I'm not sure what's more terrifying.

The fact that the sound of gunfire stops, and no one's sure who's a threat anymore...or that the frightened crowds have all swarmed for the doors, making it an impossible feat to actually get out.

No, the most horrifying part of all of this is that I know who is behind this.

Dixon. This has to be Dixon.

Sometime, the hands that were holding me have to let go, and I feel the weight of the people surrounding me. They all begin to feel much taller, despite my usual height. I'm painstakingly aware of my condition, and how much Giovanni would reprimand me for trying to fight my way back into danger to get to him. People are shouting at each other in their fear, wanting to be clear of these murderous walls. The doors don't accommodate swift exits.

As someone puts their hands on my back, urging me into the person in front of me, my head turns, scanning the crowds in desperation, trying to get sight of Giovanni. He's tall. I'd see him in seconds...

He's not there.

Shrinking, finding that I can no longer scream, I begin to truly panic. It's so overwhelming that the people behind me are literally forcing me to move.

Dixon would have gone for him. Without a doubt, Dixon would have gone for my heart.

Tears come, strangely enough, not from my fear, but, from shock. From the incessant drumming in my ears, the rush of blood beneath my skin that nearly hurts. It's hard to breathe, and that is enough to send my thoughts into darkness.

This is it.

This is the moment Dixon truly wields his power over me, shows me his strength. In all the years I've known him, he's never been this terrifying. In this moment, Dixon has truly lost himself.

I don't know what he plans, but I know he's unlikely to get out of this unscathed, which means all of us are in more danger than we could possibly know.

"Giovanni," I whisper, having expected it would come out a scream. My hands move to my stomach, flattening against the skin that's being kicked forcefully, the child reacting off my own panic.

Is he hurt? Is he dead?

My wheezing stops, completely and altogether, when an arm wraps around my back, and a hand grabs hold of my waist. My eyes bugger open, and my face turns, just as I feel something cold and hard against my side, right at the edge of my stomach.

Dixon, dressed head to toe in a freshly ironed police uniform, is pressed up right behind me, a gun digging into my waist. My mouth parts, my breath catching in an effort to scream, but the second his mouth slims, his eyes daring me to try, I shut it again.

"You're going to come with me," he whispers menacingly in my ear, "and if you don't come quietly, I won't hesitate, Scarlett. I'm all in here. Don't fucking test me."

Finding the same unhinged look in his eyes that I normally would when he'd be incoherently drunk, I nod, gasping when he begins to pull me from the crowd.

Except tonight, he's not drunk, which makes him more terrifying.

Brilliantly, he wore his uniform, so, no one questions the gun in his hand, or the fact that he's pulling a pregnant woman from the mess. I know if I screamed, people would rush to help, but his gun is too close, and I'm too afraid to risk it. He knows this baby is Giovanni's.

He's behind me, leading me toward a tall staircase, and I hesitate at the bottom, partly because we're now out of sight of everyone else, and partly because my legs can hardly function. I'm reminded that I don't have a choice when he pushes me forward and to avoid tripping, I take a step, and then another.

"Dixon, what are you doing?" I breathe, glancing back at him.

"Walk."

"Dixon, what the fuck are you doing?" I repeat, and growling, he jumps a step ahead, and tugs me onto the second floor. There's not a soul left. It's eerily empty, only accompanied by the distant sounds of screams and electronic beats from downstairs.

"You're throwing away your entire life, your career, everything! You're not going to get away with this!"

"Yes, I am."

I pull my hand away. "NO, you're not!"

"We are leaving. I'm taking you with me, away from New York. Away from here," he says, breathlessly, the veins protruding from his shiny throat.

"You'd never get away with it. Giovanni would find you. He'd never stop looking for me."

"After tonight, he may not be a fucking problem."

My feet begin to burn against the carpet, as I try to stop. He grabs my arms, as I shake my head.

"What...What do you mean?"

"I mean, tonight I won," he snaps in my face. We both come to a complete stop, and I stare at him, really searching his eyes. Crystal clear, a vibrant blue color, he seems out of his skin, but within. His eyes are trembling, but hold mine without fail.

"Dixon, what did you do?" I whisper, carefully, not letting his words get to me.

Giovanni's okay. He has to be okay.

He's lying to me, trying to see me break.

"What I came here to do," he replies, inhaling deeply.

