Chapter 163: The Sacred Art Of Having No Survival Instincts

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My voice felt small, swallowed by the tension in the room, but Lorenzo’s eyes flicked to me, and Dante turned sharply in my direction.

I adjusted Emil against my chest, ignoring Timothy’s instinct to move closer to protect us.

"No," I pressed, finding more strength in my anger than I expected. "You don’t get to just stand there and accuse him of murdering your wife like just saying it loud enough will make it true somehow."

Dante looked at me in disbelief, probably shocked that the random omega he’d spent the evening insulting had the audacity to speak up, even with danger looming.

"Stay out of this!"

"I’d really love to. This is a family matter...blah blah blah, I’m just a random Omega... whatever the fuck you think of me. But you’ve aimed a gun at my husband, accused him of murder. So yeah, unfortunately, it is my fucking business!"

"Alex," Lorenzo warned softly.

I stole a glance at him and for the first time, I noticed fear in his expression, even if he’d probably rather swallow nails than admit it.

He didn’t want me involved because he was trying to protect me, which was sweet but inconvenient.

I wasn’t the type to shut up and stand by when dumb shit was happening.

One of these days, that trait might just get me killed.

But whatever...

"Lorenzo is many things," I went on, turning back to Dante, "and I’ve seen enough of his controlling nature to write a complaint about it. He can be arrogant, stubborn, and emotionally closed off to the point where I half-wonder if he needs a therapist to dig his damn feelings out. But he wouldn’t murder his own nephew’s mother."

Dante’s face darkened, but I didn’t stop.

"I’ve seen what losing his mother did to him...to all of you. I know what happened, and I know how he bears that loss even now. Do you really think a man who still blames himself for not saving the people he loves would cause that kind of pain to someone else? That he would kill Elizabeth just to look better to your father?"

My voice shook, and I hated that it did because I wanted every word to hit hard.

"If you have evidence, investigate it properly, goddamn it! Find out why his car was there, and why Elizabeth said his name, and who else knew what happened that day. Don’t take a few questionable details, twist them to fit your narrative, and call that justice you idiot!"

The room fell completely silent.

Even Matteo seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, while several guards looked at me like they’d just seen someone poke a tiger and then complain about its roaring.

Dante was fuming.

"You arrogant little omega!" he spat. "You’re just a nobody who married into this family, an illegitimate Sinclair son who knows nothing about us! You have no clue what happened, and you sure don’t get to lecture me about my wife!"

"You’re right about one thing," I replied, lifting my chin defiantly. "I didn’t know Elizabeth, and I sure wasn’t there when she died. That’s exactly why I’m not acting like I know who killed her."

His gun swung toward me, and the sudden motion drained the color from my face.

But what terrified me more was the way the whole room seemed to collectively hold its breath.

Wow...oh shit.

Emil was pressed against my chest, his small face hidden in my shoulder, and Dante’s weapon was now aimed in our direction.

For just a split second, even some of his own men hesitated.

I got it. No matter what Dante had become, he was still Emil’s father, and his son was caught in this mess.

My heart raced in my throat, but I held my ground, refusing to look away.

"Go ahead," I challenged him, my voice shaky despite my effort to sound steady. "Try it."

"Donna, don’t provoke him," Timothy urged, shifting slightly to shield me.

"I’m not provoking him," I whispered back, even though we both knew that was a stretch. "I’m just giving him a chance to make the worst choice of his life."

"Alex."

"I know, I know. Bad timing for a commentary."

Dante’s grip on the gun trembled, and his gaze flicked briefly to Emil before snapping back to me.

I was betting on the fact that he wouldn’t shoot with his son so close, but I also knew better than to underestimate a desperate man.

Then Lorenzo spoke up.

"Point that gun at my husband again," he said, his voice chilling enough that even the guards stiffened, "and I will kill you where you stand."

I’d heard Lorenzo make threats before, sometimes so casually that you’d think ordering a coffee was a matter of life and death, but this was different.

There was no performance in his tone, no calculated attempt to scare Dante into compliance.

He meant it.

"I was ready to let you walk away tonight," Lorenzo continued, still aiming at his brother. "You’re my brother, and despite everything, I wanted to believe there was a way to fix things without tearing our family apart. I was willing to consider forgiveness."

His eyes narrowed, and the tension in the air thickened.

"But you will not threaten Alex. You will not insult him, and you will never again point a weapon at him while I’m in the room."

Dante’s face twisted with fury, and for a fleeting moment, I thought he might lower his gun.

Instead, he yanked his arm back toward Lorenzo, maybe to change his aim, or maybe just unable to accept he was losing control.

But he didn’t get the chance.

Lorenzo moved in a flash.

He closed the gap between them in an instant, knocked Dante’s gun aside, and struck him hard across the temple with the butt of his weapon.

It was a controlled blow, precise, and Dante crumpled before he could ever pull the trigger.

And even more ehaos erupted in the dining room in that moment.