Chapter 26 Marco bursts through the door with his team just as the last echoes of gunfire fade. We'd held Lorenzo's men off for nearly thirty minutes before Marco's backup arrived-thirty minutes of pure hell where Dante and I fought like our lives depended on it. Because they did. I'm still holding my gun, breathing hard from the fight, and I see the exact moment my brother registers the scene-me standing over bodies, weapon steady in my hands. "Out," he orders his men. The single word carries enough authority that they disappear instantly, leaving just the three of us among the carnage. "Marco," Dante starts. "Don't." My brother's voice is pure ice. "Just...don't." I step between them, not missing how both men tense. "If you're going to hit someone, hit me. I started this." "Did you?" Marco's laugh is harsh. "Because from where I'm standing, my best friend-the man I trusted to protect my little sister-took advantage⁠-" "Don't you dare." My voice drops dangerously. "Don't you dare make this cheap and tawdry. Dante has never taken advantage of me." "You're twenty-two!" Marco says loudly. "I stopped being a child a long time ago!" The words explode out of me. "How about when I tricked Matteo DeLuca when I busted Elena out of the hospital? How about when I helped take down Anthony Calabrese? When I broke into his financial systems to help save Elena and Stella! When I learned exactly how dark our world really is and decided I wanted to be part of the solution instead of hiding from it!" Marco flinches. "That was different⁠-" "Was it? Because I sure as hell remember you being proud then. Proud of how I helped save them. Proud of my skills." I gesture at the dead men around us. "Or is it only okay for me to be dangerous when I'm doing it for you?" Marco's face crumples. "Sofia⁠-" "Test me." He blinks. "What?" "You taught me to fight. You and Dante both." I move to the center of the room, stepping over spent shell casings, assuming the stance he drilled into me countless times. "So test me. See what I've become." For a moment, I think he'll agree. Then Marco shakes his head. "I'm not fighting my little sister to prove some point about⁠-" "There it is." I drop my stance, hands on my hips. "Little sister. That's all you see, isn't it? Even standing here surrounded by men I killed to protect myself and Dante." "Sofia-" "What are you so afraid of, Marco? That you might actually have to acknowledge I'm not a child anymore?" I step closer, my voice turning sharp. "Or are you scared you might lose?" A muscle ticks in his cheek. "That's not⁠-" "Prove it then." I circle him slowly, like a predator sizing up prey. "Unless the great Marco Renaldi is too scared to fight a twenty-two-year-old girl." "Stop," he snaps. "Why? Afraid I might embarrass you in front of your best friend?" I can see the anger building in his eyes, exactly what I need. "Afraid Dante might see that his precious mentor couldn't even⁠-" "Enough!" Marco's control finally snaps, and he moves. He's stronger, more experienced, and his reach is longer than mine. But I'm faster. Unpredictable. I slip his first jab, counter with an elbow strike that he barely blocks. He grunts, surprised by the force behind it. I use everything Dante taught me-the dirty moves, the psychological warfare, the way to turn an opponent's strength against them. "Remember when you used to let me win at sparring?" I taunt as I circle him. "When you'd pull your punches because you thought I was too fragile?" The words hit their mark. Marco's face flashes with guilt, and I exploit the hesitation. When he throws a hook, I don't just dodge; I catch his wrist, use his momentum to spin him around, drive my knee toward his ribs. "You're still holding back," I hiss in his ear as he blocks. "Just like you held back the truth about what this life really costs." He pivots, triying to grab me in a hold that would have worked on the little girl he remembers. But I'm not her anymore. I drop low, sweep his legs⁠- His elbow catches me across the jaw as I come up, a sharp crack that sends stars exploding across my vision. The blow sends me staggering backward, tasting blood. Dante yells something I can't hear. "Sofia!" The horror in Marco's voice is immediate, his hands already reaching for me. "Christ, I'm sorry, I didn't mean⁠-" But that moment of guilt, that flash of the overprotective brother, is exactly what I need. I spit blood and smile. "There's the Marco I know. Always apologizing for treating me like I can actually fight." I'm on him before he can respond, using his shock against him. I grab his extended arm, use his own momentum to throw him over my shoulder. He hits the ground hard, and I'm there instantly, knee on his chest, hand positioned at his throat. "The difference between us," I say quietly, "is that I stopped pulling my punches the day someone tried to kill me for real." "Shit," he breathes, rolling to his feet and recognizing the throw Dante perfected during our training sessions. There's new respect in his eyes now, mixed with something that might be fear. We circle each other, both breathing hard. The playful sparring is over-this is real combat now, and we both know it. "You've gotten faster," he admits grudgingly. "I've gotten desperate," I counter. "There's a difference." He feints left then goes right, but I read it coming. I've learned to read violence in men's eyes, learned to see death approaching in the split second before it strikes. Marco's just sparring, testing me. The men who tried to kill me weren't playing games. I let him think the feint worked, stumbling slightly to the right then pivoting at the last second and catching him off balance. My elbow drives toward his solar plexus-not hard enough to really hurt but enough to wind him. As he doubles over, gasping, I sweep behind him. When I finally pin him-arm twisted behind his back, my knee against his spine, my other hand positioned where I could strike a killing blow if this were real-we're both breathing hard. But there's something completely different in his eyes when he looks at me over his