"No, you didn't," I say, just to say it. Just to refuse the possibility. "No."

He grabs my face, and I feel the underside of the gun against my cheek. I begin to shake under his grip, terrified.

"Dixon—"

"I'm going to be better, Scarlett. I'm not going to hurt you o-or get drunk. I'm not going to lash out. I won't even mind about the baby. We can leave here, start—"

"What? New?" I breathe, wide-eyed. "Dixon, I'm doing that, with my husband. With this baby. You can't just take me!"

"You don't have a fucking husband!" he shouts, his pale face turning red. "I saw him go down. He's bleeding out on the floor downstairs, if he isn't dead already."

"Shut up," I whisper, icily.

"I aimed for the goddamn heart, Scarlett. He's dead...Your husband is dead. He should have seen this coming. You both should have." His mouth slims, as I physically feel the blood leaving my face. "In fact, you're lucky I want you so bad."

"Let me go," I utter through my teeth, and he responds by pulling me harder, forcing me to walk. I can't breathe, but I keep looking back. Back at the empty hallway, back toward the noise.

"Let me go!"

"Shut up."

"Dixon, you're being ridiculous! You're not going to get away with this! Just let me go, and I-I won't tell anyone that it was you! I promise! You can still get away! Dixon—" My chest swells, realizing we're getting closer to another hallway, which is the place he's heading. I can't stay silent.

The second I scream, he slams my back into the wall, and plants his hand firmly over my mouth. I'm frozen, staring into his eyes, which have transformed into a darker, steelier color as his anger has ripened. My spine is throbbing.

He seems to wait, anticipating footsteps. When he's sure there isn't any coming, he lets go of his breath, showing first signs that he isn't a machine. In fact, he's a ticking bomb.

"I warned you not to do that, Scarlett," he whispers, coldly. "You come with me, quietly and easily, and your baby stays safe."

His grip over my mouth tightens as he moves closer to my face.

"Don't forget. I know exactly where to puncture to get rid of it...and still keep you."

His eyes follow my tears as they leave track marks on my face and puddle against the side of his hand.

"You never gave me fucking chance," he whispers, looking back into my eyes. "From the start, you didn't. And I hate you for it. I really do. There was a time I wasn't this monster, when I could live without you."

"Dixon, stop," I beg, muffled by his hand.

"I was happy. You were happy. We were good. I-It may have not been perfect...I may have not been perfect, but you didn't hate me then." His mouth trembles, his eyes overflowing as sudden emotion takes over him. "D-Do you remember our wedding? What I said to you? I said till death. I said it. Why can't you understand that?"

Normally, when I'd see a man break down into tears in front of me, I'd react. But when Dixon's hand begins to slide from my face, as he buries his head into my chest, I can only breathe, trying to think how to get away from him.

"You also agreed to cherish me, protect me," I whisper, with caution.

"I did. I do."

"No. You hurt me...You hurt me like my father hurt me."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he cries, wrapping his arms around me tightly. I close my eyes against his shoulder, trying to control my own tears, not knowing whether Giovanni is okay. He has to be okay.

I'm terrified to speak. He's apologetic now, but I cannot mistake it for repentance.

I suck in a breath, preparing a lie. "Dixon, you...you know we'll always have a bond. We'll always love each other in some way."

"That's not good enough for me. You're all I've ever loved, Scarlett. You're the only person who I need. I need you. I've done all of this—the blackmail, tonight—because I can't go on anymore without you. I've been struggling so much, you don't know how much."

He pulls back, clasping my face. I flinch back when he presses his mouth to mine, softly but over and over. I turn my head, grimacing when they just drift to my cheek, warm and skin crawling caresses.

"Please, Scarlett. Come with me. We can start a life together, away from here."

His hopeful eyes meet mine, with desperation.

"Please."

"We can be friends," I whisper as nicely as I can. I even smile in an effort to sell it. "We can still see—"

He pulls back, ending up a foot away from me. He places his hand over his eyes, dragging his fingers over the water pouring out of them and exhales, loudly.

"No, fuck that, Scarlett."

"Dixon."

"You're doing it again," he snarls, chuckling and I watch him heave the gun around in wide arm gestures. "You're choosing something else over me. First it was your goddamn job. Then this guy you were fucking. I bet you married him just to spite me!"

"Everything I do isn't fucking about you, Dixon! I fell in love!"

