I wear his name like a scar.
Alessandro Rossi stole everything from me; my freedom, my future, the lie I told my father to keep him alive. He thinks I'm a tool to be used, a bride to be displayed, a Fraga to be broken. He thinks the ring on my finge...
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"No!" I screamed, jerking so hard against the cuff chaining me to the bedpost that the metal bit into my skin. I didn't care about the pain. I didn't care if I dislocated my wrist trying to get free. None of it mattered. I had to get to him.
Alessandro stood there, arms spread wide, practically daring Diego to take the shot. He wasn't even trying to fight back anymore. He was giving himself up—to save me and Luca.
"Alessandro!" My voice broke. "I'm not going anywhere without you."
But he didn't acknowledge me, didn't so much as glance my way. His focus was locked on Diego, that calm, eerie smile on his face. It wasn't calm, though. God, no. That wasn't calm. It was resignation, some twisted acceptance of whatever fate his father was about to deal him. That look scared me more than anything. It felt like he'd already decided this was it. The end.
"Alessandro, please!" I begged. Tears blurred my vision as I looked between him and Diego, two men who shared the same blood but stood worlds apart. The hate that radiated between them was like something alive and dangerous, filling the air like a storm about to break.
And yet, beneath all that hate, I saw something else—something that broke me even more. Alessandro wasn't just a man facing his father. He was a son—a son who had been starved of love, of acknowledgment, of the simplest goddamn human decency.
Years of pain, betrayal, and longing bled out of him in that moment. It wasn't just hatred fueling his defiance; it was heartbreak. Because as much as he despised Diego, he had loved him first. That's the cruel thing about love—it's the sharpest weapon in the world. And Diego had used it against him, over and over again.
I could see it all now—the little boy in Alessandro who had once hoped, desperately, foolishly, that his father would see him, be proud of him, love him. That little boy was still there, buried under layers of scars and rage. And yet, it was that same boy who was standing in front of Diego now, daring him to pull the trigger, still hoping for something—anything—other than rejection.
My heart broke for him. "Alessandro, please!" I sobbed, my voice hoarse. "Don't do this!"
But in his mind, this was the only way—the only way to end it all, to protect me and Luca. He thought sacrificing himself was the solution, and it was killing me to watch him accept that fate.
Diego tilted his head toward the man holding me at gunpoint. At first, I didn't understand what the gesture meant, but then the man moved toward me, uncuffing my wrist from the bedpost.
I didn't waste a second and instantly bolted straight to Alessandro, throwing my arms around him like I'd never let him go. His arms wrapped around me just as tightly, pulling me close, burying his face in the crook of my neck. I could feel his shaky breath against my skin, and then the soft press of his lips, leaving small kisses that made my heart ache even more.
Diego had made his choice—he'd let me and Luca go. But I knew what that meant for Alessandro. He'd stay behind, alone, with his father's wrath waiting for him.
