The morning sun rose quietly over Italy, but peace didn't last long. Lorenzo woke before dawn, something inside him feeling wrong — a deep, heavy tension that pressed against his chest. He stood by the window, staring at the horizon, his instincts whispering that the quiet was about to break.
For seven months, he'd waited. For seven months, there had been no word from Elena's father. But monsters never die quietly. They hide. They plan. And when they strike, they strike to destroy.
Downstairs, his men were already restless. The guards on night duty had reported movement near the north end of the estate — shadows slipping through the trees, headlights flickering in the dark. Lorenzo grabbed his gun and went down, his expression cold and sharp.
"Double the patrols," he ordered Moretti. "Lock down the gates. No one gets in or out without my word."
"Yes, boss," Moretti replied, already moving fast.
Upstairs, Elena was still asleep, her body fragile but glowing with life. She turned slightly in bed, her hand resting over her belly. Lorenzo walked back up, knelt beside her, and brushed his thumb over her fingers.
"Stay safe for me, bella," he whispered. "I'll end this today. For you. For our child."
He kissed her forehead softly, then stood and loaded his gun.
By noon, the first explosion hit.
The mansion walls shook violently, sending birds scattering from the garden. Elena woke up in panic, holding her stomach as dust and smoke filled the air.
"Lorenzo!" she screamed, rushing to the window. She could see his men running, shouting orders, guns blazing. The sound of bullets cracked like thunder.
She tried to open the door, but it was locked from the outside — Lorenzo's doing. He'd locked her in his private suite, just as he'd promised if war ever came. Tears streamed down her face as she banged against the door.
"Let me out! Lorenzo!"
Downstairs, the battle raged. Lorenzo stood in the courtyard, his black shirt stained with blood — not his own. His eyes burned with fury. He'd waited for this. He'd been ready for this.
From the smoke emerged the one man he'd been waiting for.
Elena's father.
He looked older, more broken, but still wore that cruel smirk that made Lorenzo's blood boil. And beside him — Elena's stepmother, dressed in black leather, holding a gun, her lips curved in a wicked smile.
"So," her father sneered, "the mighty Lorenzo finally comes out to play."
"You should've stayed buried," Lorenzo replied, his voice calm, deadly.
Her father laughed darkly. "You took my daughter. You turned her against me. You ruined everything I built."
"You ruined her," Lorenzo shot back. "You made her into something she never wanted to be. You took her peace, her childhood, her mother's love. But you won't take her future."
Gunfire erupted again, the men on both sides opening fire. Bullets tore through the walls, shattering glass, igniting cars. Smoke and fire spread through the yard as screams filled the air.
Inside the locked room, Elena could hear every shot. Her heart pounded like a drum, her breath shaking as she tried to find a way out. She went to the window, desperate, and started banging on the glass with a flower vase until it shattered. She climbed out slowly, ignoring the pain, her only thought — Lorenzo.
Outside, the battle grew bloodier. Lorenzo's men fell one after another, but he didn't stop. He fought through the smoke, through the chaos, until he finally faced Elena's father again — just a few feet apart.
"This ends today," Lorenzo said, raising his gun.
Her father smiled bitterly. "You're too late. You'll never see her again."
But before he could pull the trigger, a voice shouted from behind.
"Stop!"
It was Elena. Her hair was wild, her face pale, her hands shaking as she pointed a gun straight at her father.
"Don't you dare lie again!" she cried. "You've taken enough from me!"
Her father looked at her — almost laughing. "You think you can shoot me, Elena? I'm your blood."
"I bled enough because of you," she said coldly.
A single gunshot echoed.
Her father staggered, eyes wide, then fell to the ground — the life leaving him as his blood soaked the dirt.
Lorenzo stood still for a moment, watching the man's body fall. Then he walked over, grabbed Elena gently, and turned her away from the sight. "It's over, amore mio. He can't hurt you anymore."
But not everyone was dead.
Behind them, her stepmother tried to crawl away. Lorenzo's men surrounded her, guns raised.
"Don't kill her," Elena said quietly, wiping her tears. "Let her rot in prison."
Lorenzo nodded, his expression hard. "Take her away."
Moretti pulled her up roughly, dragging her toward the cars waiting outside. The woman screamed and cursed, but no one listened.
Elena fell into Lorenzo's arms, her whole body trembling. He held her close, whispering into her hair, "It's done. It's all over."
The flames from the battlefield reflected in their eyes as the last of the gunfire faded into silence.
For the first time in years, Elena's world was finally still.