Chapter Seventeen #3
“You don’t have it in you,” Marco said, but his voice had gone higher. Fear creeping in past his arrogance. “You’re Giuseppe’s sheltered daughter. You’ve never killed anyone. You can’t just --”
“I killed a man already,” I interrupted. “Shot him twice in the chest while he was trying to put a bullet in Dante’s back. It was easier than I thought it would be.”
I saw that register in his eyes. Saw the reality sinking in that I wasn’t bluffing, wasn’t hesitating, wasn’t going to be talked out of this by his taunts or his assumptions about what kind of woman I was.
“Caterina.” He tried my name, tried to make it sound intimate, possessive, like we had history that mattered. “You don’t want to do this. Think about what it means. You pull that trigger, you’re no better than --”
“Than you?” I tilted my head slightly, studied his face with detached interest. “The man who kidnapped a nineteen-year-old college student? Who beat him bloody? Who held a gun to his head and promised to blow his brains out? You’re right, Marco. If I pull this trigger, I’ll be exactly like you.”
I paused, let that sink in.
“Except I’m doing it to protect my family. You did it because I wounded your pride.”
His face twisted with rage and fear mixed together. “You fucking bitch. You think you’re so much better than me? You married a man you didn’t even know. You spread your legs for someone who gives you orders like you’re his property. At least I would have respected you --”
“You would have owned me like I was a pet, not a wife.” I kept my voice level, kept the gun steady. “Dante may be possessive, but there’s a difference.”
I thought about the videos Marco had sent.
Luca bound to a chair, terrified, but furious.
The twenty-four-hour ultimatum. The choice Marco had tried to force on me -- my brother’s life or my marriage.
The casual cruelty of someone who thought other people existed only to serve his ambitions and soothe his wounded ego.
I thought about what he would have done if I’d chosen differently.
If I’d left Dante and gone to Marco instead.
How he would have used that compliance to own me completely.
How he would have held Luca’s safety over my head forever, a permanent leash to keep me controlled.
How many other women had he hurt? How many other people had suffered because someone had shown him mercy when they should have shown him a bullet?
“I’m not a princess anymore,” I said quietly. “I’m not Papa’s sheltered daughter. I’m not someone you get to threaten and manipulate and hurt.”
I saw his eyes widen. Saw his mouth open to say something -- beg or threaten or curse, I’d never know which.
I pulled the trigger.
The gunshot cracked through the warehouse with enough force that my ears rang.
Marco’s head snapped back, his body following, and he crumpled to the concrete like someone had cut his strings.
The bullet had punched a neat hole through his forehead, right between his eyes.
His expression had frozen in shock -- like he’d never really believed I’d do it until the moment the bullet tore through his skull.
Blood pooled beneath his head, spreading across the concrete in a growing dark stain. His eyes stayed open, staring at nothing, reflecting the flickering yellow bulb above.
Dead. Marco Vitale was dead. And I’d killed him.
I lowered the gun slowly, my hands completely steady. No shaking. No trembling. No physical sign of what I’d just done except for the weapon in my grip and the body at my feet.
Behind me, I heard Luca gasp. A small sound of shock or horror or maybe relief that it was over. I didn’t turn to look at him. Couldn’t face what might be in his eyes -- judgment or fear or the realization that his sister had just executed a man in cold blood.
Instead, I looked at Dante. Found him watching me with an expression that was part respect, part desire, part something darker that I couldn’t name.
He wasn’t horrified. Wasn’t disappointed.
If anything, he looked at me the way he had that first time he’d fucked me -- like I was something he wanted to claim and keep and possess.
Like I’d just proven I belonged in his world.
“It’s done.” My voice came out steady. Clinical. Like I was reporting the completion of a business transaction.
Dante moved closer, took the gun from my hands with gentle precision. His fingers brushed mine as he secured the weapon, and I felt the warmth of his skin against my cold palms. “It’s done,” he agreed quietly.
I looked down at Marco’s body one last time. At the expensive suit he’d worn like armor. At the perfect hair now matted with blood. At the hands that had held a gun to my brother’s head.
I felt nothing. No guilt. No remorse. No horror at what I’d become.
Just cold satisfaction that the threat was eliminated. That Luca was safe. That Marco would never hurt anyone else because I’d put a bullet in his brain.
Something had shifted inside me during this night.
Some line I’d crossed that I could never uncross.
I wasn’t the woman who’d set up a meeting with Dante and proposed marriage.
Wasn’t the sheltered Mafia princess who’d thought she could negotiate safety through clever contracts and political maneuvering.
I was someone else now. Someone capable of violence. Someone who could look at a man kneeling before her and decide his death was necessary and then execute that decision without hesitation.
Someone who belonged in this world of blood and bullets and necessary cruelty.
Dante’s hand settled at the small of my back -- warm, steady, claiming. “We need to move,” he said quietly. “Get Luca to medical care. Clean up this mess.”
I nodded, finally turning away from Marco’s body. Luca was staring at me with his good eye, his face a mixture of shock and something that might have been awe. Or fear. Or both.
“Cat,” he started, his voice hoarse.
“Don’t.” I crossed to him. “Don’t ask me if I’m okay. Don’t ask me how I could do that. I did what needed to be done to keep you safe. That’s all that matters.”
He studied my face for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Okay.”
I helped him to his feet. Dante’s men moved closer, but I waved them off.
I needed to help Luca myself for the moment.
I heard Dante arranging the clean-up. Once we reached the entrance of the warehouse, someone took Luca from me and placed him on a stretcher.
He’d get the medical care he needed. I knew Dante would make sure of it.
Tonight had driven home what this life required. I knew what I’d have to become to survive it.
And I’d proven -- to everyone including myself -- that I had it in me.
The capacity for necessary violence, and the willingness to pull the trigger.
I wasn’t a princess anymore.
I was a queen. And queens did what needed to be done to protect their kingdoms.
Even if it meant becoming monsters in the process.