Page 149 of Auctioned Innocence
More of Viktor’s men emerge from concealed positions, sensing their chance to end this. The chamber fills with the deafening roar of automatic weapons as both sides unleash everything they have.
I move like a man possessed, advancing through the hailstorm of bullets with single-minded determination. Every shot I fire is for Sofia, for Marco, for the family that took me in and made me whole. The marble columns around me explode under concentrated fire, filling the air with dust and debris.
Sofia finally looks up from Marco, her face streaked with tears and blood, and for a moment our eyes meet across the chaos. In that look, I see everything—her fear, her determination, her absolute trust that I’ll protect them both.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Uncle.” Her voice cuts through the gunfire, steady despite her tears. “You never raised me. You just taught me exactly what I never wanted to become.”
She draws her sidearm with one hand while keeping pressure on Marco’s wound with the other, firing blind over her shoulder at James’s position. It’s an impossible shot, but somehow she clips him, sending him stumbling back with a curse.
The battle reaches a fever pitch as a DeLuca backup sniper—positioned on the opposite balcony—finally gets a clear shot at James. The traitorous security chief crumples without another word, his weapon clattering to the marble floor below.
Lorenzo spins toward the new threat, firing wildly, his wounded state making him clumsy. More of Viktor’s men converge on our position, but they’re fighting desperate people now. People with everything to lose.
Sofia and I become something beyond human in that moment—a force of nature unleashed in marble halls. When Viktor himself tries to escape through a side exit, Sofia’s shot takes him in the leg, sending him sprawling. My follow-up shot ensures he won’t be running anywhere again.
The remaining gunmen make their final push, emerging from cover in a coordinated assault. But they’re facing Marco’s men now—men who’ve been protecting the Renaldi family for decades, fighting not just for duty but for love.
Lorenzo, desperate and bleeding, makes one final play—pulling a grenade from his jacket with his good hand, madness gleaming in his eyes.
“If I can’t have this family’s empire,” he snarls, “then no one can!”
The explosion, when it comes, isn’t from his grenade.
It’s from the flash-bang Marco’s team throws through the upper windows. In the mayhem of blinding light and deafeningnoise, our people systematically take down Lorenzo’s remaining forces.
When the smoke clears and my vision returns, Lorenzo lies motionless on the gallery floor, brought down by the very chaos he tried to create. Viktor writhes on the ground, clutching his wounded leg, completely neutralized.
Marco’s still unconscious, still bleeding, but his chest rises and falls steadily.
“We need medical!” Sofia’s voice cracks as she maintains pressure on his wound. “Now!”
Matteo DeLuca appears at our side, his expensive suit torn from the firefight, concern etched deep in his sharp face. “I’ve got people outside,” he says tersely, already activating his comm device. “Medical team, emergency entry, Council chambers. Marco Renaldi down, GSW to the chest.”
Mario kneels beside Sofia, adding his pressure to the wound with practiced efficiency. “Marco has seen worse,” he tells her, though his eyes are worried. “He’s strong. Stubborn as hell, just like a certain Renaldi girl I know.”
“Already responding,” comes the voice through Matteo’s comm. “Paramedics entering the building now.”
I gather Sofia close as the medical team rushes in, letting her bury her face in my chest while they work on Marco. She’s trembling—not with fear, but with the energy crash that follows mortal combat.
“He’ll be okay,” I whisper into her hair, watching the paramedics efficiently stabilize Marco’s condition. “You have to believe that he will be okay.”
But even as I say it, I can’t shake the image of Sofia crouched over Marco’s bleeding form, choosing his life over her own safety without hesitation. The way she looked so small and terrified and utterly determined to save him.
It’s a reminder, beyond any doubt, that I would do anything for this woman. Burn down the world, tear apart empires, face any enemy—anything to keep that kind of anguish from her face ever again.
“Don’t leave me,” she says softly as they prepare to load Marco into the ambulance. Her hand finds mine, grip desperate.
“Never,” I promise, helping her into the back of the ambulance. “We face everything together now.”
But first, we turn to the Council—still assembled, still watching, having witnessed Viktor’s conspiracy unfold in real time.
“The evidence on that drive,” Sofia says to the Council leader, her voice carrying despite her exhaustion, “contains everything. Lorenzo’s communications with Viktor, the financial transfers, the systematic campaign to frame multiple families. All of it.”
The elderly man nods gravely. “We’ll convene an emergency session to review everything. The Renaldi family’s honor will be restored.”
Only then does Sofia allow herself to collapse into my arms as we race toward the hospital.
As we follow the ambulance through the city streets, I hold her hand and pray to whoever’s listening that we haven’t traded one victory for an even greater loss.
