Page 116 of Vows of Blood

My hand is shaking badly now. The knife slips against his bloody throat, my grip too slick with sweat and tears to hold steady. I want to push it deeper, to watch the life drain out of him and serve the punishment he deserves, but try as I might, I can't. My hand won't obey.

I pull the blade away from his skin, sobbing in frustration.

"I'm sorry." I'm looking at Luca, and only Luca. "I should have told you sooner." The sobs are coming harder now, my whole body shaking. "I wanted to be strong enough to do this for you. For us. But I can't."

Alfonso straightens, stepping back, and wipes the blood from his neck with a pristine white handkerchief. He looks at me with triumph, like I've just proven everything he ever thought about me.

"See?" He sneers at Luca, adjusting his cufflinks and collar. "She's no Calvano. Hasn’t got the stomach for it."

Luca says nothing, his eyes dropping to where I subconsciously cradle my lower stomach, remembering the heartbreaking pains that told me what I knew before any doctor confirmed it.

Alfonso pauses, a cruel smile spreading across his face. "You should be thanking me. It’s not too late to get an annul–"

Never looking away from me, not even for a millisecond, Luca’s hand moves, just an inch.

And fires.

37

LUCA

The gunshot echoes through the marquee ballroom.

My father's body crumples to the floor, his smug expression frozen in surprise, the neat hole in the middle of his forehead leaking red onto the white dancefloor. The handkerchief he was using to wipe away the blood from Sienna's blade work flutters down beside him.

There’s nothing but silence.

I feel nothing. No grief and certainly no regret, just a vast, hollow emptiness and the nagging feeling I should have done this a long time ago. In my hand, the sonogram, wrinkled now from how tightly I've been gripping it, is the only thing I care about.

That, and the woman currently staring at me, wide-eyed, with no idea what I’m about to do next.

From the corner of my eye, I see Fausto move, the old bulldog going for his gun, his loyalty to my father overriding every instinct of self-preservation.

Corso reaches for him, but Enzo is faster, firing off two shots in quick succession, center mass, and Fausto drops beside his master, his weapon clattering across the floor.

"Always wanted to do that." My brother steps over the body showing no remorse. "For what he did to you. Both of you."

Enraged, Ignacio roars, gun drawn, but before he can point it at Enzo, Mikhail steps forward, his hand slashing across Ignacio’s throat from behind, silver glinting under the lights. A river of blood cascades down his front as he falls to his knees, hands going to his open neck, before he too keels over.

“Jesus Christ,” Nico mutters as he stands over the carnage. So much for not making a scene at the wedding.

For a moment, nobody dares move. The ballroom is frozen, a tableau of shock and horror. The small number of remaining guests are pressed against canvas walls, hands over mouths, stunned at what they’ve just seen. One woman retches into her purse.

Then the chaos starts.

Shouting. Weapons being drawn. The thunder of feet as guests who want nothing to do with this carnage head for the exits.

“Shit,” Enzo mutters.

I look toward Corso and nod. He knows what to do, turning and running toward the entrance, fast for a man of his build, his finger pressed to the radio at his ear. He’ll ensure nobody leaves the property until they’ve been reminded what will happen if word of this gets out.

“Oh my god…” Rebecca’s shaking her head, backing away from the sight of three dead bodies piled on the dancefloor. She looks up, spots us watching her, and runs.

“Go.”

Enzo doesn’t need to be told twice, catching up with her before she can leave the tent. Despite her furious protests and indignant shouts, he manages to grab her arm, then swings her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and takes her elsewhere.

Nico, taller than almost everyone, moves through the crowd, calming down the panic, and assuring everyone there’s nothing to worry about. People listen to him, following his instructions like he’s directing queues at the airport and not leading our guests away from a crime scene.