You’ll only embarrass me wearing that dress. / Chapter 51 / 70

Chapter 51 - The Shield of Flesh and Bone

The crack of the high-caliber round was deafening, splitting the quiet Tuscan air like thunder tearing through dry timber.

In that microsecond between life and death, Ethan Vance didn’t think. He didn’t calculate the odds, nor did he assess the ballistic trajectory. His body moved on sheer, unadulterated primal instinct. With a savage, guttural roar that tore from the deepest chamber of his lungs, he lunged across the stone terrace, throwing his entire six-foot-two frame directly into the path of the incoming bullet.

His heavy arm swept around Phoebe’s waist, violently twisting her body inward against his chest and driving her down toward the ancient flagstones.

*Crack-thud.*

The bullet struck flesh.

A sickening wet impact reverberated through Ethan’s torso. The sheer kinetic energy of the armor-piercing round knocked him sideways, his back slamming hard against the balustrade before he collapsed over Phoebe, covering her trembling frame entirely with his broad shoulders. Blood—hot, metallic, and copious—instantly soaked through his crisp white linen shirt, pooling over the cold Italian marble.

"Ethan!" Phoebe screamed, a raw, piercing cry of sheer terror. Her hands, instantly bathed in warm crimson, frantically clawed at his chest. "Ethan! No, no, no! Look at me!"

"Down!" Julian roared, drawing his customized semi-automatic sidearm from beneath his jacket in a single fluid motion. He kicked over a heavy iron dining table, creating an improvised barrier of wrought iron and oak. "Sniper on the ridge! Two hundred meters, north-northwest tree line!"

Julian fired three rapid suppression rounds into the dusk-veiled cypress trees, his tactical comm unit crackling to life as he barked orders to the perimeter security team. "Code Black! Alpha Team, flank the north ridge! Eagle is hit! Repeat, Eagle is hit! Neutralize the shooter!"

Phoebe’s world narrowed to the sound of Ethan’s ragged, choking breaths. Her pregnancy belly was pressed safely against the stones beneath him, untouched, uninjured, but Ethan’s face had drained of all vitality within seconds. His lips were parted, a thin ribbon of dark blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. The round had punched cleanly through his upper left shoulder, narrowly missing his subclavian artery, shattering bone and tearing muscle before exiting out his back.

"Phoebe..." Ethan gasped, his vision swimming as his trembling fingers reached up to cup her cheek. Even in the grip of agonizing shock, his dark eyes searched frantically over her body. "The... the baby... are you...?"

"We’re fine! We’re untouched! Ethan, you idiot, stop talking!" Phoebe sobbed, tearing off the hem of her cardigan and pressing it with all her strength against the gaping wound at his collarbone. "Julian! Help me! The bleeding won't stop!"

"Pressure, Phoebe, keep direct pressure!" Julian shouted, still scanning the ridge with his weapon drawn as sirens began to wail in the distance. The villa's security perimeter was locking down; iron gates slammed shut, and searchlights swept the vineyards in blinding arcs.

Ethan coughed, a shudder racking his entire frame, his hand tightening weakly around Phoebe's wrist. His knuckles were bone-white against her skin. "The documents... Phoebe... look at... the documents..."

Scattered across the bloody stone tiles, stained with Ethan's lifeblood, lay the Swiss genetic files Julian had dropped when the shot rang out. The bold forensic typography stared up at them through the red mist:

*SUBJECT: VICTORIA VANCE (DECEASED, 2004).*

*IMPOSTOR IDENTITY: HELENA HARRELL-CROSS.*

*BIOLOGICAL MATERNAL MATCH: ZERO PERCENT.*

Before Phoebe could process the impossible truth, Ethan's eyes rolled back into his head, his heavy grip slipped from her wrist, and his body went entirely limp against her chest.