shoulder. Not his little sister. Not anymore. "Jesus Christ," he mutters as I release him and help him up. "When did you learn that counter?" I swipe away blood from my mouth. "When I stopped waiting for someone to save me." I offer him my hand. After a moment's hesitation, he takes it. "When I realized I needed to save myself." Something fundamental shifts in his expression. The way he looks at me-it's like seeing me for the first time. Really seeing me. He turns to Dante, who hasn't moved from his position by the window. "You taught her that move." It's not a question. "She learned it herself," Dante responds quietly. "I just showed her how to refine it." Marco studies us both for a long moment-Dante's protective stance even while giving me space to fight my own battles, the way I automatically position myself where I can watch both men and the door, the easy communication that exists between us without words. "You're not kids playing house," he says slowly, realization dawning. "This is real. You're really..." He runs a hand through his hair, looking suddenly older. "You're partners. In everything." Before either of us can respond, Dante's secure phone chimes with an urgent alert. The pattern makes my blood run cold when I see his face-something's very wrong. "Multiple breaches at the Renaldi estate," Dante reports, checking the encrypted message. "They're targeting⁠-" "The house files," I finish, already pulling up the security system on the laptop. "Lorenzo's panicking," I say, scrolling through messages. "He knows we have-he's trying to destroy evidence before the Council meeting." I look up. "We need to move. Like, now. They're sweeping everything." Marco pulls out his own phone, checking family security feeds. "How did they get past the new protocols?" "Because Lorenzo designed them." The betrayal still tastes bitter. "He's been planning this for a long time." I study the timeline of attacks and betrayals. The pattern goes back further than I initially thought. "This goes back years. Longer than we realized." Marco's studying the timeline too, his face growing darker. "Dante, that first assignment Lorenzo gave you when you were⁠-" "Not now, Marco," Dante cuts him off sharply, but something dark and haunted flickers in his eyes. I look between them, sensing undercurrents I don't understand. "What assignment?" "Viktor and Dominic's men are setting up a perimeter around the estate," Dante adds, scanning reports and clearly trying to change the subject. "They're working together with Lorenzo." "Good." Both men look at me sharply. I meet their stares. "Let them think they have us running scared. Divided. It's exactly what we need." Marco's face clears. "You want to spring the trap early." "Lorenzo's desperate. Making mistakes." I pull up the estate blueprints. "We use that." "It's too dangerous," both men say simultaneously. I can't help my laugh. "Now you agree on something?" Marco studies me for a long moment-really looks at me, seeing not his little sister but the woman I've become. The fighter. The strategist. The equal partner standing beside Dante. Then he looks at Dante. "You love her." It's not a question. "Yes." Dante's voice leaves no room for doubt. "And if I ordered you to walk away?" Marco challenges Dante. "Choose your loyalty to me over⁠-" "I'd choose her." Simple. Final. "I'll always choose her." The silence is deafening. I hold my breath, watching my brother process this new reality-that his best friend's loyalty has shifted, that his little sister has grown into someone who commands that kind of devotion. Finally, Marco nods once. It's a small gesture, but it carries the weight of acceptance. Of recognition. Of letting go. "The estate has tunnels," he says quietly. "Ones Lorenzo doesn't know about. Father showed them to me when I turned eighteen. Emergency escape routes from the old days." Relief makes me dizzy. "Show me." As we plan our counterattack, I catch both men watching me-Marco with dawning acceptance and something that might be pride, Dante with fierce protectiveness and love. My brother and my lover. My protectors turned partners. "When this is over," Marco says quietly, "we're having a very long talk about appropriate age gaps and what happens to men who hurt my sister." I squeeze his hand. "After we save our family?" "After." His smile is grim but genuine. "Assuming Lorenzo leaves enough of us alive to have that conversation." Dante's phone chimes again. His face goes ashen as he reads the message, all color draining from his features. "What is it?" I ask, dread pooling in my stomach. "Mario found something in Lorenzo's old files." Dante's voice is tight with controlled fury. "He's been building a case against the family for months. Documenting every 'unauthorized action' we've taken." I swallow heavily. "What kind of case?" "Evidence that the Renaldis have gone rogue. That we're operating outside Council authority." Dante shows me the screen. "Your rescue from the auction house-he's the one who has been framing it as an unprovoked attack on legitimate businessmen. The warehouse raid, the safe house raids-all of it documented as proof we're destabilizing the peace." Marco goes very still beside me. "He's setting us up to be declared enemies of the Council." "Gets worse," Dante continues, scrolling through more files. "He's already got three families ready to vote for sanctions. Tomorrow's emergency meeting isn't about protecting us from Viktor and Dominic-it's about putting us on trial." My stomach plummets as I truly process the full scope of Lorenzo's betrayal. It wasn't just about selling me to Viktor. It was about destroying my entire family, piece by piece. "Tell me everything," I say softly, though part of me doesn't want to know. The look Dante gives me is full of sympathy. Whatever comes next will determine whether the Renaldi name survives the night. In a romance-themed observation show, several participants undergo a series of interactions and conflicts filled with love, misunderstandings, and power struggles. In the end, one couple rises to over...