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I look down, and his fingers squeeze around the machete he’s holding, its blade glistening with what looks like fresh blood. Yet, there’s a sense of power in the way he holds it, a promise of retribution.
Andrew’s eyes widen in shock as they flicker from Dion’s bloodied figure to the gleaming weapon in his hand. His face pales.
“How—” he stammers, his voice trembling. “How the fuck did you get out?”
Dion’s lips curl into a wicked smile as he takes a step forward, slowly closing the distance.
“Nothing in this world could’ve kept me from Aria today,” Dion’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife. “I would’ve sawed off my own feet if it meant putting an end to this wedding.”
“Dion, be careful,” I whisper, stepping toward him.
But Dion’s gaze remains fixed on Andrew, his jaw set with determination. “Move behind me, Aria,” he instructs.
I hesitate for a moment, torn between wanting to stay by his side and fearing what might happen if I intervene. I take a step back, swallowing the lump in my throat.
“I’ve waited long enough to get rid of you, you piece of shit. Soon, I’m going to bury you and dance on your fucking grave,” Dion seethes. I’ve never seen him this angry. Goosebumps rise along my skin.
“First, you hack into Aria’s phone and send me a message, making me believe that she was in danger, knowing I’d come for her. ‘Cause you weren’t man enough to face me alone.”
My jaw drops. Andrew did what?
Dion takes more steps. “Then, you lure me into a trap and keep me hostage for three fucking days.”
I gasp, hand flying to my mouth.
Dion’s chest is rising and falling at a rapid pace.
“You really thought I’d give up that easily, motherfucker?”
Andrew attempts to mask his fear, scoffing as he straightens. “Really, Dion?” he sneers, though his voice wavers slightly. “You think you can just barge in here and play the hero? I’ll have my men kill you.”
“What men?” Dion’s smile widens, his grip tightening on the bloodied machete. “I’m not playing, Andrew. This ends now.”
Andrew’s bravado falters. His hand darts to his jacket, and before I can fully process the movement, he pulls out a gun, aiming it at my head. My heart stops as a scream rips from my throat.
Dion’s voice cuts through my panic, calm and steady. “Aria, it’ll be okay. Trust me,” he says softly, never taking his gaze off Andrew. “I’ve got this.”
Dion takes a step forward, his movements slow and deliberate. “You don’t want to do this, Galanis. Put the gun down.”
Andrew’s hand shakes slightly, betraying the confidence he’s trying to project. “Stay back. I’m warning you.”
Dion’s expression remains unwavering, a picture of calm amidst the storm. “If you hurt her, there’ll be no going back for you. You know that. My clan is out there, and we won’t hesitate to kill you—very slowly.”
Andrew’s grip on the gun doesn’t waver, his eyes locked in a dangerous stare with Dion’s. In an attempt to distract him, I move toward the door, Andrew’s gaze following me. Dion takes the opportunity to charge forward.
The impact sends the gun flying from Andrew’s hand, and it skids across the floor.
I lurch for it, my fingers wrapping around the cold metal as I rise and point it at Andrew. My hands are trembling uncontrollably. I’ve never shot a gun before, but the resolve coursing through me tells me that I will if I have to.
Dion and Andrew clash violently, grunts and the sounds of fists connecting with flesh filling the room.
Somehow, Dion gains the upper hand, forcing Andrew to his knees.
With a final look, Dion lifts the machete high. “As you take your final breath, never forget that you’re worthless, and you’ll be remembered not for your power or your family name, but for your fucking failures. I hope you rot in fucking hell.”
Before Andrew can react, Dion brings the weapon down with a swing.
The blade slices through Andrew’s neck, and blood splatters everywhere, reaching my white wedding dress. He gurgles, choking on his own blood, before his body crumples to the floor, lifeless.
