24. Cat
— ? —
Cat
The gun is heavier than I expected.
I move through the trees toward the sounds of shouting, Marcella’s weapon clutched in both hands, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. The baby kicks once, twice, like she knows something is wrong.
I know, I think at her. I know. Just hang on.
The clearing opens up ahead of me, and what I see stops me cold.
Max is in the center, hands raised, surrounded by Sergio’s men.
Six of them, maybe seven, all armed, all pointing their weapons at my husband.
His gun lies on the ground beyond his reach.
They must have disarmed him when they surrounded him, too many barrels aimed at his chest to risk a shot.
Which means this standoff just happened, which means I still have time.
Beyond the inner ring, I can see more figures. Enzo’s men, arriving from the direction of the road. Nico, pushing through the crowd with his weapon drawn. A wider circle of guns on guns, everyone shouting, nobody able to move first without starting a massacre.
“You can’t win this, Massimo.” Sergio’s voice carries across the clearing. “Look around you. You’re outnumbered, outmaneuvered. Your father would be ashamed.”
“My father wanted peace.”
“Your father was a sick old man handing out our future like last rites.”
“He understood exactly what he was doing. He chose the future over the past.”
“He chose weakness.” Sergio steps closer, his weapon steady. “And now you’re going to pay for his mistakes.”
I can’t step into that line of fire. I have a baby, our baby, and I can’t risk her life, even for Max. But I can’t lose him either. I can’t watch them kill him while I hide in the trees like a coward.
My brain does what it always does: calculates.
Marcella is still unconscious where I left her. Twenty feet away, maybe less. Heavy, but not impossible to drag. And Sergio. Sergio is a monster, but he’s also a father. He brought his daughter into this trap. He must care about her, at least a little.
It’s a terrible plan.
It’s the only plan I have.
Dragging an unconscious woman through the woods while six months pregnant is exactly as difficult as it sounds.
Marcella is dead weight, her expensive dress catching on every root and branch, her perfectly styled hair filling with leaves and dirt. I hook my arms under hers and pull, backing toward the clearing, my muscles screaming with every step.
“Come on,” I mutter. “You wanted to kill me, the least you can do is cooperate.”
She doesn’t respond. Obviously.
The edge of the clearing is closer now. I can hear the standoff continuing, Sergio’s demands, Max’s refusal, the tense murmur of armed men waiting for permission to shoot.
I take a breath. Position Marcella in front of me like the world’s most useless shield. Press her own gun to her temple.
And I scream.
Every head in the clearing turns.
I step out of the treeline just behind the inner ring of men, one stride from Max. Marcella’s unconscious body is propped against my chest, the gun steady against her head. The firelight from the burning pergola throws wild shadows across the scene, making everything look like a nightmare.
“Drop your weapons,” I say. My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “All of you.”
“Cat-” Max’s voice is sharp with warning.
“I said drop them.”
Sergio’s eyes narrow. He’s looking at his daughter, at the gun pressed to her temple, and I can see him calculating. Weighing the odds. Deciding how much Marcella is worth to him.
“You won’t shoot her,” he says. “You don’t have it in you.”
“Try me.”
“You’re a Romano. Soft. Sentimental. Just like your family.”
“My family survived thirty years of war with yours. We’re not as soft as you think.”
“Papà.” Nico shoves through the ring of men, his weapon lowered but his body tense. “Stop this. Stop it now.”
Blood runs from a split in his lip. One of the Romano guards is behind him; the fire must have given them their chance to reach the back rooms.
“Stay out of this, Nico.”
“She’s my sister.”
“She knew the risks when she joined this operation.”
“She joined your vendetta, not mine. I never agreed to any of this.” Nico’s voice is raw with fury. “And now you’re pointing a gun at a pregnant woman. This is murder, Papà. This is insanity.”
“This is war. It’s always been war.”
“She’s Max’s wife. She’s carrying his child. She’s-”
“She’s a Romano.” Sergio spits the word like a curse. “She should never have been allowed into this family. Her father took my brothers. Her family destroyed everything we built. And now she’s here, breeding more enemies, and you want me to show mercy?”
The clearing has gone quiet. Everyone watching, everyone waiting. I can feel the weight of all those eyes on me, the calculation in every mind. How far will she go? How far will he go?
“Lower your weapon,” I say again. “Let my husband go. And maybe, maybe, I don’t put a bullet in your daughter’s brain.”
“You don’t have the nerve.”
“Try me.”
We stare at each other across the clearing. My gun is still pressed to Marcella’s temple. And somewhere in the middle of all this, our men are watching, waiting, nobody able to move first.
“Papà, please.” Nico’s voice breaks. “For once in your life, choose your children over your war.”
Sergio doesn’t look at his son. His eyes stay on me, then shift. The barrel moves from Max to me. To my belly.
I see it happen. I see the calculation. I see him choose.
Max is already moving, lunging toward me the instant Sergio’s aim shifts.
Sergio fires.
Everything happens at once.
The muzzle flash, bright in the darkness. Max moving, throwing himself in front of me, between me and the bullet. The impact. The spray of red. The sound he makes, a grunt that becomes a gasp that becomes silence.
And then the world explodes.
Somewhere back through the trees, Lucia is screaming. She comes crashing through the brush toward the clearing, shrieking his name into the dark, Massimo, Massimo, and no one stops for her.
Enzo’s men surge forward, Nico’s shouts cutting through the chaos, weapons firing, bodies falling. I’m on the ground. When did I fall? Marcella’s unconscious form slumped beside me, my hands reaching for Max, finding him, pulling him toward me.
“No no no-”
He’s bleeding. So much blood, spreading across his chest, soaking through his shirt. His eyes are open, looking up at me, and his mouth is moving but I can’t hear what he’s saying over the roaring in my ears.
“Max. Max, stay with me. Please, stay with me-”
“Hey.” His voice is soft, barely a whisper. “Hey, don’t cry, amore.”
“I’m not crying.”
“You’re crying.”
“You got shot.”
“Yeah.” He tries to smile, and it comes out wrong, twisted with pain. “Seemed like the thing to do.”
“That’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
“You don’t get to make jokes right now. You don’t get to-” My voice breaks. “Why did you do that? Why did you-”
“Because I love you.” His hand finds mine, bloody and trembling. “Because I’d rather-”
His eyes roll back.
“Max? MAX!”
I’m screaming, I realize. Screaming his name, screaming for help, screaming at the universe that’s trying to take him from me.
The chaos around us is fading, the fighting ending, but I don’t care about any of it.
All I care about is the man in my arms, the blood on my hands, the terrible stillness of his body.
“Cat!” Enzo’s voice cuts through the noise. He’s running toward us, his face pale in the firelight. “Cat, we need to move him.”
“He’s not breathing. Enzo, he’s not-”
“He’s breathing. He’s alive. But we need to get him to a hospital.” Enzo crouches beside us, his hands already checking Max’s wound. “The bullet went through. That’s good. But he’s losing blood fast.”
“HOSPITAL. NOW.”
“I know.” Enzo looks at something behind me, his men, Nico’s men, the aftermath of the fight I barely registered. “Help me carry him.”
They lift Max between them, Enzo on one side, one of his captains on the other. His head lolls against Enzo’s shoulder, and the red keeps spreading, and I’m running behind them, my legs burning, my lungs screaming, my whole world narrowed to the man they’re carrying into the dark.