"While I slept on concrete every night. A fucking gem you are." He grabs my arm, and begins to pull me.

"Sure, Dixon!" I shout, loudly, praying someone can hear me. "Sure, none of this is your fault, is it? It's all me. I didn't love you enough, I didn't give up enough! What? Are you going to say you beat me to love me? Is that what you're going to say next?"

He twists, his nose nearly pressing to mine. "Not another word. It's either you and me leave here, or neither of us do. Your choice...I'm not leaving here tonight without you."

His words ring through like a promise, and it hits me to the bone.

The man in front of me isn't any other version of him I've ever encountered. I've seen him at his high, and I thought I'd witnessed his low. But, I hadn't. I had no idea what he was truly capable of. What his mind had transformed our marriage into.

He's always been sadistic, and it's gotten worse in the past year.

But, this is death he's talking about.

He's prepared to die. And he's prepared to take me with him, in order to keep me.

To win this fight.

We turn the sharp corner, and both freeze, halting at the sight of Giovanni, standing in the dead center of the hall, pale and out of breath. The seconds of shock disappear faster than I anticipate, and Dixon uses those moments to shove me into his body and press the barrel into my temple.

I feel his heart pounding against my back, and know his hand is on the trigger, by the way Giovanni's eyes remain wide. His suit jacket is gone, and his white shirt is no longer white, but stained with dark blood.

I realize then Dixon wasn't lying.

He did shoot him, and I have to close my eyes, cementing this as my possible worst fear.

"Giovanni," I whisper, my mouth salty from my tears. I open my eyes, apologetically.

"Let her go," Giovanni says, holding up his hand cautiously. "You don't want to hurt her."

"God, you won't fucking die."

"Dixon. She's pregnant. Look at her. She's pregnant. Let her go—" Giovanni's voice is shaking, but trying so hard to remain firm.

"Get out of our way!" My eyes squeeze shut, my heart faltering while he digs the metal harder into my skin. Giovanni's eyes dart from his to mine, as he assesses the situation. Anyway he tries, Dixon has the high ground.

He's armed, and Giovanni isn't. He's upright, Giovanni barely is.

"Dixon, please. Just let her go, and we can talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about, Martinelli. You took something that isn't yours," Dixon growls, his arm instinctively tightening further around my body at those words. "You made her abandon me. If you hadn't come along, she would have been there. She would have wanted to be with me. You did this! You!"

"You take that goddamn gun away from her head!" Giovanni bellows, with more force, his teeth gritting together.

"That's what you'd like, isn't it? I bet! I could pull on this trigger, and fuck up your whole world. Just one move and you'd hate your fucking life as much as I hate mine!"

Words that I knew would set Giovanni off, he bounds a few steps, only screeching to a halt when Dixon shakes the gun against my skull, reminding him that my life is very much in his hands.

"Come closer! Do it! See what happens! I've fucked up everything tonight! I WON'T STOP NOW!"

"Giovanni!" I cry, feeling the finality of this, how close I am to the end of the struggle.

"It's okay, baby," Giovanni says to me cautiously, not tearing his eyes off of Dixon.

I can't breathe. I physically can't breathe.

My eyes are open, but dark and blurry.

I can't watch him die.

I can't just stand here.

With the hand holding Dixon's sleeve, impulsively, with no thought to the drawback, I shove it hard enough to send his arm flying back into the air. The sound of the bullet ringing suddenly makes me flinch and duck in reaction as I extend my arms, trying to get away.

Giovanni's hands capture mine and with every ounce of strength within him, he drags me behind him, like a weightless doll. I catch onto his waist with both of my hands, as he turns, just as Dixon aims his gun directly at him.

Oh fuck.

We both flinch at the sound of the bullet, and I cry out into Giovanni's shirt in agony, waiting to feel him go limp in my hands.

I hear a grunt, a low sound of pain, and open my eyes slowly when Giovanni begins to breathe again, his heart raging against my cheek.

It's then I hear the sound of boots, many of them.

It's only when I risk looking over Giovanni's shoulder that I can finally let out a sigh of relief, falling apart when I find Tom, dressed in full uniform and a bulletproof vest, standing with his gun in hand, still pointed down at Dixon's body on the floor. Tom's eyes, which are wide with disbelief, move across the room to us, just as other officers pile their way into the small hallway.

