POV: Carmen
The room feels smaller the moment the door closes behind us.
Not because of the walls, but because of everything that hasn’t been said yet.
Marco stands across from me, arms crossed, posture rigid, like he’s bracing for impact. The desk between us is cluttered with documents—Arianna’s betrayal laid out in cold, merciless order—but neither of us is looking at them anymore. We’re looking at each other. And that’s somehow harder.
“You should have told me,” he says finally.
I let out a slow breath. “I tried.”
“That’s not what I mean,” he replies, jaw tight. “You should have told me about Vincent. About Sofia. About all of this.”
“And you should have listened when I warned you,” I shoot back. “We can trade mistakes all night, Marco. It won’t change what happened.”
Silence stretches, thick and uncomfortable.
He runs a hand through his hair, pacing once before stopping in front of me again. “You disappeared.”
“I left because staying was killing me,” I say quietly. “And because I realized something you weren’t ready to hear.”
His eyes sharpen. “What.”
“That loving you doesn’t mean letting you destroy yourself,” I reply.
The words land between us, heavy but honest.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The estate hums around us—guards moving, weapons being checked, the low vibration of a place preparing for war. Somewhere in the distance, a door slams. Tension coils tighter in my chest.
Marco’s voice is lower when he speaks again. “You think I chose her over you.”
“I think you chose not to see her,” I correct. “And every time I tried to pull you back, you pushed harder in the opposite direction.”
His mouth tightens. “You walked away.”
“Yes,” I say. “And that nearly broke me.”
He looks away, jaw flexing.
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he mutters.
I let out a humorless laugh. “That’s the problem. You didn’t want to hurt anyone. So you let the wrong person guide you.”
He turns back to me, eyes dark. “And Vincent?”
The question is sharp. Jealous. Still raw.
“Vincent protected me,” I say simply. “He didn’t own me. He didn’t manipulate me. And he didn’t ask me to choose sides.”
Marco scoffs softly. “That sounds generous.”
“It was survival,” I reply. “Don’t confuse the two.”
He steps closer, lowering his voice. “Did you ever—”
“No,” I cut in immediately. “Don’t insult me by asking.”
His shoulders ease just a fraction.
“Then why does this feel like I’ve already lost you?” he asks.
The question hits harder than any accusation.
Because I don’t know how to answer without breaking us further.
Instead, my hand drifts instinctively to my stomach.
Marco notices.
His gaze follows the movement, confusion flickering across his face. “What—”
“I didn’t plan to tell you like this,” I say softly.
He stills. “Tell me what.”
I swallow, my throat suddenly tight. This wasn’t how I imagined it. No soft light. No safety. No certainty.
But truth doesn’t wait for perfect timing.
“I’m pregnant,” I say.
The words hang in the air, fragile and irreversible.
Marco freezes.
Not shock exactly—something deeper. Like his mind simply refuses to process it at first.
“You’re—” He stops, breath catching. “You’re pregnant?”
“Yes.”
“With… my child?” he asks, as if there could be another answer.
I nod.
For a long moment, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. His face drains of color, then floods with something raw and unguarded I’ve never seen before.
“When,” he finally manages.
“Before I left,” I say. “Before everything exploded.”
He sinks into the chair behind him slowly, like his legs can no longer support him. His hands come up to his face, dragging down as he exhales sharply.
“You should have told me,” he whispers.
“I couldn’t,” I reply. “Not when you were already choosing her over us.”
He looks up at me sharply. “I didn’t know.”
“I know,” I say softly. “That’s why this hurts so much.”
Silence crashes over us again, heavier now, charged with something dangerously close to tenderness.
“I would have protected you,” he says hoarsely. “Both of you.”
“I needed you to protect yourself first,” I reply.
He nods slowly, shame and awe tangled together in his expression. “I failed you.”
The admission shifts something between us.
Before I can respond—
Gunfire erupts.
The first shot shatters a window down the hall, glass exploding inward with a deafening crash. The sound is immediately followed by shouting. Screams. Automatic fire.
Marco is on his feet instantly.
“Down,” he orders, already moving toward me.
Another shot rings out, closer this time. A bullet tears through the wall behind where I’d been standing seconds earlier.
“Arianna,” Marco growls.
He grabs my arm, pulling me against his chest as he steers us toward the reinforced corridor. His body shields mine instinctively, his hand firm at my back.
“They’re inside,” a guard shouts over comms. “Multiple attackers—”
A burst of gunfire cuts him off.
Marco pushes me behind a thick stone column just as two men rush into the hall, weapons raised.
I don’t hesitate.
I pull the gun Vincent insisted I carry from my coat and fire.
The recoil jolts up my arm as one of the men drops instantly, the bullet hitting clean and final. The second attacker stumbles, shock flashing across his face before Marco fires, taking him down.
For a split second, everything goes silent again.
Marco stares at me, eyes wide—not in fear, but in stunned recognition.
“You—” he starts.
“I told you,” I say, breathless but steady. “I won’t be helpless.”
There’s no time to process it.
More footsteps. More shouting.
“Move,” Marco snaps, gripping my hand. “This way.”
We sprint through the back corridor as gunfire echoes through the estate, alarms blaring now. Smoke fills the air, the sharp scent of gunpowder burning my lungs.
Marco checks every corner, every doorway, pulling me close whenever we pass open space. His focus is absolute.
“This is her last play,” he says tightly. “She knows she’s exposed.”
“And she’s not done,” I reply.
We reach the secondary stairwell just as another group of men floods the main hall. Marco fires back, covering our escape as we descend.
At the bottom, a side exit bursts open and Luca appears, blood on his sleeve but eyes sharp.
“Car’s ready,” he shouts. “Now!”
We race outside into the night, the sound of gunfire still erupting behind us. The car peels away just as flames lick up one side of the estate.
I press a hand to my stomach, adrenaline crashing through me, fear finally breaking through the steel I’ve been holding together.
Marco notices immediately. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” I say quickly. “The baby’s fine.”
The word baby lands differently now.
He reaches for my hand, gripping it tightly. “I swear to you—this ends tonight.”
I meet his gaze, my voice steady despite the chaos still raging behind us. “We don’t have much time, Marco. Arianna will regroup. She always does.”
His jaw tightens, resolve hardening. “Not this time.”
“Then listen to me,” I say. “All the way.”
He nods. “I am.”
For the first time in a long time, I believe him.
The city lights blur past as we disappear into the night, two people bound by love, betrayal, and a future that refuses to wait.
Arianna started this war.
But I intend to finish it.
And this time—I’m not walking away.