I staggered back from his body.
Blood spreading beneath my feet, dark and obscene. His skull was split open in a way my mind refused to fully comprehend. Death itself had never frightened me. I had seen too much of it, lived too close to it, but this was different.
This was Dario. My one viable path to protecting my family.
Something inside me snapped.
I didn't even think.
"You fucker!" I screamed, the sound tearing out of my throat as I lunged for him.
My hand closed around the nearest thing on the table, the empty gun, and I swung with everything that I had. Alex caught my wrist mid-strike, his grip brutal, crushing bone against bone. Pain flared, sharp and immediate, but not enough to stop me.
Not even close.
I twisted, driving my free hand into his jaw with a vicious left hook.
He staggered back, the impact snapping his head to the side. Blood spilling from his mouth, splattering across the table. Across the marriage certificate he had laid there only moments ago. How fitting.
Alex wiped his mouth slowly, those green eyes lifting to mine. Something dark and feral flickering beneath the surface.
"I'm starting to think," he said, his voice low and uneven as he set his jaw back into place, "that you enjoy hurting me."
I let out a breathless, humorless laugh. "That might be the first honest thing you've ever said about me."
The rage that crossed his face was immediate and unfamiliar. I had never seen him like this. A vein stood out from his temple. His restraint was fraying, his control slipping by the second.
In one swift movement, he had me pinned. His hand closing around my throat as he pressed me back against the wall. Not tight enough to kill. Just enough to remind me how easily he could.
His was inches from mine now. I could smell the iron of blood on his breath. The heat of him. The tension coiling just beneath his skin.
"Why," he asked quietly, dangerous, "do you insist on fighting me like this?"
His thumb shifted slightly against my pulse, as if he could feel it racing for him, against him, because of him. And the fucked up thing is, even now, with his hand around my neck and murder in his eyes, some traitorous part of me still recognized the intimacy of it.
"I know you love me," I breathed, my voice strangled underneath his grip and he loosened it just a little, "I know you want me. But you're not going to have the power I bring."
I raised my feet, my hand gripping his wrists, nails biting into his skin before I kicked him.
He crashed into the table behind him. The wood splintering underneath his weight, the sound sharp and final. I didn't wait to see him get up.
I moved for the door and drove my shoulder into it, the lock giving way with a dull crack. The corridor outside was already stirring with voices, movement and too many eyes, but I kept walking. I didn't look back. I couldn't. Not at what was left of Dario on the floor, not with my throat tight and my vision, threatening to blur.
I forced myself to breathe, heading towards the service hall, the quieter route. The fire exit. The one Dario and I mapped out just hours ago, just in case everything went to hell. And it did.
Blood darkened the fabric of my pantsuit, streaking down my legs, soaking into the carpet with my every step. I could feel it, sticky and warm, but it barely registered. I just needed to change.
Already, people are staring. Some even froze. Others pretended not to see. I didn't slow down for any of them.
I could sense it before I saw it, like a shift in the air.
Men moving too deliberately, positioning themselves, closing ranks without drawing attention. Alex's men. Trying to be discrete, not cause a scene in a government building. As if discretion still mattered.
Calling for backup wasn't an option. At least not with mine. Not even Dario's. Not anymore. Power was already shifting, rotting from the inside out. Anyone who answered might already belong to Barinov.
That left only one choice.
I had to get back to base. I had to report it myself. Because with Dario dead, his people would be clamoring for his position. And I couldn't afford to let even one of Alexandre's shadows step into that kind of power.
Not now. Not ever.
I pushed through the emergency exit and into daylight.
The noise hit me first. All the traffic, voices, laugher, the city moving on as if nothing had happened. City Hall loomed behind me, stately and indifferent, already swallowing what had taken place inside its walls.
There weren't alarms. Nor shouting. At least not yet.
But there will be soon.
So I didn't stop walking.
Once I reached the edge of the plaza, I slipped my jacket off my shoulders and tied it tightly around my waist, knotting the bloodstained fabric low over my hips. The white tank beneath was splattered, but it was less obvious.
I pulled my hair loose from its tie, fingers combing through it until it fell around my face, softening the sharp lines of who I had been inside that building.
Tourists crowded the square. Their maps unfolded, phones raised, couples laughing into selfies. I merged into them, adjusted my pace, letting myself become another woman passing through New York instead of someone fleeing from her husband.
Near a souvenir stand, I slowed just enough to brush past a rack of flannels and scarves, my hand catching on instinct. A red-and-black shirt came free easily. No one even noticed. So I slipped it on as I walked, buttoning it halfway, obscuring the stains beneath.
Two blocks later, a vendor's cart offered baseball caps. So I took one without breaking stride and pulled it low over my eyes.
It wasn't until I reached the subway entrance, that I could feel the men losing me. I was finally disappearing. The air growing damp and metallic with my every step, the city folding over me like a shroud.
I pulled my phone from the pocket of my suit and pressed a single number.
"Prepare the jet," I said quietly. "I'm flying home. Inform Nonno."
"Yes, ma'am," came the immediate reply.
I ended the call just as the train screeched into the station. The doors slid open and I stepped inside without hesitation, turning my back on the platform as they closed behind me. Only then, did I allow myself to slow, my pulse still thundering beneath my skin.
Going back to Dario's penthouse was out of the question. It would be the first place Alexandre's men would tear apart. My own place wasn't safe either. Not anymore. It'd be too obvious.
That left only one option.
I have to head straight to the airport.
As the train lurched forward, I leaned my head back against the cool glass, my eyes fixed on my reflection in the darkened window. I was still breathing. Still standing.
Free, for now.
And that meant that he wouldn't let this end here.