Chapter 87 – The Shot That Changed Everything

Chapter 87 – The Shot That Changed Everything
Dante’s POV

My pulse hammered against the inside of my skull, shoving reason aside. Gabriel’s hand curled tighter around her throat, the blade glinting red against her skin. Blood. Hers. My vision blurred for a second.

No.
Focus.

If I dropped the gun, she’d die. Gabriel didn’t make threats. He made corpses.

I could see the dead calm in his eyes. He wasn’t bluffing.

“Last chance,” he hissed. “Drop it.”

I ignored the demand. My stance remained steady, feet planted, arms up. The Glock weighed heavy in my grip, because now it held more than bullets. It held our lives.

But I was watching. Calculating.

His left shoulder was slightly forward. He was angled toward me, trying to keep his own body shielded with hers. Smart. Trained. But he wasn’t perfect.

His hand had dipped slightly. He wasn’t expecting me to shoot.

I only had one shot.

One.

Any slower, and Lucia’s throat would be carved open. Any faster, and I’d miss.

“Okay,” I said, letting my voice crack, just a little. “Okay.”

I slowly began to lower the gun, tilting it down just enough to make him believe I was giving up. I watched his eyes flick to the weapon, watched his stance shift in anticipation.

Right there.

That’s where he fucked up.

I raised the barrel in one fluid motion and fired.

His face froze, shocked—almost offended—before he crumpled to the ground in a dead, boneless heap.

Lucia staggered, gasping, blood sliding down her collarbone as she clutched her throat.

I was already running. Caught her before her knees hit the floor.

“Lucia—” My voice cracked. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” I breathed, arms wrapping around her like armor, inhaling her scent like a lifeline and ignoring the burning in my shoulder.

Her blood soaked through my shirt. My hands shook as I tilted her chin up and checked the wound. Shallow. Thank God.

She let out a shaky breath—half sob, half sigh—as if her lungs had just remembered how to work. Her body slumped against mine, not from pain, but release.

“It’s over,” I murmured. “He’s gone.”

She stared down at the body. “I know… but why does it still feel like it’s not?”

I didn’t have an answer.

——-

The sun was rising by the time we returned. I didn’t remember the drive. Just her hand wrapped in mine, slick with dried blood, and the phantom echo of her voice—Shoot. Him.

She saved my life tonight. Not with a gun. With her faith in me. Her strength. Her refusal to be a victim.

And that was something I knew I’d hold on to forever. 

My shoulder burned like hell. But I didn’t care. I only cared about her.

Inside, I collapsed onto the couch while Lucia rummaged through the med kit like she’d done it a hundred times. She cleaned the wound again, her hands steadier than I expected. 

“You didn’t have to come,” I murmured, watching her through half-lidded eyes. “You could’ve died.”

She didn’t look at me. “What?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you did,” I said quietly. “But...” I trailed off.

She looked up. Her gaze was unreadable. “You could’ve died too.”

There was a long silence between us, only broken by the sound of her tying off the fresh bandage.

“You could stay,” I said suddenly.

She blinked. “What?”

“You could stay here. Tonight. Or longer. If you wanted.”

It wasn’t a demand. I wasn’t that man anymore.

She studied me for a long time before offering a sad smile. “I need to see my father. He’s still in the hospital. And… I need time. To wrap my head around all that happened.”

I nodded slowly. “How is he doing?”

“He’ll be fine. Physically, at least.”

“Do you think… he’d ever forgive me?”

She didn’t answer right away.

“I’ll try to talk to him. Maybe… arrange something.”

“Thanks,” I said, the word bitter on my tongue. I didn’t deserve kindness, not from her. But I craved it all the same.

Lucia stood and walked to the door. She paused, then turned back, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You saved us, Dante.”

Silence.

“I’ll go check on Alina.”

And then she was gone. The silence she left behind stretched into days, until a week passed.

I couldn’t sleep. Could barely eat. The mansion felt hollow without her. I’d spent my life carving power out of blood, fear, and steel—and now, all I wanted was peace.

I didn’t even know what that looked like.

Finally, I went to her.

The hospital was quiet, tucked at the far end of the city. The facility felt more like a converted house than a medical institution. No harsh fluorescents or chaos—just soft murmurs, muted footsteps, and the distant beeping of machines.

I stepped out of the car, boots crunching over scattered gravel.

Inside, I gave the nurse Lucia’s name. She nodded, directing me down a hallway lined with old chairs and faded paintings.

I found Antonio sitting up in bed by the window, the morning light catching the hollow edges of his face. Bandages were wrapped around his head, though most of the swelling around his eye had faded to a sickly yellow bruise. 

Plasters crisscrossed his cheekbones, and a thin tube snaked from his nose to an oxygen tank beside the bed. His skin was pale, waxy, stretched too tightly over sharp cheekbones and sunken eyes.

He was flipping slowly through a magazine turned upside down. When he heard the door creak, his head turned, and his eyes lit up like a storm had cleared.

“Dante,” he said softly, smiling. “You came.”