22. Lachlan #2
"Put it down, son." I keep my voice calm, even though my heart is racing. "Put the gun down."
"He hurt Mama." Matteo's voice is shaking, tears streaming down his face. "He hurt her, and he took me away from her, and he said—he said he was going to make me—kill—"
His voice breaks, and I can see the trauma in his eyes, the terror of a nine-year-old boy who's been forced to see and endure too much.
"I know." I take a step toward him, carefully, moving sideways so I can keep my gun on Gio, too. "I know what he did. But you don't have to do this. You don't have to be the one to—"
"He deserves it!" Matteo's voice rises, desperate and angry. "He deserves to die for what he did!"
"You're right." I'm close enough now that I could reach out and take the gun from him, but I don't yet. I have to be careful. "He does deserve it. But you don't deserve to be the one who kills him. You don't deserve to carry that with you for the rest of your life."
"Lachlan, please." Adriana's voice is breaking, and I can hear the desperation in it. "Please, don't let him—"
"I won't." I meet Matteo's eyes, and I see myself in him. I see the rage and the fear, and the desperate need to protect the people he loves. "I promise, Matteo. I won't let you do this."
"Then what?" Matteo's hands are shaking so badly now that the gun is wavering. "What happens to him? He just gets to walk away?"
"No." I turn, and I look at Gio, and see the smirk on his face, the satisfaction in his eyes as he watches my son hold a weapon and teeter on the edge of becoming exactly what Gio wanted him to be.
"He doesn't get to walk away," I say quietly. "But you don't have to be the one to stop him."
I fire.
Gio's head snaps back, his body crumpling to the floor. Blood sprays across the wall behind him, dark and viscous, and the sound of the gunshot echoes through the house, deafening in the small space.
For a moment, everything is silent afterward. And then Matteo drops the gun, his hands flying to his face, and he starts to sob.
"Matteo." I move to him, dropping to my knees, and I pull him into my arms. He's shaking, his whole body trembling, and I can feel the wetness of his tears soaking through my shirt. "It's okay. It's over. You're safe now."
"I was going to—" His voice is muffled against my chest. "I was going to kill him. I was going to—"
"But you didn't." I hold him tighter, and I can feel Adriana beside me, her hands on Matteo's back, her own tears falling. "You didn't, Matteo. You're okay. You're not—you're not like him. You're not like any of us."
But even as I say it, I know it's a lie. I saw his face. And I know that if I hadn't stopped him, if I hadn't taken that choice away from him, he would have done it. My nine-year-old son would have killed a man.
And it would have destroyed him.
I look up, meeting Adriana's eyes. She's staring at me, her face pale, her expression a mixture of relief and horror.
She was right about all of it. This world, this life, this cycle of violence—it doesn't end. It just keeps going, consuming everyone it touches, turning children into killers and love into possession.
And I brought them into it. I thought I was saving them, but all I did was drag them deeper into the darkness.
"We need to move." Declan's voice cuts through my thoughts. "We need to get them out of here."
I nod, forcing myself to focus. I stand, pulling Matteo up with me, and Adriana is right there, her arms around him, holding him close. "Can you walk?" I ask her quietly.
She nods, but I can see the shock in her eyes. She's barely holding herself together.
"Declan, take point. Jack, Rian, secure the perimeter. We're moving out now."
My men move without question, and I guide Adriana and Matteo toward the door, keeping myself between them and Gio's body. I don't want Matteo to see it again and have that image burned into his memory any more than it already is.
We move through the house quickly, stepping over bodies, avoiding the blood that's pooled on the floor. The air smells like gunpowder and death, and I can feel Matteo trembling against my side and hear Adriana's ragged breathing.
The night air is cleaner than inside, and I suck in a breath, trying to clear my head. The cars are waiting where we left them, engines running, and Declan is already moving toward the lead vehicle.
"Get in," I say, opening the back door. Adriana climbs in first, pulling Matteo with her, and I slide in beside them, slamming the door shut. "Go," I tell the driver, and the car lurches forward, tires squealing as we pull away from the house.
I look back through the rear window, watching as the rotting structure disappears into the darkness. Somewhere inside, Gio's body is cooling, his blood seeping into the floorboards. His men are dead. His empire is crumbling.
And my son almost became a killer.
I turn back around, and I see Adriana holding Matteo, rocking him gently as he cries into her shoulder. Her eyes meet mine, and I see the fear and the doubt, the terrible uncertainty about what comes next.
I don't have an answer for her. I don't know yet how to fix this, how to undo the damage that's been done, how to give them the life they deserve.
I saw myself in my son—the boy I used to be, before the violence and the bloodshed. If I don't do something—if I don't find a way to break this cycle—he's going to become exactly what I am.
I can't let that happen. Even if it means giving up everything I've built. Even if it means walking away from the only life I've ever known. Because Adriana was right.
This world will consume us all if we let it.
And I'm done letting it win.