“You came.” She’s crying, tears streaming down her pale and cold cheeks. “You actually came for me.”
“Always,” I say gently, my hands cup her face, gentle despite the violence still raging around us. “I’ll always come for you,cara.Always.”
I scan her body, taking inventory of injuries. The gunshot wound is bandaged well. Her color is poor but not the gray of someoneactively dying, thank fuck. She’s dehydrated, exhausted, in pain—butalive. Fuckingalive.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?” I demand, my hands moving over her carefully, checking for other wounds. “Did he—did Romano hurt you?”
“Just the gunshot.” Her voice is weak but steady, her eyes locked on mine. “There was a doctor. He stitched me up. Said I’d be okay if—” She gasps as I cut through the zip ties with my knife, her wrists red and raw where she’s been struggling against them.
I’m going to fuckingkillRomano.
The moment her hands are free, she throws her arms around my neck, and I gather her against me as carefully as I can, mindful of her wound. She’s shaking—or maybe I’m shaking—and for just one moment, I let myself feel the relief of having her in my arms again.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur against her hair as I rock her against my body, feeling so much relief that she’s alive and with me. “I’ve got you, baby. You’re safe now. I’m getting you out of here.”
Her fingers dig into my jacket, holding on like I might disappear. “Luca, I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “I should have told you about Romano. I should have?—”
“Shh.” I press my lips to her forehead, breathing in the scent of her despite the blood and smell of the warehouse permeating her hair. “We’ll talk about it later. Right now I just need you safe.”
“How touching.”
I release her gently then whirl around to see Romano standing there, looking infinitely amused.
I’m on my feet immediately, gun drawn, positioning myself between Gigi and the threat. Romano is flanked by three of his remaining guards. They all have weapons trained on us.
But my men are here too. Danny appears from my left, Viktor from my right, both with their own weapons up. Romano and his men are surrounded, outnumbered, outgunned. This isn’t the trap he planned. It’s his death sentence.
And I plan on being the goddamn executioner.
“You should have come alone, Marchetti,” Romano says, and there’s anger beneath the smooth tone now. His silver hair is disheveled, his expensive suit rumpled. The control he’s always worn is cracking. “You’ve ruined everything. This was supposed to be poetic. Full circle. You dying where Marco died.”
“Marco died because you ordered it,” I snarl, and the gun in my hand is steady now. Everything has focused into cold, focused rage. “You used Gigi’s father for information, then tortured my cousin to death when your plan went wrong.”
“Your cousin was an unfortunate casualty,” Romano says dismissively. “I wantedyou, Marchetti. You were the real threat. Marco was just”—he shrugs—“a necessary if unintended end.”
The casual way he discusses Marco’s murder makes my finger tighten on the trigger.
“Three years,” Romano continues. “Three years I’ve watched you grow stronger while my own power eroded. The Torrino alliance would have destroyed me completely. So yes, I shot your wife. Yes, I used her as bait. Because taking everything from you was the only way to level the playing field.”
“You failed,” Viktor says coldly, looking at Romano with disgust. “Your organization is finished, Romano. Half your men are dead. The other half will scatter the moment word gets out that you’re gone.”
“Then I’ll take something with me.” Romano’s gun swings toward Gigi.
Everything happens at once.
I throw myself between Romano and Gigi, my own weapon coming up. His shot goes off and the bullet tears through my shoulder, spinning me sideways. Pain explodes white-hot through my arm, but I’m still firing and moving.
It’s just a flesh wound, right? I’ve had worse.
My shot catches him in the chest. He staggers back but doesn’t go down. Goddamn body armor, fuck me. His remaining guards open fire.
The warehouse erupts into chaos. Danny and Viktor’s men engage Romano’s guards in a firefight that echoes off the metal walls. Romano himself is backing away, using the support columns for cover, firing methodically. He’s not panicking or running. He’s a predator who’s been in this game longer than I’ve been alive, and he’s going to make me bleed for every inch.
Fuckingbastard. It’s going to feel so good to kill him.
I duck behind a crate as bullets tear through the space where I was standing. My shoulder is screaming, blood running hot down my arm, making my grip slippery. I can’t hold my gun steady with my right hand anymore.
Good thing I’ve learned to shoot with both hands. I switch to my left hand and keep moving.
