Please Divorce Me, Alpha! {BL}

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The knife was on its way down, and for whatever reason, that was the only thought my mind could latch onto.

Not the gunfire ringing out somewhere behind the vehicles, not the shouting, not the throbbing pain shooting through my cheek where I’d taken a hit, not even the fact that I was flat on the cold pavement with a masked guy holding me down. Just the knife.

The blade glinted in the overhead light, bright and unsettlingly pristine, and I stared at it, hoping that if I looked hard enough, it might just vanish. It didn’t.

My heart raced so wildly I thought it might actually break free from my ribs. The chill of the asphalt seeped through my clothes, and every shallow breath tasted like dust, blood, and raw, unfiltered panic.

So this was it, after everything. After months spent dreaming of escaping my family, after enduring my father’s cruelty, after being dragged into a marriage I never wanted, after counting down the days until I could finally leave Lorenzo Castelli and start fresh, this was how it all ended.

Not traveling, not exploring the world, not finding some small apartment where I could go unnoticed, eating instant noodles without judgment, not even getting to finish the horror novels I’d just bought. I hadn’t even cracked open the first Chapter.

Honestly, that felt a bit cruel. The bag of carefully selected books was still somewhere in the wrecked SUV, and the thought that I might die without ever opening that limited edition hardcover felt like the universe’s mean-spirited joke.

My eyes burned, and I squeezed them shut. This is how you die, Alex, I thought, and oddly enough, that thought felt strangely calm.

Maybe my brain had finally decided that panicking wasn’t helping anymore. I wondered if anyone would actually mourn me.

Frederick would have.

That thought hit me harder than I expected, the quiet certainty of it settling in my chest like a weight I wasn’t ready for. Leon probably would too.

Maybe Mateo would make some inappropriate joke about my ass at my funeral and end up getting punched by Lorenzo.

And Lorenzo. My throat tightened. I didn’t want to think about him, but his name popped into my mind anyway. I wondered if he would actually care.

That was kind of funny, considering he’d spent months treating our marriage like it was a temporary arrangement, and now that he finally decided he wanted me, I was apparently about to become a corpse.

Maybe he’d be angry, maybe devastated, or maybe he’d just stand there, looking completely unfazed while everyone else cried, because that was Lorenzo’s style.

For crying out loud, he didn’t shed a tear when his own father passed away.

He never seemed to crack, not where anyone could see.

I swallowed. Sorry, I thought, though I didn’t even know who I was apologizing to.

Maybe myself. Maybe the life I didn’t get to live.

Then a gunshot shattered the night. It wasn’t like the others. This one was clean, precise, almost deafening in its abruptness.

The man on top of me screamed, his weight shifting suddenly before he collapsed sideways. I opened my eyes, and for a moment, I couldn’t process what had just happened.

The knife slipped from his hand as he grabbed at his leg, shouting through gritted teeth.

I stared at him wondering what interrupted my epic death scene, then slowly lifted my gaze.

Lorenzo stood several meters away, his gun still raised, his expression completely cold. No hesitation, no panic, no uncertainty, just pure focus. Behind him, Nikolai and several other of Lorenzo’s spread out around the vehicles, weapons drawn, moving with a terrifying efficiency.

The sight of Lorenzo should have scared me. Instead, relief crashed over me so hard I almost started crying again, which was embarrassing.

Here I was, lying on the ground covered in dirt, my mouth tasting like blood, my face throbbing, and my first coherent thought upon seeing my husband was, oh, thank God.

Lorenzo lowered his gun, then he moved. The change was almost eerie; the man who had just shot an attacker without flinching seemed to disappear the moment he reached me. He dropped to his knees.

"Alex," he said, his voice different, still controlled but deeper, sharper. He reached for me. "Look at me."

And I did, asis hands moved over my shoulders, arms, ribs, and neck, checking for injuries with an almost clinical precision.

The careful pressure of his fingers against my skin felt oddly grounding after all the chaos, confirming that I was still here, still breathing, still alive.

"Where are you hurt?" he asked.

"I’m f...fine," I said almost out if habit.

His eyes shot to mine. "That’s not what I asked."

I swallowed. "My face hurts."

"Anything else?"

"My wrist."

He immediately took my hand, his fingers firm yet gentle as he examined my wrist, twisting it slightly. I winced, and his jaw tightened.

"Here?" he asked.

"Yes."

He checked my other arm, my shoulder, the side of my neck, his movements so careful it made my chest ache. Then his gaze fell to my mouth, and he froze. There was blood at the corner of my lips.

For a fleeting moment, something raw flashed across his face. Fear, pure and unfiltered. It vanished nearly as quickly as it appeared.

If I wasn’t so scared half to death, I would have gasped in shock at Lorenzo being capable of an emotion known as... Fear.

His thumb moved toward my mouth, wiping away the smear. "You’re bleeding," he said.

I glanced at his thumb, then back at him. "It’s...it’s not mine."

His eyes narrowed as he glanced at the attacker, then back at me. "Did you bite him?"

I swallowed, still tasting copper. "Well, he was trying to stab me."

Something almost primal flickered in Lorenzo’s expression.

"Good," he said.

I blinked. "What?"

"You defended yourself a little at least."

There was something in his voice that struck an emotional chord. Before I could respond, Lorenzo stood, and the softness vanished. The cold hearted Don had returned.

He looked toward the injured attacker still crying out in pain.

"Take him alive," he ordered, and the men moved instantly, then his voice grew colder. "And kill the others."

The attackers were still around us, caught in a gunfight with Lorenzo’s men. The masked man on the ground suddenly began to struggle.

"No!" he shouted.

Lorenzo didn’t glance at him.

"Please!" the man’s voice cracked with fear...so much fear that even I (the person he’d almost murdered by the way) started feeling bad for him. "Just kill me instead!"

Lorenzo showed no sign of sympathy. "Take him," he said flatly.

Two men seized the attacker and dragged him away.

"Please!" His cries echoed through the night. "Don’t leave me to him!"

I watched them go, the words settling uncomfortably in my stomach. He was more afraid of Lorenzo than he was of dying, and that realization sent chills through me.

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