Nico’s face hardens in the dim light. “We rooted out our last one two months ago. I thought we were clean.”
“So did I.” The unspoken question hangs between us—how deep does this go? How many times can we purge our ranks before we run out of men we trust? This fragile alliance has nearly cost us everything tonight, and the enemy is apparently still inside both our walls.
“Third time someone’s sold us out,” I say grimly. “Tartarov has deep pockets and a long reach.”
We pull up outside the estate, armed guards immediately surrounding the vehicle. Maximo climbs out first, scanning the perimeter before nodding to his father.
Nico pauses before exiting, his eyes meeting mine. “Why’d you do it, De Luca? Take that bullet?”
“Because Tartarov wins if either of us dies,” I answer flatly.
“You sure that’s the only reason?”
I don’t answer. I’m not sure myself.
Nico nods almost imperceptibly, then disappears into the night surrounded by his men.
Twenty minutes later, we pull into my driveway. The house lights are on—Carmela’s waiting. My body aches with each movement as I drag myself from the car.
“Get some rest,” I tell Fed. “Tomorrow will be worse.”
I find Carmela in our bedroom, pacing. When she sees me, the blood staining my shirt, she freezes.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” I say.
She crosses the room in an instant, her fingers carefully peeling back the makeshift bandage. “You promised me you’d be careful.”
“I was. That’s why it’s just a graze.”
Her eyes search mine, finding the truth I can’t hide. How close I came to not returning at all.
“We were ambushed,” I admit. “Tartarov knew we were coming.”
Carmela pulls me close, careful of my injury. Against her warmth, the shaking I’ve been suppressing finally breaks free.
Carmela’s hands tremble as she inspects my wound. Her fingers, usually so steady, brush against my skin with a gentleness that almost breaks me. The fear in her eyes cuts deeper than any bullet could.
“I thought—” Her voice catches. “When Federico called, he just said there was an ambush. He didn’t know if—” She can’t finish the sentence.
I cup her face with my good hand, wiping away a tear with my thumb. “Hey, I’m right here.”
“This time.” Her voice hardens, but her eyes remain vulnerable. “What about next time? Or the time after that?” She presses her forehead against my chest, careful to avoid my injured shoulder. “I can’t lose you, Silvo. I can’t.”
The words hang between us. Three months ago, they would have surprised me—an arranged wife caring whether I lived or died. Now, they’re the most natural thing in the world.
“Look at me,” I whisper.
When she raises her gaze to mine, I see everything I never knew I wanted—fear and love and fierce determination all mixed together. This woman, forced into my life against her will, has somehow become my reason to return home alive.
“You won’t lose me,” I promise, knowing it’s a vow I might not be able to keep.
I lean down and capture her lips with mine. The kiss starts gentle, almost hesitant, but quickly deepens into something desperate and hungry. She responds immediately, her body molding against mine as if trying to prove to herself I’m really here, whole and alive.
For one perfect moment, there are no rival families, no ambushes, no Tartarovs waiting to destroy everything we’ve built. Just Carmela and me, finding shelter in each other while the world burns around us.
41
CARMELA
