Chapter 42
Katarina
The night refuses to end on this ridge.
The mountain air is feeling like a blade against my skin, biting into the raw areas where the ropes used to be. Every time I breathe, my chest shudders, exhausted from screaming and crying.
I am standing behind Damiano, my fingers locked into his jacket. I can feel the vibration of his spine, his muscles tensed like a spring held past its breaking point. I can barely stand. I rest my forehead on his back, dizzy from the concussion Julian’s beating gave me.
A man they call Flavio inches toward Damiano’s face, his poise fractured by a terrifying anger as he says, “Let. Her. Go.”
Behind him, dozens of men in tacticals have materialized from the dark—the synchronized clack of safeties being disengaged rolls through the valley.
“Let my cousin go,” Flavio barks again, his eyes never leaving Damiano’s.
The word cousin hits me like an ice-water bath, and I go still.
I peer over Damiano’s shoulder, squinting against the glare to see him.
The man’s face is sharp, arrogant, and hauntingly familiar. He rubs his jaw as he challenges Damiano in a stare down, and I see it—the heavy gold signet ring on his right pinky, as he rubs his jaw. I’ve seen that before.
Mateo had one of those.
Damiano doesn’t shift his weight. “Not a chance,” he growls.
Suddenly, the shadows by the trees stir. Gio steps forward from the darkness of the cottage, followed by a handful of men. They fan out, guns raised.
“Step back, Castiglione, you know we never back down from war,” Lucian warns.
Flavio does not respond; instead, he tilts his head to the right and grins before walking back towards his car. When he’s in front of his SUV, he raises his hand, and the standoff snaps.
One of the men on the ridge flinches, and the night explodes.
A spray of gravel erupts near Gio’s feet as a stray round hits the ground. Damiano is moving before I can even scream. He shoves me down toward the ground, spinning to return fire.
“Get inside!” Andreas shouts as he pushes me back towards the house before firing towards the enemy.
I shut my eyes and cover my ears as the gunshots become deafening.
When I open them again, I watch Lucian dive behind the hood of a vehicle, his weapon spitting fire. Bullets whistle overhead—a high-pitched zip that makes my blood run cold. Damiano moves a few steps away from me with terrifying precision. I see the enemy guards go down, one after another.
“Damiano!” I scream, but the chaos swallows the sound.
Just then, I see Gio take a hit to the shoulder, his body jerking back as blood sprays against the stone. Damiano roars an animalistic sound—and charges forward to cover him, completely exposing himself to the line of fire.
Then I see the red laser dots—dozens of them—converging on his chest and back like lethal fireflies.
My world slows.
The sound of the gunfire thins into a low, underwater thrum. I see the light hitting the sweat on Damiano’s neck. I see the way his chest heaves, his finger pulling back on the trigger for a shot that will surely be his last.
So I run.
I shove past Andreas, my legs moving with a frantic, uncoordinated desperation. I sprint into the center of the crossfire, where the light is the brightest. I throw my body into the path of Damiano, my arms outstretched like a broken cross.
“STOP!”
The scream tears from my throat, raw and vibrating with a panic so deep it doesn’t sound like me. “STOP IT! DON’T SHOOT HIM!”
In that heartbeat, every sound falters.
Flavio turns his head towards me, a silhouette of torn silk and blood, glowing in the center of the headlights.
I turn to look at Damiano, and in slow motion, his head turns to me.
I see the moment the fight dies in his eyes. His lethal focus shatters, replaced by a devastating, naked terror. His mouth opens—my name forming on his lips—but the sound is trapped in the vacuum of the moment.
He looks at me, reaching out with a hand caked in blood, his fingers splayed as if he can catch the bullets meant for me.
The gunfire stutters into an eerie, ringing silence. Only the heavy panting of men and the sound of the engines running remain.
I stand there, hands up in surrender, trembling, looking at my cousin.
“I’ll go with you. Just—don’t hurt him. Any of them!” I say, trying to raise my chin despite my body trembling in fear.
“Katarina, non farlo!” Damiano’s voice is a wreck as he screams for me to stop as Andreas holds him back, ten feet behind me, gun lowered, chest heaving.
“I’ll go,” I say, my voice trembling as I negotiate with Flavio. “I’ll come to the car. Just tell everyone to lower the guns.”
Flavio stares at me for a heartbeat, his eyes narrowing, before nodding.
The lasers vanish, and I sigh in relief.
He stares at me expectantly, so I start to walk shakily, my bare feet struggling to find balance on the rocks. Every step feels like I’m wading through deep water.
When I turn to look at Lucian, he looks away, his face twisted in shame. So I look back at Andreas, who nods at me with a grim promise.
“NO!” Damiano tries to free himself from his friend’s grasp, but Lucian is there in a second, pinning him down to the ground.
“Lasciami andare!” Damiano’s screams cut through my chest, and my steps falter. A sob retches out of my mouth as I watch the man I love get tackled to the ground.
Just then, two guards appear at my side and hustle me towards the SUV.
“Don’t hurt him!” I shriek, my voice cracking as I twist my head back, desperate to see Damiano. “Lucian! Andreas! Per favore, get him out of here!”
Damiano moves in violent agony, his body pinned to the jagged rocks by his best friends. His hands tear into the gravel as he tries to get up. Every muscle in his neck is corded as he screams for me.
The distance between us grows, and it feels like a physical limb is being amputated.
I want to tell him I love him. I want to tell him to let the rage take him—to burn the entire world to ashes until there is nothing left but the path that leads back to me.
But the guards force me to look away.
When I look back again, our eyes lock for a split second, and in that moment, I pray to God that he sees in my eyes how much I love him.
Flavio steps into my line of sight, blocking the view. He reaches out, his hand gripping my arm.
“It’s over, piccola,” he murmurs as they drag me into the back seat of one of the SUVs.
Then I feel a sharp sting at the base of my neck.
“What are you—”
My eyes lose focus.
The lights turn into a blur. The sound of Damiano’s screaming fades, becomes muffled, then silent.
I try to reach for the door handle, but my arm feels like it’s made of jelly.
The SUV door shuts with a heavy thud, like a vault locking.
As the car pulls away, the tinted glass erases the ridge, the cottage, and the man screaming my name.
The last thing I feel is the vibration of the engine, carrying me away into the dark.
Then Flavio’s voice.
“We’re going home, Rosalia.”
End of book 1