Page 137 of Ruthless Mafia Daddy

Lila does as I ask and I watch her every move as she leaves the cell and hides around the corner. I don’t want her seeing this, but I can’t risk her straying too far from me again.

I round on Lorenzo, who’s desperately trying to drag himself into a seated position.

I almost laugh at the pathetic sight before I point my gun directly at his head.

“I was planning on dragging this out, wanting you to suffer like I suffered when you took Valentina from me.”

Lorenzo huffs a painful laugh.

“Oh, I very much enjoyed taking her life. Especially when she begged so hard for me not to kill her?—”

“Don’t you dare talk about her.”

“What about Lila?” Lorenzo smirks.

“You weren’t clever enough this time, Lorenzo. Your son made sure of that.”

Lorenzo bares his teeth as he attempts to pull himself up His wounded leg gives out before he makes it, and he collapses back onto the floor.

“He is no son of mine,” he spits.

“Your blood runs in his veins, and I made sure to spill every last drop. Like I’m about to do with you.”

“You don’t have the fucking balls?—”

My eyes close for a moment, and Valentina’s beautiful face enters my mind. Her rich mahogany hair, her dark hazel eyes, her big beautiful smile.

“Do it for me, Andre,” she seems to whisper, and I let the memory of her fuel my movements.

I let the memory of her drive my finger to squeeze the trigger and drown out the sound of the bullet releasing from the barrel.

My body jerks, and my eyes fly open.

Lorenzo’s lifeless eyes stare back at me, the bullet wound in his forehead tricking blood down his face.

I’m frozen as I stare at Lorenzo.

He’s actually dead.

After everything this man took from me, to have his blood finally on my hands helps to heal over the wounds. It’s not enough to erase the pain, but I hope in time, I can come to live with it. I can let Valentina go.

I’m free to love Lila.

“Andre,” Lila groans from outside the cell.

“Lila?” I pocket my gun, rushing from the cell without a backwards glance at the lifeless body of Lorenzo Rossi.

“Andre,” Lila gasps, clutching at her stomach, her face contorted in pain.

She cries out, her legs giving out.

I barely catch her before she crumbles to the floor.

“Lila.” I cradle her against me.

“Something’s wrong…with the baby,” she moans.

The air is sucked from my lungs as Lila arches her back, her body going rigid.

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