Chapter 28
Dimitri’s phone rang before they made it through the front door. He pulled it from his pocket, his jaw already tight with anticipation. “Talk.”
The voice on the other end was clipped, efficient. One of his men. “We found him, boss. The shooter, but…Victor got to him first.”
Dimitri’s entire body went rigid. “What do you mean, he got to him first?”
A pause. “He’s dead, sir. Victor beat him to death before we could get any information out of him.”
The phone creaked in Dimitri’s grip. His knuckles went white. “Where?” he bit out.
“The interrogation room. Victor’s still here.”
Dimitri hung up without another word.
He turned to Nico, who was already watching him with sharp, calculating eyes. “Take Bea inside. Get her cleaned up. Stay with her until I get back.”
“What happened?” Nico asked.
“Victor killed the fucking shooter before we could get any information out of him.”
Nico’s expression darkened. “Fuck.”
“Yeah.” Dimitri’s voice was lethal. “Fuck.”
He looked at Bea, who was still standing in the driveway, her hands trembling slightly. Killian’s blood drying dark and rust-red on her skin. Her eyes were wide, glassy with unshed tears.
Dimitri stepped closer and cupped her face gently. “Go inside, baby. Nico will take care of you. I’ll be back soon.”
Bea nodded, but her voice was small. “Please be safe, don’t be alone with Victor.”
“I will be safe and I will take two of my men with me. Two are already with Victor. I’m going to find out what the hell happened.”
“Dimitri-” her voice was weak.
He kissed her forehead, lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “I’ll be back. I promise.”
Then he was gone, striding toward the garage with murder in his eyes.
The room smelled of sweat, piss and fresh blood.
Dimitri stepped through the side entrance, his footsteps echoing in the vast space. The overhead lights flickered weakly, casting long shadows across the floor. There, in the center of the room, was Victor.
He stood over a crumpled body, his chest heaving, his fists covered in blood. His expensive suit jacket was discarded on the floor, his white shirt splattered with crimson. His silver hair was disheveled, his face flushed with exertion.
The shooter, a wiry man in his thirties with a shaved head and a cheap leather jacket, was unrecognizable. His face was a pulverized mess of broken bone and torn flesh. Blood pooled beneath him, spreading slowly across the floor.
Dimitri’s men stood in a loose circle around the scene, their expressions carefully neutral.
Victor looked up as Dimitri approached. His eyes were wild, his breathing ragged.
“Dimitri,” he said, his voice rough. “I-”
“What the fuck did you do?” Dimitri’s voice was low, controlled, but the fury beneath it was unmistakable.
Victor straightened, wiping his hands on his ruined shirt. “I did what needed to be done.”
“I wanted him alive,” Dimitri snarled. “I wanted to know who sent him. And you-” He gestured sharply at the corpse. “You beat him to death before I could get here.”
“I know.” Victor’s jaw clenched. “I know, and I’m sorry. But when I saw him, when I realized this piece of shit was the one who shot Killian, I just… I lost it.”
Dimitri stared at him, his eyes cold. “You lost it.”
“He hurt one of you boys,” Victor said, his voice rising with emotion. “One of my boys. I helped raise all three of you after your father died. And this bastard-” He kicked the body viciously. “This bastard shot Killian like he was nothing.”
Dimitri didn’t move. “So you killed him, when I gave clear orders.”
“Yes.” Victor’s chest heaved. “Yes, I killed him. And I’d do it again.”
For a long moment, Dimitri said nothing. He just stared at Victor, his expression unreadable.
Then he exhaled slowly. “Get cleaned up. We’ll talk about this later.”
Victor nodded, relief flickering across his face. “Thank you, Dimitri. I-”
“But this doesn’t happen again,” Dimitri interrupted, his voice sharp. “You need to get it through your damn head that I am the boss. I am the Don. I am THE FUCKING KING HERE!”
He took a deep breath, “don’t touch my targets without my permission.
Understood?” Victor’s jaw tightened, but he nodded.
“Understood.” Dimitri turned to leave, when Victor spoke again.
“You know,” he said, his voice dripping with venom, “none of this would have happened if you weren’t with that woman. ”
Dimitri stopped. The entire room went silent.
Slowly, Dimitri turned back around. “What did you just say?”
Victor’s lip curled. “You heard me. This attack, Killian getting shot, it’s because you three have been parading around the city with her like she’s some kind of trophy. You made yourselves targets. You got Killian shot, if he dies that’s on you, Don Marchetti”
The way he spoke of Beatrice made it sound like something rotten, something foul tasting.
Dimitri’s hands flexed at his sides. “I suggest you shut your mouth, before you’re laying next to him.” He points to the crumbled body on the ground.
“I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking,” Victor continued, his voice rising. “She’s a distraction. A liability. And now one of your brothers is lying in his own blood because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants.”
“I said shut the fuck up.”
“She’s going to get you all killed, Dimitri. And when she does-”
“Mind your own business, old man.”
Victor’s face flushed red. “Excuse me?”
