Chapter 19
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The cemetery was quiet. Peaceful. But I didn’t feel peace,
I knelt before Amara’s grave, running my fingers over the cold marble. My little girl. My everything. The wind rustled through the trees, and for a brief moment, I allowed myself to grieve.
Then, the feeling of eyes on me shattered the moment.
I tensed.
Not alone.
A rustle. A shadow shifting.
I moved–fast. Gunfire erupted. Diving behind a tombstone, I dodged the bullets tearing through the air. Ambush. I drew my gun, scanning the darkness. How many? Peeking out, I counted five. Armed, moving in.
A voice rang out. “Give up, Valeria! You’re surrounded!”
Isabella. Of course, it was her.
Rage surged through me. I fired. One man collapsed. Four left. I darted between graves, avoiding gunfire. Think. I couldn’t let them corner me. Rolling to cover, I took another shot–missed. Damn it.
A sharp pain exploded in my shoulder as a bullet grazed me. I bit back a scream, gripping the wound.
Another voice–deeper, colder.
“Valeria!”
Darius.
Gunfire ripped through the graveyard, drowning out the howling wind. Shadows darted between tombstones, bodies falling, blood staining the earth meant for the dead. Darius’s men fought ruthlessly, protecting me with unwavering loyalty. Isabella’s assassins were just as relentless, fueled by desperation and the promise of my death.
I ducked behind a stone angel, breath ragged, heart pounding. I had faced war before. But never like this. Not in the place where my daughter lay buried.
A gun clicked near me.
I spun, firing without hesitation. My bullet met flesh. The man crumpled.
He Let Our Daughter Die for His Ex’s Child!
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Three left.
A shadow moved in the distance. I aimed-
But froze.
Lorenzo.
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He stood at the edge of the chaos, suit torn, blood staining his knuckles. His hair was disheveled, face unreadable.
My heart lurched.
He escaped.
For a moment, we just stared. I had chained him. I had tortured him. I had broken him. Yet, he was here. Not with a gun. Not with vengeance. But something else in his eyes. His gaze flickered toward the grave–the marble headstone that bore Amara’s name.
I knew why he came.
He came to beg.
To kneel.
To whisper apologies to the child who had once called him her hero.
But there was no time for forgiveness.
Because Isabella wasn’t done.
She emerged from the shadows, gun raised, lips curled in a sneer. “This ends now, Valeria,” she hissed.
I smirked. “Then pull the damn trigger.”
I saw it the moment she made her choice.
Her finger tightening on the trigger. The gun flaring to life. The bullet aimed for my heart.
I didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.
Because in that single breath of silence-
Lorenzo moved first.
“No!”
His body slammed into mine, shoving me backward.
A sickening crack rang through the air.
Lorenzo staggered. His breath hitched. And then he fell.
Blood.
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So much blood.
I caught him, arms wrapping around his collapsing frame, lowering him to the ground.
A choked sound left his lips. His hand clutched his chest, red seeping through his shirt.
I couldn’t breathe.
“Lorenzo-”
His fingers weakly brushed against my cheek. Warm. Trembling. “I told you…” He exhaled shakily. “I’d die for you.”
His blood soaked my hands. His eyes flickered, breathing turning shallow.
No.
A strangled sob caught in my throat.
I wasn’t ready.
I wasn’t-
A second gunshot rang out.
I turned in time to see Isabella’s body jerk violently as a bullet pierced her
skull. She collapsed. Lifeless.
Lazarus, one of Darius’s best men, lowered his gun, expression impassive.
“It’s over,” he muttered.
But it wasn’t.
Because Lorenzo was dying in my arms.
And for the first time in years-
I felt fear.
Lorenzo’s breath was ragged, his blood warm against my hands. His body trembled, grip weak as his fingers brushed against my cheek. “I’m sorry… for Amara… for everything,” he whispered, voice barely audible.
A single tear escaped before I could stop it. His regret was real. I could feel it, see it in his eyes. But it didn’t matter. It was too late.
His chest shuddered. Then fell still.
Lorenzo De Luca was gone.
I stared down at him, waiting for something–relief, satisfaction, anything— but all I felt was emptiness. His blood seeped into my clothes, a stark reminder of the man who had once been everything to me.
Chapter 19
