The gunshot still echoed in Elena's ears like a bell that wouldn't stop ringing.
Luca staggered back, blood blooming fresh across his shoulder where Alexander's bullet had torn through. He didn't fall. He stayed on his feet, gun still raised, breathing hard through clenched teeth. Elena's heart slammed so violently she thought it might crack her ribs.
"Luca!" She lunged forward, catching him as he swayed. Her hands pressed over the wound, warm blood seeping between her fingers instantly.
Alexander was on one knee a few feet away, clutching his thigh where Luca's shot had hit. His face was twisted in pain, but his eyes still burned with that cold, endless hate.
"You should've let her die," he spat at Luca. "Would've been cleaner."
Luca's laugh came out broken and wet. "Never."
Elena kept pressure on his shoulder, tears blurring her vision. "Stay with me. Please. Don't you dare leave me now."
Marco groaned from the wall, trying to push himself up. "Elena… get away from him. Both of them."
She ignored her uncle. All she could see was Luca—his face pale, jaw locked against the pain, eyes locked on hers like she was the only thing keeping him upright.
"I'm still here," he rasped, his good hand coming up to cover hers where she pressed against his wound. His fingers were slick with blood, trembling. "Still scared. Still with you."
Alexander laughed weakly, pushing himself back against the wall. "Look at you two. Pathetic. Clinging to each other while your worlds burn. My mother died alone. In the street. Begging for help that never came. From either of your families."
Elena turned her head toward him, tears streaming down her face. "I'm sorry about your mother. I really am. But killing us won't bring her back. It won't fix the hole inside you. It'll just make it bigger."
Alexander's eyes narrowed. "You think pretty words will save you? After everything?"
"No," she said quietly. "But maybe stopping the cycle will. My father is dead. Your mother is dead. How many more people have to bleed before it's enough?"
For a long second, the hallway was silent except for heavy breathing and distant shouts from downstairs.
Alexander's gun lay on the floor between them. His hand twitched toward it.
Luca noticed. He tried to raise his own weapon again, but his injured arm wouldn't cooperate. Pain flashed across his face.
Elena made a decision.
She stepped forward—away from Luca—and kicked Alexander's gun farther down the hall, out of reach. Then she knelt in front of him, close enough to see the sweat on his brow and the raw grief hiding behind the hate in his eyes.
"End it here," she said softly. "Not with more death. Tell us what you want. Revenge? Justice? Or just someone to finally listen?"
Alexander stared at her like she'd grown a second head. His breathing was ragged. Blood pooled under his leg.
"You're just like her," he muttered. "My mother. Always trying to make peace. Always believing people could be better."
Luca slid down the wall to sit, still pressing his hand to his shoulder. His eyes never left Elena, fear and awe mixed together. "Elena… careful."
She didn't move. "I'm tired of careful. I'm tired of blood. My father is gone. Your mother is gone. We can keep killing each other until there's nothing left… or we can stop."
Marco coughed from the side. "Don't listen to her. He killed Vincenzo. He doesn't deserve mercy."
Alexander's gaze flicked to Marco, then back to Elena. Something in his face cracked—just a little.
"I planned this for years," he said, voice hoarse. "Watched you two fall in love the first time. Watched Luca leave. Watched you grieve. I thought if I took everything from you, it would feel like justice. But now…" He looked down at his bleeding leg. "Now I just feel tired."
Luca let out a shaky breath. "Then let it end. We can get you help. You don't have to die here."
Alexander laughed once, bitter. "Help? From the people who destroyed my mother? No thanks."
He reached into his jacket slowly. Luca tensed, ready to move despite his wounds.
But Alexander only pulled out a small, worn photograph. A young woman with dark hair and kind eyes—Maria. He stared at it for a long moment, thumb brushing over her face.
"I just wanted someone to pay," he whispered. "I wanted the pain to stop."
Elena's throat tightened. She reached out slowly and touched his arm—not threatening, just human. "The pain doesn't stop by making more of it. Let us help you. Let this be the end of the cycle."
Alexander looked at her hand on his arm. Then at Luca, bleeding but still trying to protect her. Then at Marco, watching with wary eyes.
For one fragile heartbeat, Elena thought he might agree.
Then his expression hardened again.
"No," he said quietly. "It ends with blood."
He moved fast—lunging for a hidden knife in his boot.
Luca reacted instantly, throwing himself forward despite the pain. He tackled Alexander, pinning the knife hand to the floor with his good arm. They struggled, grunting, blood smearing the marble.
Elena grabbed her gun from the floor and aimed it at Alexander, hands shaking violently.
"Stop!" she screamed. "Please stop!"
Alexander looked up at her, eyes wild. "Do it. End it. Or I will."
Luca's strength was fading. The wound on his shoulder was bleeding too freely now.
Elena's finger tightened on the trigger.
Tears poured down her face.
"I don't want to kill you," she sobbed. "But I won't let you take him from me."
Alexander smiled sadly. "Then pull the trigger, princess."
Luca looked at her over his shoulder. His eyes were full of fear, but also love—raw, messy, desperate love.
"Elena," he gasped. "It's okay. Do what you have to."
She couldn't.
Her hand dropped.
In that moment of hesitation, Alexander surged up, knife flashing.
Luca roared and slammed his elbow into Alexander's face.
The knife clattered away.
Alexander slumped back, unconscious from the blow.
Silence crashed down again.
Luca collapsed beside him, breathing ragged, blood pooling under his body.
Elena dropped to her knees between them, pressing her hands to Luca's shoulder, sobbing openly now.
"You idiot," she cried. "You stupid, brave idiot. Don't you dare die on me."
Luca's hand found hers, weak but warm. "Not… planning on it. Still… scared. Still… with you."
Marco groaned from the wall. "Call the damn doctor. Both of them."
Elena looked at her uncle through her tears. He gave a small, exhausted nod.
She pulled out her phone with bloody fingers and dialed.
As the line rang, she leaned down and pressed her forehead to Luca's, their blood mixing on the marble floor.
"We're still here," she whispered. "Still together. Still scared."
Luca's eyes fluttered, but he managed a tiny smile.
"Still… together," he echoed.
The night wasn't over.
Doctors were coming.
Alexander was alive—for now.
But in that blood-stained hallway, with her hand pressed to Luca's wound and his fingers weakly holding hers, Elena felt something shift.
They had faced the wolf.
They had chosen mercy where hate wanted death.
And whatever came next—pain, healing, or more blood—they would face it the same way.
Together.