Live A Little

Ch 37: Endings?

Nicolo's P.O.V:

The air was thick with the scent of blood and gunpowder, the remnants of battle hanging like a storm cloud above us. Elias lay unmoving in my arms, his breaths shallow, his life slipping through my fingers like sand.

"Stay with me," I murmured, pressing my hand against his wound in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. 

Alora knelt beside me, her hands trembling as she touched Elias's face. Tears streamed down her cheeks, painting streaks across the grime and dried blood that marred her skin. "You promised me forever," she whispered, her voice breaking, shattered with grief.

The warehouse was eerily silent for a moment John's men either unconscious or dead. But John still stood, his gun clutched tightly, eyes wild, desperate.

I tore my gaze from Elias, my fury sharpening into something deadly. "You don't get to walk away from this," I growled.

John gave a hollow laugh, raising his weapon. "Neither do you."

The shot rang out, but this time, I was ready.

I lunged sideways, the bullet grazing my shoulder instead of tearing into my chest. A sharp sting burned through me, but I ignored it. Fueled by rage, I launched myself at John, knocking the weapon from his hands and sending us both crashing onto the cold warehouse floor.

He fought like a cornered beast—wild, erratic—but I had something he didn't. Purpose.

Alora.

Elias.

All the years he had stolen from me.

My fist connected with his jaw, the crack of bone resonating through my knuckles. "You're done," I snarled, pinning him beneath me. He struggled, thrashing, his face contorted with hatred.

"You don't get to win," he hissed, spitting blood.

"I already have."

His glare faltered for just a second, the realization sinking in.

Bruno and Alex rushed forward, securing John's arms behind his back. He screamed, cursed, but he was powerless now.

I stood, chest heaving, turning back toward Alora. She still clung to Elias, shaking, whispering his name as though sheer will could bring him back.

Help was coming—but it might be too late.

I knelt beside her, gripping her shoulders gently. "Alora," I whispered.

She looked up at me, lost, broken.

"He's not gone yet," I said, though the words felt like a fragile thread of hope. "We fight for him. Just like he fought for you."

Her lips trembled, but she nodded, pressing a shaking hand against Elias's chest, holding on.

Alora's P.O.V:

Elias's blood stained my hands, soaking into my skin as I pressed against his wound with every ounce of strength I had left. His breathing was shallow, erratic, each exhale weaker than the last.

I refused to let go.

"Dad!" My voice cracked as I turned to Nicolo, desperation clawing at my throat. "He's—he's not waking up!"

Alex sprinted across the warehouse, tearing through the remains of the battle to find something—anything—to keep Elias alive.

Bruno knelt beside me, his usual confidence replaced by grim determination. "Alora, listen to me," he said firmly. "You need to keep him talking. Don't let him drift."