He glanced at her over his shoulder. And for a fraction of a second, he let himself imagine that she actually cared about him, and not just her father’s safety. “You wanted answers?” he said quietly.
“Yeah,” she breathed. His gaze held hers.
“Then, you’re about to get them,” he promised. He walked out, and the door shut behind him, leaving Isabella alone in a room that he was sure suddenly felt a lot more like a cage to her.
The city blurred into something sharp and meaningless as the convoy cut through the streets. Luca didn’t look out the window because he didn’t need to. He knew every turn, every street, every shadow this part of New York could offer. He’d built his empire in places like this—dark corners where men made bad decisions and paid for them in blood. But tonight was different. Tonight, someone had made a very bad decision.
He sat in the back of the SUV, his elbows resting on his knees, his gun broken down and reassembled in his hands with quiet precision. It was muscle memory and complete control because he was always in control.
“Perimeter’s set,” Dante’s voice came through the comm in his ear. “Snipers are in position. East and west rooftops are covered.”
“Thermals?” Luca asked. “Are they showing anything?”
“Yeah, we have confirmed movement inside. At least eight guys, maybe more. They’re shifting positions.” Good, that was just what he wanted to hear. Let them move and believe that they were ready for him.
Luca slid the magazine into place with a sharp click. “They’re expecting us,” Dante added.
“They’re expecting me,” Luca corrected. And that was their first mistake—believing that he was stupid enough to show up alone.
The SUV slowed, headlights cutting across rusted steel and broken pavement as the abandoned warehouse came into view. The Hudson loomed dark beyond it, silent and endless. He knew that it was more than just a river—it was a graveyard. There were more bodies buried in those waters than he’d be able to count. It was fitting that they were meeting there.
“Kill the lights,” Luca ordered. The convoy went dark instantly, leaving the engines idling, like beasts waiting forbattle. Luca opened the door before the vehicle fully stopped, letting the cold air hit him like a warning, but he stepped out anyway. His boots crunched softly against the gravel. The warehouse stood ahead—massive, and empty-looking, but he knew better. Men like these didn’t hide in plain sight unless they wanted to be found. And they wanted to be found. That meant one thing—they thought they had the upper hand.
Luca adjusted his jacket, rolling his shoulders, “Positions,” he said quietly. His men moved like shadows—silent, efficient, and deadly.
Dante appeared at his side. “Are we going in loud or quiet?”
Luca’s gaze stayed fixed on the building. “Neither.”
Dante smirked faintly. “I like where this is going.”
Luca stepped forward, alone, out in the open, no weapon drawn, and no hesitation.
Dante cursed under his breath. “Boss?—”
“Hold your position,” Luca said without looking back, as he kept walking straight toward the front entrance. Because if they wanted a show, he’d give them one.
The warehouse doors creaked open before he even reached them. Predictable. Luca crossed the threshold without breaking stride. Inside the dim lighting, he noticed the concrete floors, the scent of oil, metal, and blood. Yeah, it was definitely blood. That smell was unmistakable.
His eyes adjusted quickly, and he immediately spotted the men who were watching him, armed, and spread out around him. They were waiting for him to make a move, but he wasn’t in a hurry. People who rushed were careless, and careless people ended up dead.
At the center of it all sat a chair, and tied to it was Antonio Romano. Dante was right—he was still alive, but barely. Luca looked him over once. He was bruised and bloody, but still breathing—for now, and that was good enough for him.
“Well,” a voice echoed from the shadows. “If it isn’t the great Luca Camorra.” Luca didn’t turn toward the voice, and he didn’t react. “I have to admit, I’m a bit disappointed,” the man continued. “I expected you to bring your army.”
“I did,” Luca said calmly. There was a pause, followed by a chuckle.
“Don’t see them,” he drawled.
“You’re not supposed to,” Luca growled. Silence stretched between them, and then a man stepped forward. He was tall and had a scar across his right jaw. If he had to guess, he was Russian—of course, he was a fucking Russian.
“I was hoping you’d come alone,” the man said.
Luca’s expression didn’t change. “I’d say that I was sorry for dashing your hopes, but I’m not.”
The man smiled, sharp and mean. “You came for him?” he asked, gesturing lazily toward Romano.
Luca’s gaze finally shifted—just slightly. “He’s a temporary asset.” Romano stirred weakly, a low groan slipping from him. The old man being alive complicated things, but that worked for him because Luca liked complications. They made things interesting.
