I fire.
The round takes him in the throat. He drops, gurgling, the gun clattering to the floor. I'm already moving again, closing the distance to her.
"Luca!" Her voice is raw, desperate.
"I've got you." I pull my knife from its sheath, cut through the zip ties. Her wrists are torn, bleeding. I'll kill them again for that. "Can you stand?"
"I think so." She tries to get up but her legs give out. I catch her, pull her against my chest.
"I've got you," I say again. "You're safe."
Behind us, the gunfire is dying down. My team is winning. Bodies everywhere, the smell of cordite thick in the air.
Then I hear it. Movement to my right.
I turn, pushing Francesca behind me.
A man steps out from behind a stack of crates. Older, well-dressed, a gun in his hand. Vlad Orlov. The bastard who took her. The one who planned all of this.
"L'Ombra," he says, smiling. "You came for her. Just as I knew you would."
"And now you die for taking her."
"Perhaps." He raises his gun. "But I take you with me. Fair trade."
I start to move but he's already firing.
The first round hits me in the shoulder. The second goes wide as I tackle Francesca to the ground, covering her body with mine. Pain explodes through my left side, hot and sharp, but I ignore it. I've been shot before.
I roll, bringing my gun up, and fire.
Vlad drops his weapon, clutching his stomach. Center mass. He goes to his knees, crimson spreading across his expensive shirt.
I stand, walk over to him. Francesca is calling my name but I don't turn around.
"You took her," I say quietly. "You put your hands on what's mine."
"She's just a woman," Vlad gasps. "You've started a war for a woman."
"No." I holster my gun and grab him by the throat with both hands. "I started a war because someone thought they could take from me and live."
I squeeze.
He tries to fight, clawing at my hands, but he's already dying from the gut shots. I'm just speeding it up. His eyes bulge. His face turns purple. I watch every second of it.
When he finally goes limp, I drop him and turn back to Francesca.
She's on the ground where I left her, staring at me. At the bodies. At the carnage covering every surface. Her eyes are wide, face pale. She's shaking.
"Did they hurt you?" I ask.
She doesn't answer right away. Just stares.
"Francesca." I move toward her. "Did they hurt you?"
"No." The word comes out barely above a whisper. She's looking at Vlad's body, at his purple face, at my hands. "You... you just..."
The warehouse is silent now except for my men doing a final sweep. Then I hear it—distant but getting closer. Sirens.
