Page 43 of Mafia Heir's Broken Vows

"I don't think. I know."

I pull the trigger.

The echo of the shot lingers in the air as Marco's body falls limp beneath me. I stagger to my feet, chest heaving, blood pounding in my ears. For a brief moment, everything is still. My eyes scan the room, landing on Serafina—and Leo. My son. Both of them staring at me.

Leo's wide eyes are fixed on me, unblinking. He just saw his father kill a man. The realization cuts through me like a blade.

I drop to my knees beside them, my hands shaking as I untie Serafina. Her wrists are red and raw, and the sight of her bruised face sends another surge of rage through me—but I push it down. She's alive. That's all that matters now.

Her breath hitches, a sob breaking free. "Alessandro?—"

I cup her face, my thumb brushing away the tear trailing down her cheek. Her skin is cold beneath my touch, and I feel her trembling.

"I'm here," I murmur, my voice low and steady. "You're okay."

She throws her arms around me, her body shaking as she sobs into my shoulder. I hold her tightly, feeling her heartbeat against mine. The relief of having her safe floods through me, but it's tempered by the weight of what just happened.

Leo's small hands press against me, and I pull him into the embrace, wrapping them both in my arms. I don't hide who I am anymore. He needs to know, even if it terrifies me, even if it changes how he sees me. His father is a killer, but he's alive because of it.

"I thought—" Serafina's voice breaks, her words caught in her throat.

I press my forehead to hers, our breaths mingling. "I will always come for you," I promise, the words heavy with truth. "Always."

But the moment of reprieve is short-lived. I glance toward the open door, the echoes of gunfire in the distance growing louder. Marco's men will realize soon enough that their boss is dead. They'll come for us.

"We need to move," I say, my voice firm. My hand rests protectively on Leo's back as I help Serafina to her feet. "This isn't over yet."

SERAFINA

The world is suspended in a fragile stillness, broken only by the soft patter of rain against the shattered windows and the distant popping of gunfire. I cradle Leo against me, his small frame trembling, his face buried in my chest as though he could shut out the horrors he had just seen. His tiny hands grip my shirt like a lifeline. I can barely feel my own limbs, numb from fear, exhaustion, and the icy chill that has seeped into my bones.

Alessandro kneels in front of us, his breath labored, his entire frame tense. Blood seeps through the fabric of his shirt, darkening the material, and spreading like a stain on the floor beneath him.

"You're hurt." My voice trembles as I point to the blood soaking his side.

He dismisses it with a slight shake of his head, the corners of his mouth tightening. "It doesn't matter. You're safe. I'm fine."

But it's not fine. Seeing him like this—bleeding, staggering, barely holding himself up—it's unbearable. He risked everything to save us. How can he think his life is worth less than ours?

Tears blur my vision, and I blink them away, forcing myself to stay calm. I reach out, my hand trembling as I press it gentlyto the wound at his side. My fingertips come away warm and slick with blood. He flinches at the touch but doesn't pull away. Gritting his teeth, he hisses out a breath.

"We need to stop the bleeding," I murmur, panic rising. I look around us, desperate to find anything that might help, but there's nothing in this desolate place.

Alessandro's hand closes over mine, firm but gentle. He shakes his head.

"Later," he breathes. "Right now, we need to get out of here."

Leo is dead weight in my arms, and I put him down beside me. Alessandro's sharp gaze softens as he looks at us both, though pain is visible in his expression as he doubles over again.

"We can't leave if you can't stand. Let me help you."

"Leo, you hold on to Mommy. Like this." I guide his small fingers around the pocket of my jeans. "You don't let go, no matter what. We're going to run away from here—like a race. Okay?" He nods, his little hand gripping tightly. It's a trick we've used before in crowded shops, and he understands. He trusts me.

I force Alessandro's arm around my shoulders, feeling his full weight lean heavily against me. Supporting him as best I can, we leave the office, searching for a way out. I feel the tremors running through him—the sheer effort it takes for him to stay upright is draining him.

He grimaces with each step but refuses to slow down. His blood stains my shirt, warm and damp against my skin, but I hold him tighter, willing him to stay strong.

"I should've killed him sooner," Alessandro mutters through gritted teeth, bitterness lacing every syllable.

---