Chapter 34 Fiorella
Gunpowder and blood filled the air of the night, mixed with the distant rumble of engines and the shattering impacts of bullets on stone. The Marchesi men were relentless, pouring over the estate like vermin, but they had underestimated us. They had underestimated me.
My blade was dripping with blood, my breath steady amidst the chaos. I dodged a blow from one of Elio's men, landed a solid elbow to his jaw before slashing my blade across his throat. He gagged, stumbling back, and I barely spared him another glance as he hit the ground.
"Behind you!"
Rocco's yell pierced the noise.
I reacted instinctively, twisting just in time to knock a blow aside that was meant for my ribs. My attacker was bigger, stronger, but that didn't matter. I worked with his momentum, crouching low and slamming a knee into his belly before finishing him off with a cautious, precision thrust into the heart.
A gunshot echoed to my left.
Rocco had taken out one of their men before he could even reach me. He barely glanced at the body, his bright green eyes sweeping across the field, always one step ahead.
We operated in sync.
He was behind me, guarding my back, protecting my blind spots, his solidity unflappable. And with the rage raging through my veins, I sensed something that I would not have expected to feel beating within me. Relief.
Rafael's reinforcements had come in force, pushing the Marchesi's men back. Their lines were thinning, but I was not foolish enough to think we'd won.
Not yet.
Rocco yanked my wrist hard, pulling me aside just as a spurt of bullets lashed the stone wall behind us. His grip was firm but brief, releasing me the moment we weren't in the direct line of fire anymore.
"You’re okay?" His voice was low, with a sharp edge of tension.
I nodded, already in motion, already stalking. "Keep close," I grunted, and he didn't argue once.
We sliced through the rest of their men like a hurricane. Another attempted to run at Rocco, but I reached him first, shoving my blade into his ribcage before Rocco even got his gun out. He glared at me, something nasty and untranslatable flicking across his expression, but we didn't have time to let it faze us.
Another wave of Marchesi soldiers poured onto the grounds, but Rafael's soldiers were keeping them at bay. I could hear Leo yelling orders in the distance, keeping them from pushing further into the estate.
We're winning.
And then I saw it.
A shadow moving towards the house.
Not towards the fight. Not towards us.
But towards the room where my father was.
Everything else faded away.
My heart was thudding in my ears.
Without thinking, I ran.
My legs burned with every stride, but I didn't feel it. My attention was locked on one thing, the figure slipping into the house, moving toward the room where my father lay.
I pounded back harder, gasping in hard gasps, my heart a mad, wild drumming against my chest. The battle raging outside didn't slow me down. I couldn't slow down.
And then
A few of them blocked my path.
Marchesi's goons.
They must have had some notion I was coming.
One of them sported a sick grin as he cracked his knuckles and approached as if to fight.
"Going somewhere, princess?"
I said nothing.
I attacked.
The first man struck at me, striking for my ribs, but I turned around at the last second, dropping low and slashing my knife across his thigh. He stumbled forward with a grunt, and I drove my blade into his stomach before spinning to block another blow.
Two others struck at me at the same time.
One of them grabbed my arm, but I reversed his own grip on me, dragging him into me and butting my forehead against his nose. He recoiled, cursing, blood gushing from his face. The other tried to shoot, but I was faster, grabbing the gun out of his hand before I kicked his knee with savage force.
Another grabbed at me from behind.
I elbowed him forcefully into the ribs, jerking my arm away and slashing at his throat. Blood sprayed over the marble floor, and I didn't lose a moment as I tore the gun from his belt, whirling just in time to shoot the next son of a bitch coming toward me.
One shot. Two shots.
Bodies fell, but more continued coming.
I moved like I was unstoppable, my senses heightened, my rage powering my strides. The Marchesi thought they could take it all from me—thought they could come into my home and end my father's reputation.
I would make them pay.
A different man came at me. I sidestepped to the left, shooting him point-blank in the chest before fighting finally breaking through the blockade.
I did not stop.
I burst to the door.
I broke it open.
And then
The world stopped.
My father was on the bed, his body too still.
Too still.
There was a strangled, gagging sound out of my mouth. I barely heard it through the thudding in my ears, through the ragged gasps of my broken breathing. My eyes were locked on the man standing beside the bed.
The killer.
He grinned at me, a sneer distorting his face, as though all of this was a joke.
As if he hadn't just stolen the last member of my family from me.
As if he hadn't just killed the only person who'd ever believed in me.
I didn't think.
I pulled out my gun.
And fired.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Each bullet struck his skull, jerking his head back hard before he hit the ground. Blood pooled beneath him, but I didn't look away.
My fingers trembled against the gun. My respirations were shallow, erratic.
I slowly turned back to my father.
I collapsed toward him, my knees thudding on the floor beside the bed. My hands trembled as I reached out, pushing them against his chest.
No rise.
No fall.
No breath.
A jagged scream tore through me, one I hardly knew as mine.
I had fought so fiercely.
I had killed so many.
And yet…
I had lost.
A scream ripped from my mouth, raw and painful. It echoed off the walls, cutting through the air with a knife. I barely realised it was coming from me.
Rage.
Grief.
Fury.
They all raged inside of me, a stormy brew that had no place to break. My vision blurred, scarlet rage raging through every vein in my body.
I buried my forehead against my father's still chest, fists curled so tightly my nails dug into my palms. The copper scent of blood clung in the air, mixed with the sharp scent of gunpowder and death.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
He was supposed to wake up.
He was supposed to fight with me, teach me, protect me.
But now—
Now he was dead.
My father, the man who had grown me, made me into the leader I was to become, was dead.
And the Marchesi were to blame.
I gasped, my body shuddering at the intensity of my anger. I looked up, my gaze falling upon the lifeless corpse of the man I had killed, his blood splattered against the spotless floor.
Not enough.
Not even close.
I will make them pay.
They thought they could take my father from me and go away with nothing.
They thought they could break me.
They thought otherwise.
I drew in a swift breath, my jaw setting as I gazed at the bloody wreckage before me.
And then, with a voice thick with raw venom, I said,
"I promise on my father's grave, I will make every single one of them pay."
I wasn't just going to kill them.
I was going to wipe them off the face of the earth.