cascading down his suit. I kick the shears from his hand, and they go sliding across the cement.
With a frustrated grunt, he launches himself at me.
We’re locked in a brutal dance now—blow after blow, some missing and some landing as we grapple for control. The pain is only secondary to my instinct to fight, to protect. To win.
Finally, I see an opening. I drive my shoulder into him, sending him crashing into the balcony doors. The glass spiderwebs with the impact but doesn’t break.
Giuliano is gasping now, his breath ragged. His suit is torn, blood dribbling from his nose and staining the expensive fabric.
But his eyes are still wild, still hungry. “You’re nothing without me,” he hisses.
I kick him squarely in the chest. It’s the final blow needed for the door to crack completely. Glass rains down as my father falls back onto the balcony. Red gashes appear on his arms and face.
“I am everything I am today in spite of you.”
Giuliano picks himself up, suddenly, laughing hard. “Yet you’re still going to kill me? After five years of refusing to even consider it, wanting so desperately to set a new precedent. You’re going to kill me in the same room as your unborn child?”
I stride forward, stepping through the open door. “You threatened my family.”
“And now, one day, your son will know exactly who he needs to kill when he wants your job.”
I throw myself at him, realizing too late that he was goading me. Enticing me closer, pushing me to attack.
Quicker than I thought possible, he kicks out and pushes hard.
My trajectory shifts, and I find myself launched from the balcony.
“Rocco!”
Cas is all I can hear as I stare down at the fifty-three-storey drop.