I look away from him, to observe Dixon on the floor. His eyes are forever open, still royal blue and full of water. His body is lifeless, and leaking blood. He's dead.

He's dead, and I only feel relief.

Giovanni turns in my hands, and I meet his round eyes, which are unknowingly wet. I clasp his face, needing to look everywhere at once. I hold my hand over the blood, asking with my eyes.

"Shoulder," he answers, softly. "He missed."

He missed.

He shot him.

I shake my head, pressing my face into his chest as I lose hold of myself altogether.

"Check the pulse," Tom says, distantly.

"Dead, chief."

"We're going to need paramedics up here for him."

Giovanni shrinks to the ground with me, caught up by the horror that was just sprung onto us tonight. I can't seem to process any of it. Giovanni cradles the back of my head to him with one hand, unable to move the other arm.

"Paramedics will be here shortly," I hear Tom say. Looking up from Giovanni's chest, I meet Tom's eyes, finding him beside us. He shakes his head, and glances back over to the body of my ex-husband...the body of his friend. The man he defended so stubbornly.

He looks convinced now, and it was nearly too late.

"I'm sorry," he says, rubbing the back of his head, his expression just as lost as our own probably is. "I know it doesn't mean much, but when I'm wrong..." He stops himself. "I'm sorry."

Neither of us answer him. Giovanni turns his attention back to me, pressing his cheek against my face. He kisses my skin softly, sighing.

My arms circle his waist, my cheek warm and wet from his blood-soaked shirt, but I'm too relieved to let go.

It's over.

...

We both step through the elevator at the same time, although we move in different directions into Giovanni's apartment overlooking Manhattan. He heads to the phone, surely to inform his mother that he's alright. She's no doubt seen the news by now.

No deaths, but over ten injured, all people who were in close proximity to Giovanni.

Rebecca and Carlos ran to us outside as the paramedics ushered Giovanni out on a stretcher, neither of them harmed other than a few scrapes in the fallout. Ed showed up to the hospital, as did Monica. We were questioned all night by officers and FBI agents, who took us into separate rooms to see if our stories matched.

They let us go in the morning, apologizing for the experience we'd just been put through, and sent us off. And although dawn is breaking, pouring in through the windows, I'm not ready to lay my head down upon a pillow.

I move to the kitchen, rubbing my stomach in slow circles. After setting out cups, I grab the coffee can, intending on using it, but I just set it down in the middle of the counter, bracing myself against the marble with a thud.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

I keep seeing his eyes. Dixon's eyes. Dead on the ground.

And seeing those eyes so still remind me of the times when they weren't. When he was manic, and raging. When he wanted to hurt something.

It's hard to accept that he's gone. Just like that.

Just like that—I don't ever have to worry about him again.

I don't even remember how it is to live without the constant fear of his shadow behind me.

The baby is angry at me, kicking but I welcome it, finding that while I sat in the waiting room of the hospital, it dawned on me how easily I could have lost it.

And how much that would have destroyed me.

Somewhere in the past six months, I've become attached to this baby, without even knowing it. My skin crawls at how closely tonight I came to losing everything: the baby, my husband...even my life.

"Are you okay?"

I look up, finding Giovanni at the edge of the island, concerned. I nod, letting go of my belly.

"The baby's kicking...I'm fine."

He moves across the space, his arm bandaged to his chest, held by a sling. I bite on my lip, harder than I should to keep myself calm when he bends down, and presses his hand to my stomach. And then his mouth, inhaling deeply.

My fears were no doubt his fears, too.

I run my hands through his hair as he comes back up, straightening until his lips are level with my own, and drag across my mouth in soft, sweet caresses. My hands drop to his waist when he clasps my cheek with exquisite gentleness. His breath is warm when he sighs.

"I thought he was going to do it," he whispers, painfully.

"I thought he did do it. I thought...I thought you were gone."

Even the words still shake me.

He pulls back just enough to hold my gaze.

"I made you a promise," he says, seriously. "You asked me to never leave you, and I promised. I'm going to keep it."

His thumb traces the indent of my cheek, his eyes following the movement.

"Forever?" I whisper.

He smiles, softly and his eyes flicker back up to my own, resoundingly calm as the same feeling settles over both of our heads simultaneously.

After over a year of constant struggle, our horror finally feels behind us. And our world is suddenly full of possibility.

"Yes. Forever."