Dimitri stepped closer, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “You heard me. Mind. Your. Own. Business. What I do with Bea is none of your concern. Who I fuck, who I claim, who I love, that’s my choice. Not yours. Old. Man”
Victor’s eyes blazed with fury. “I’ve been loyal to this family for thirty years-”
“Then act like it,” Dimitri snapped. “And stay the hell away from her.”
For a moment, Victor looked like he might explode. His fists clenched, his jaw working, his entire body vibrating with rage.
Then he turned on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
Dimitri stood there in the silence, his chest heaving, his mind racing, Victor’s mask was cracking, and that made him more dangerous than ever.
The living room was too quiet. Bea sat on the edge of the leather couch, her hands freshly scrubbed but still trembling slightly. She’d changed into clean clothes, soft leggings and an oversized sweater, but she could still feel the phantom weight of Killian’s blood on her skin.
Isabella sat beside her, one arm wrapped around Bea’s shoulders, her presence warm and grounding. Nico paced near the fireplace, his phone in his hand, his jaw tight.
No one spoke.
The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, until the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway.
Dimitri appeared in the doorway, his expression dark but controlled.
“Victor?” Nico asked immediately.
“Handled, for now” Dimitri said curtly. He didn’t elaborate.
Bea looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. “Did you-”
“The shooter’s dead,” Dimitri said. “Victor in fact got to him first.” Nico swore under his breath.
Bea’s stomach twisted. “So, we don’t know who sent him.”
“No.” Dimitri’s voice was flat. “We don’t.”
Before anyone could respond, the door to the hallway opened again.
Doc stepped through, pulling off his surgical gloves. His scrubs were clean, his expression calm. All three of them surged to their feet to stand next to Dimitri.
“How is he?” Dimitri demanded.
Doc smiled faintly. “He’s going to be fine.”
Bea’s legs nearly buckled with relief. Isabella’s arm tightened around her.
“The bullet lodged just below the ribs,” Doc continued. “Missed all the major organs. We had to dig it out, which took some time, but the wound is clean. I stitched him up, the anesthesia will keep him out for awhile. He’ll be groggy, but he should wake up in the next hour or so.”
“And the recovery?” Nico asked.
“A few days of rest. No heavy lifting, no strenuous activity. Keep the wound clean and dry. He’ll be sore, but he’ll heal.” Doc’s gaze flicked to Bea. “He’s a tough bastard. He’ll be fine.”
Bea let out a shaky breath. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Doc nodded. “He’s in a room down the hall. You can see him if you’d like.” Bea didn’t wait for permission; she was already moving.
The recovery room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn against the late-night darkness outside.
Killian lay in the center of a massive king-size bed, his torso bare except for the thick white bandages wrapped around his ribs. His face was pale, his breathing slow and even.
He looked so vulnerable and weak.
It was the first time Bea had ever seen him look anything other than invincible.
She crossed the room quietly and climbed onto the bed, careful not to jostle him. She settled on his good side, curling against him, her head resting on his shoulder.
He didn’t stir.
Bea closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath.
“You scared the hell out of me,” she whispered.
No response.
She pressed her hand gently against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
“You can’t do that again,” she continued, her voice barely audible. “You can’t stand up and take bullets like you’re invincible. You’re not. You’re human. You’re mine. And I need you to stay alive.”
Her throat tightened.
“I need all of you to stay alive,” she whispered. “Because I’m falling in love with you. With all of you.”
The words hung in the air, fragile and terrifying.
And then a voice came from the doorway.
“I think we are falling for you too Beatrice Rossi.” Bea’s head snapped up.
Nico stood in the doorway, his dark eyes locked on hers, his expression raw and unguarded.
Bea stared at him, her heart hammering. She waited for the punchline, for the smirk, for the just kidding. But it didn’t come.
Dimitri stepped up beside Nico, his silver hair catching the dim light. He moved to the side of the bed and looked down at her, his blue eyes soft.
“Is that true, Bea?” he asked quietly.
Bea’s breath hitched.
She nodded slowly.
“Use your words, baby,” Dimitri said, his voice gentle.
Bea swallowed hard. “I’m falling for you guys.”
Dimitri’s face broke into a rare, genuine smile. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips. Soft, reverent, full of promise.
Then he kissed her forehead.
“I feel the same way,” he murmured. “We all do.”
And then, from beside her, came a very muffled, very groggy voice.
“I already love you.”
Bea’s head whipped to the side.
Killian’s eyes were still closed, his face slack with exhaustion, but his lips were curved into the faintest smile.
Bea let out a choked laugh that was half sob.
Nico crossed the room and climbed onto the bed on Killian’s other side, careful not to disturb the bandages. Dimitri settled at the foot of the bed, his hand resting on Bea’s ankle.
Bea leaned down and kissed Killian’s cheek gently.
“Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” she whispered.
Killian’s smile widened, though his eyes still didn’t open. “No promises, princess.” Bea laughed, tears streaming down her face.
And for the first time since the gunfire, she felt like she could breathe.
She was determined to keep them safe and nothing, not Victor, not rival families, not bullets or blood or betrayal, was going to change that.