Chapter 28

Chapter

Twenty-Eight

I open my eyes and see my father hovering over me, his face a mixture of relief and urgency. My body feels light, whole again, the weakness and pain washed away. I pull myself up, the sudden rush of strength almost disorienting. "What the hell did you give me?" I demand, my voice rasping.

"Later," my father snaps, urgency in his tone. "Your brother needs help."

I stagger to my feet, still unsteady but stronger than I've felt in months. Beside me, Luca rises to his knees, blinking in confusion. Whatever my father injected us with, it's working.

Luca's voice is strained, filled with disbelief. "I thought I was dead."

"Not yet, little brother." I offer him my hand and pull him up.

We turn, ready to rejoin the fight, when suddenly Marku is above us, perched on the altar like a vengeful demon, his sword slicing through the air, aiming for our necks. I barely have time to react when a flash of movement catches my eye. Mia crashes into Marku's knees, sending him sprawling off the altar. His sword swings wildly, catching Mia across the chest and burying itself deep.

She falls, collapsing like a marionette with its strings cut.

"Nooooo!" My scream echoes through the Duomo, raw and broken. I lunge forward, catching her before she hits the stone floor, cradling her in my arms. Her eyes flutter open, glassy with pain. Blood trickles from the corner of her mouth, staining her lips red. It pools beneath her, a crimson tide that spreads across the cold stone. I've never felt rage like this; so fierce it blinds me. I turn, fury burning through my veins. Marku stands, and I launch myself at him with bare hands, no thought, only the overwhelming need to destroy.

I gouge his throat, ripping away his flesh, pounding my fists into his chest with every ounce of strength and hatred I possess. Bones crack and collapse under the force of my blows. I grab his head, fingers digging into his skull, and with a roar of pure, unrestrained fury, I wrench it from his body. The sound is sickening, wet and final. I fling his severed head down the aisle, my scream reverberating through the vast, hollow space of the Duomo.

The entire church falls into stunned silence, the echoes of my anguish hanging in the air. The remaining vampires retreat, scrambling for the doors, vanishing into the night like rats fleeing a sinking ship. Distant sirens wail, the Carabinieri are on their way, but I don't care. I don't care about anything but Mia.

I drop to the floor beside her, panic and despair flooding me. Her eyes track my movements, barely clinging to consciousness. " La mia tigre , what were you thinking?" My voice breaks, thick with fear.

Her lips move, but no sound comes out. My brothers and father gather around us, their faces tight with grief. "Lorenzo," my father urges, his voice strained. "We must leave. We have no more than a few minutes."

"No, I won't leave her." I hold Mia closer, my heart splintering. "Mia, I'm so sorry," I whisper, my voice choked with guilt and helplessness.

"You… live… couldn't… let… you die," she gasps, every word a struggle. She closes her eyes against the pain, then opens them again, managing a faint, bloodstained smile. "I… love… you." Her eyelids flutter shut, and I feel the warmth of her life slipping away.

"Mia. Mia!" I plead, shaking her, but she doesn't respond. Her breathing is faint, a fragile thread holding her to this world. "Stay with me. You can't die, not now, not like this."

"Lorenzo." My father's hand grips my shoulder, but I shrug him off, refusing to listen.

"I won't leave her."

"She is dying. You cannot save her."

"But I can, Father." I turn to him, my eyes fierce with determination. "I can save her."

My father's expression shifts from sorrow to shock. "You can't change her. You mustn't. Turned vampires are seen as scum. She will never be accepted. You'll be scorned for having her as your wife. She can never be queen as a turned vampire. The Fondatori kings will never allow it."

I want to shout at him, to tell him I don't care, that I would endure any scorn for her. But deep down, I know he's right. It's not just about the politics; it's about Mia. She doesn't want to be a vampire. She called us monsters, and I can't turn her into something she would despise. I won't do that to her. I won't go against the wishes of the woman I love even if my very soul will die with her.

"There has to be another way." My gaze drops to the sword embedded in her chest, and a desperate idea forms. "Father, take the vampires to the roof. The sun will rise soon. It will turn them to ash, and no one will know they were ever here."

"Lorenzo," my father begins, his tone heavy with warning.

"Go, Father. You said it yourself—we don't have much time."

With a reluctant nod, my father uses his vampire speed and strength to drag the bodies out of the sanctuary, racing against time. I turn to my brothers, desperation tightening my throat. "Nico, Luca, I need your help. You can say no if you want, but I have to ask."

Nico's hand lands on my shoulder, firm and steady. "Whatever it is, we're with you."

Mia's heart stutters, weaker with every second. I swallow hard, fighting back tears. "Give me your knife, Luca."

Without hesitation, Luca hands me his blade.

"I'm going to cut my wrist and pull the sword from Mia. If I mix my blood with hers—and if you two will do the same—it might be enough to heal her. Will you help me?"

Luca doesn't hesitate but takes his knife back and slices his wrist open, the dark blood welling up instantly. Nico follows suit, his face grim but resolute. Nico hands the knife back to me.

I nod, my gratitude too deep for words. "Thank you," I whisper. It's all I can manage.

I pull the sword from Mia's chest, her blood flowing freely. Without wasting another second, I slash my wrist. The three of us stand over her, bleeding into her wounds, our blood mixing in a desperate attempt to resurrect her. We're on the altar where my mother was murdered for seeking ultimate power, but I'm not seeking power—I'm begging for a miracle. If I believed in the God this Duomo was built to worship, I'd be praying. Instead, I wait, clinging to the fragile flame of hope flickering in my heart.