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He looks at us, his eyes filled with rage and disbelief. “You think you’ve won?” he spits, blood dripping from his wounded arm. “I’ll take you both down with me!”
“Killing me won’t bring Maria back.”
He laughs, a harsh, grating sound. “You’re a killer, just like me. Don’t cloak it in nobility. Does she know how many people you’ve murdered in your time?”
His eyes, wild with fury, are fixed on the gun lying haphazardly on the floor. He lunges for it, cursing me as he does so.
My body moves before my mind fully catches up, driven by a survival instinct as old as time. I jump forward, intercepting his path.
I grab his arm, my fingers locking around his wrist with an iron grip, I twist it backward in a swift, calculated motion. His face contorts with pain, his rage now mixed with the sharp sting of physical agony.
“Control, Marconi,” I hiss, my voice a cold blade cutting through the heated air. “That’s what you lack. All the rage, none of the control.”
I wrench the gun from his weakened grasp, my actions precise and unforgiving.
In a fluid turn, I pivot, the gun now firmly in my control. His eyes widen, the realization of his predicament dawning upon him. The tables have turned. “Let’s talk about this,” he says, an ingratiating smile on his lips. “What do you say?”
“I say you threatened my wife.” I pull the trigger. Then again, a second shot to make sure he’s dead.
As the echo of the gunfire fades, a heavy silence descends. His body goes limp, and I let it fall to the floor.
Isabella approaches me. Her eyes are wide, but not with fear. “That’s why I’m not afraid of you. That’s why I know you’ll be a good father. You can control your anger.”
She clings to me, her body trembling from the ordeal. “I thought I’d never see you again. I ran and he shot at me. I remembered you said this was the dance hall. I shouted but I didn’t know if you heard me.”
“That’s why you’ll make a good mother,” I say, holding her tightly, the realization of how close I came to losing her sinking in. “The ability to think on your feet. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
13
ISABELLA
Sitting in the dimly lit living room of the villa, the weight of the day’s events hangs heavily between us.
Dominic stops his restless pacing and comes to sit by me, his expression a turbulent mix of emotions.
He takes my hands in his, his grip firm yet filled with an underlying tremor of emotion. “Isabella, I’ve put you through so much,” he begins, his voice rough with self-reproach.
“This world I live in, it’s not for someone like you. I dragged you into this mess, and for that, I’m deeply sorry. The thought of losing you today... it’s unbearable. If you wish to divorce when we get back to the States, I’ll understand.”
I search his eyes, seeing the raw honesty and the pain of his admission. “It wasn’t your fault. You’ve done everything you could to protect me,” I say, trying to offer him some comfort. “And yes, it was terrifying, but I choose to be with you.”
There’s a knock at the door. Dominic’s body tenses.
“Stay here,” he instructs, a protective edge to his voice.
“No chance,” I reply, following him out into the hall. “I’m safer with you.”
I watch as he opens the door, ready to confront whatever or whoever might be on the other side. My heart pounds in my chest, the fear of the unknown momentarily gripping me.
But then I see his body relax slightly, a sign that there’s no immediate danger.
As I approach, I see the local police officers standing at the door, their expressions serious but not threatening.
I hover in the background, watching the exchange unfold with bated breath. The officers, their faces somber, exchange a brief glance before addressing Dominic.
“Mr. Caruso, we’re aware of the situation regarding Vincent Marconi,” one officer begins in English. “And while we must follow the law, we also remember the support your family has provided to this village over the years.”
Dominic nods, his expression unreadable. “I understand your position. The Caruso family has always valued our relationship with the local community.”
