“Dominic. Don’t make this ugly.”
Dominic’s face went deathly still.
“It became ugly when you killed my wife.”
A silence.
Then Victor sighed. “Elena was reckless. She wanted to dismantle everything your father built. I preserved this family.”
“You sold us.”
“I saved us from your weakness.”
Dominic’s voice trembled with suppressed rage. “My weakness was trusting you.”
Victor laughed softly. “No. Your weakness is in that room with you. The girl. The waitress. The dead woman whose ghost still leads you by the throat.”
Grace forced the latch one more time.
It snapped.
The balcony door swung open.
Night air rushed in.
Dominic looked at Grace. “Take Sophie.”
Sophie clung to him. “No!”
This time, Dominic did not pull away.
He knelt, hands on her shoulders.
“Listen to me, Bug. I am not leaving you. I am standing between you and the man who hurt your mother. There is a difference.”
“You promise?”
His eyes filled.
“I promise with my whole life.”
Grace guided Sophie toward the balcony.
Then the studio door exploded open.
Victor entered with two gunmen.
Dominic fired first, hitting the chandelier chain above them.
The heavy light crashed down in a hail of glass and iron, forcing Victor’s men to retreat.
Grace lifted Sophie through the doors and onto the narrow iron platform. The wind whipped their faces. The greenhouse roof waited six feet down, slippery with rain.
“I can’t,” Sophie sobbed.
“You can,” Grace said. “Remember the dragons?”
“There are no dragons!”
“Then be one.”
Sophie looked at her.
Grace climbed over first, lowered herself, and dropped onto the glass. Pain flared in her ankle. She pushed it down.
“Jump to me.”
“I’m scared.”
“I know. Do it scared.”
Inside the studio, Dominic and Victor were yelling.
Sophie looked back once.
Dominic saw her.
Even with a weapon in his hand and betrayal in his face, his voice softened.
“Go, Sophie!”
She leaped.
Grace caught her awkwardly, both of them sliding on wet panels. A pane cracked under Grace’s weight. She shoved Sophie toward the roof ridge.
“Crawl. Don’t stand.”
They reached the far edge, where a trellis descended toward the lawn.
Below, Marcus emerged from the shadows with three loyal men.
“Grace!” he hissed.
Relief nearly shattered her.
She lowered Sophie first. Marcus caught the child and covered her with his coat.
Grace started down after her.
Then a shot rang out from the balcony.
A bullet hit the wood inches from Grace’s fingers.
She slipped.
For one weightless second, she saw the moon, the mansion, Sophie reaching up with both hands.
Then she fell.
She hit the ground hard enough to steal the air from her lungs.
Sophie screamed her name.
Grace couldn’t find her voice.
Above, on the balcony, Dominic and Victor grappled. The gun between them sparked in the red light.
Victor’s voice carried through the storm.
“You think she will love you when she knows what you are?”
Dominic slammed him against the rail. “She knows exactly what I am.”
“No,” Victor spat. “She knows what the waitress made you pretend to be.”
Dominic looked down.
He saw Sophie kneeling beside Grace, weeping. He saw Marcus protecting them. He saw Elena’s studio behind him, the room he had shunned because love hurt more than combat.
And finally, Dominic understood the choice.
Not whether to eliminate Victor.
That was easy.
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