Chapter 25
The hallway was drowned in darkness. Only a few pale, cold beams of moonlight managed to slip through the shattered windows, drawing long, twisted shadows across the blood-soaked wooden walls.
The air was heavy. It smelled of burnt gunpowder, hot iron, and the sickening sweetness of approaching death.
Vincenzo was on his knees. One hand pressed hard against the deep wound in his abdomen, but the blood still escaped hot between his fingers, slowly spreading across the wooden floor.
Every beat of his heart seemed to push more of his life out of him.
His vision blurred at the edges, the world reduced to unfocused outlines and a distant buzzing in his ears.
In front of him, Eleonora’s father wiped the bloody blade on his own shirt with deliberate slowness. The smile that curved his lips was cold, empty of any joy—just the quiet satisfaction of a man finally breaking what he had longed to destroy.
“You lost, boy,” he murmured, his voice low and almost gentle, as if stating an inevitable truth. “You’re weaker than I expected…”
Vincenzo tried to stand. His legs trembled, refusing. A rough groan escaped his throat. The old man chuckled softly.
“Stay down. Don’t waste what’s left of you.”
Heavy footsteps began to move away down the corridor, slow and rhythmic, heading toward the bedroom.Toward Sara.Toward his daughter, who had barely drawn her first breaths in this world.
Vincenzo’s heart clenched with a pain that went far beyond the knife wound.
“No…” The voice came out weak, a broken whisper that barely crossed the air. “No…”
The man paused for a moment, turning his face just enough for the moonlight to catch half of his aged features.
“I’m going to leave you alive for a few more minutes,” he said, his eyes gleaming with ancient malice. “I want you to hear every scream. I want you to carry the sound of her dying inside you until the very last second.”
Another step.
“Then I’ll come back to finish what I started with you.”
Another.
“And last… the child. Slowly. You’ll probably kill yourself before I return. That’ll be fun.”
The old man disappeared into the darkness of the corridor, swallowed by the shadows. Vincenzo was left alone with the sound of his own agonizing breath.
His mind, clouded by pain, brought flashes: Sara’s first smile, the soft cry of his baby at birth, the promise he had made to protect them. Everything felt so distant now. So fragile. So useless.
He tried to drag himself. His nails scraped the wood, leaving red trails. His body no longer obeyed. The darkness called to him, soft and tempting, promising an end to the suffering.
But then the scream came.
Inside the bedroom, the world had shrunk to a small space of terror.
The baby cried, wrapped in blankets in the corner of the floor—a sharp, inconsolable wail that cut through the soul like glass.
Sara was crouched in front of her, her body serving as a living shield.
Her hair stuck to her face, wet with sweat and tears.
Her heart pounded so hard it felt ready to explode.
The door opened slowly.
The massive man filled the doorway, covered in someone else’s blood, his eyes empty of any humanity. Sara felt the air leave her lungs. It wasn’t Vincenzo. It was death dressed in black.
Instinctively, she pushed the baby farther into the corner, shielding her with her own body.
“Stay away!” she screamed, her voice rough with despair.
The man let out a low, almost tired laugh, as if he had heard that a thousand times before.
“So you’re the mistress. The reason for all this waste.” He took a step, assessing her the way a butcher assesses his prey. “I can see why. You’re beautiful. Maybe I’ll change my mind… instead of killing you, take you with me. A pretty whore like you should be useful on her knees.”
Sara backed up until she felt the cold wall against her spine.
“Vincenzo!” she called, her voice breaking. Only silence answered. A heavy, final silence.
Desperation rose like bile. The man advanced. She kicked with every ounce of strength she had left, connecting with his knee. He stumbled but recovered quickly, his smile now wider, almost amused by the resistance.
“Brave… but useless.”
He was too fast. A large hand clamped around her throat and slammed her to the floor. Sara hit hard, the air driven from her lungs. The baby cried louder beside her—a desperate sound that sliced through Sara’s chest like a hot blade.
No. Not her. Anything but her.
The man tightened his grip. Fingers dug into soft skin. Sara clawed at his wrists, nails tearing into flesh, but he was too heavy, too strong. The air disappeared. Black spots danced in her vision. Tears slid down silently.
The baby. Her cry.
Something inside Sara shattered. Fear dissolved. In its place rose an ancient, primitive rage—the fury of a mother watching the entire world threaten her child. The knowledge that she might die here, but not without fighting until her last breath.
She screamed.
It wasn’t a cry for help. It was a raw, animal roar that rose from the depths of her soul. A scream of love and pain tangled together, echoing through the cabin like a funeral lament. The kind of sound only a mother can make when the world tries to take everything she has left.
In the hallway, Vincenzo heard it.
And something exploded inside him—not hope, but a fierce sorrow, a love so deep it hurt worse than the knife. Adrenaline burned like ice-cold fire in his veins, shoving the pain aside for a single moment.
He stood. Staggering. The world spun. Blood ran down his legs, leaving a red trail. But he ran. Every step was agony, a silent goodbye from the body that was failing him.
The bedroom door was thrown against the wall with a sharp crash.
The man turned his head.
It was the last thing he saw.
Vincenzo’s knife drove into his skull with a wet, final sound.
“You lost…” Vincenzo whispered, his voice thick with primitive rage.
The body fell heavily. Vincenzo pressed the barrel of the pistol against the mafia boss’s head and fired once more. The echo rang out like a period at the end of a sentence.
Silence.
He dropped the gun. Turned slowly.
Sara was curled up, clutching their daughter against her chest, her entire body trembling. Her eyes met his—full of relief and terror at the same time. He had killed that man in front of her. There was no erasing that image.
Vincenzo’s legs gave out. Still, he walked. One step. Another. Each heavier than the last. Until he collapsed to his knees in front of them.
His trembling hand touched Sara’s hair, matted with sweat and tears. He kissed her forehead with a tenderness that clashed with the blood covering him. Then he rested his forehead against the baby’s warm little head, breathing in her scent for one eternal second.
A single tear slid down his face.
“You’re both okay…” he murmured, his voice failing, almost a farewell.
Sara hugged him desperately, one arm around him, the other still holding the baby.
“Vincenzo…” Her voice broke. “Honey… please…”
He tried to smile, but it was a sad, resigned smile.
“It’s okay…” he lied, touching her face with cold fingers. “Take care of her…”
“Stay with me!” Her tears fell onto his chest. “Don’t leave me here alone. I love you—you know how much… I love you, Vincenzo…”
“I’m here… I’m here…”
His name left her lips like a lament. His vision went completely dark. His body toppled sideways, heavy and still.
Sara screamed his name—a cry that filled the room with deep, raw pain. She would not survive without him.
The brothers burst into the room, their faces going pale at the sight.
“My God…” Mateo murmured, rushing to Vincenzo and checking his pulse. “He’s still alive! But he’s weak… we need to get him out of here now!”
Downstairs, the last echoes of the battle were dying. Eleonora and Leonardo were finishing clearing the perimeter, but none of that mattered here. Inside this room, the war was over. The enemy was dead. The baby was breathing. Sara had survived.
But Vincenzo…
As the brothers lifted him urgently, his limp body bleeding in their arms, Sara stayed behind, holding the fruit of their love against her chest. Her eyes followed the figure of the man she loved as he disappeared through the door, swallowed by the darkness of the corridor, not knowing if she would ever see him open his eyes again.