THE BLOOD OF THE ROSSI EMPIRE

Lorenzo stared at me, and I saw a lifetime of pain in his eyes. He slowly lowered his weapon, dropping it to the wooden floor with a heavy thud. He raised his hands in surrender.

"Take the empire, Dante," Lorenzo said, his voice surprisingly steady. "Take the money, the territory, all of it. Just let the woman and the child go."

"You always were weak, brother," Dante laughed, pressing the barrel harder against my skull. "You think I can leave a legitimate heir alive? You think I'd let a witness walk? I'm going to kill her, then the boy, and then I'm going to make you watch before I gut you."

Dante was so focused on gloating at Lorenzo that he didn't realize the fatal mistake he had made. He had underestimated the maid.

I still had Lorenzo's heavy silver hairpin—one I had found in the master bathroom weeks ago and used to hold up my uniform hair—tucked in my pocket. Moving with lightning speed, I drove my elbow backward directly into Dante’s ribs, at the same exact moment I ripped the sharp metal pin from my pocket and jammed it viciously into his thigh.

Dante shrieked, his grip loosening for a fraction of a second.

That was all Lorenzo needed.

Before Dante could recover his aim, Lorenzo drew a hidden knife from his boot and threw it with terrifying precision. The blade buried itself in Dante’s throat. The traitor gargled on his own blood, his eyes wide with shock, before collapsing backward onto the ruined floorboards.

I fell to my knees, gasping for air. Lorenzo was beside me in a second, pulling me into a desperate, crushing embrace. He buried his face in my neck, shaking violently as the adrenaline left him.