When I first saw him in that warehouse, I was horrified. He was tied to a chair, bloodied and swollen, his face so badly beaten that for one awful second I barely recognized him. Even now, three days later, I’m not sure the panic of that moment has fully left me.
“Soooo,” I say, drawing the word out on purpose, “is there anything else His Royal Highness requires? More water? Another pillow adjustment? More of that lovely ointment for your eye?”
Luca turns his head and narrows his gaze at me. It’s a much more symmetrical movement now, which feels like progress.
“That ointment smells like shit.”
I laugh softly. “I’m glad that surviving near-death hasn’t dulled your poetic instincts.”
“It made them sharper.”
The curtain rustles before I can answer.
“Knock, knock,” Dario says, pushing it aside and stepping into the room.
He looks far too put together for someone who spent the last three days helping clean up a war. That same controlled, dangerous energy that always seems to radiate off the Andretti men like heat off blacktop in summer. But there’s somethingeasier in his face when he looks at Luca now. Relief, maybe. The kind none of them would ever say out loud.
“Hey, bro,” Luca says. “Please tell me you’re here to bust me out.”
“Tempting.” Dario comes farther into the room, then flicks a glance at me before looking back at Luca. “But that’s above my paygrade.”
Luca groans. “Unbelievable. Nobody in this family seems bothered that I’m being held against my will.”
Dario ignores that. “I came with an update.”
The easy mood in the room vanishes so fast it almost makes me dizzy as all my muscles clench.
Luca notices. Of course he does.
His good hand reaches for mine immediately, his fingers curling around my wrist and then sliding down until our palms fit together.
Dario’s eyes drop to that for half a second, but if he has any thoughts about it, he keeps them to himself.
“We got the shipment,” Dario says.
Luca’s eyebrows rise. “The Restrepo weapons?”
“Intercepted two nights ago.”
His expression sharpens. “And?”
“As far as Restrepo’s concerned, they sent the weapons and got burned for it.” Dario slides one hand into his pocket. “Anton’s dead. Nikolai’s dead. And the bride they were promised is gone.”
For a second, I just stare at him, the meaning arriving in pieces.
“So what happens now?” I ask, and my voice comes out thinner than I want it to.
Dario shrugs, one shoulder lifting. “They want blood. But there’s nobody left who can fix that deal or pay them back.” He pauses. “So they’re tearing through what’s left of the Bratva themselves. Soldiers, associates, runners, anybody still tied to your father’s operation. We’re letting them.”
I sit with that for a moment.
“By the time Restrepo is done,” Dario continues, “the Bratva won’t have a foothold left in this city.”
Luca lets out a low whistle. “That’s cold.”
“That’s efficient.” Dario’s mouth twitches. “Why waste our guys cleaning up when the Colombians want to do it for us?”
I look down at our joined hands.
