“You don’t sound very attached to the old guy,” the Russian said.
“I’m not.” He took another step closer, and the tension in the room tightened. Weapons shifted, and safeties on guns clicked. They weren’t very subtle, but Luca heard every one of them. He was able to count them and measure the distance of each man. He thought about angles and timing to assess his next move.
“Are you saying that we took him for nothing?” the man asked.
“I think you took him,” Luca said evenly, “because you wanted my attention.”
The man’s smile widened. “You are as smart as they say.”
Luca tilted his head slightly. “You underestimating me was your mistake.” The man’s expression flickered—just briefly. And Luca knew that he had found it—the small crack that could get him out of that place alive.
“You’re in my city,” Luca continued, his voice dropping. “You grab a man tied to my deal, and threaten something that belongs to me—” His gaze hardened. “And you thought I wouldn’t respond?”
The Russian laughed, loud and confident. “You’re outnumbered.” He had a feeling that he was from the start. Luca didn’t move—he didn’t even blink.
“No,” he said. “You are.” It was a lie, but he still got his desired effect. The man’s smile faltered, just a little, and then, gunfire rang out. It was explosive, violent, and precise. The windows shattered from the outside as Luca’s snipers opened fire. Chaos erupted around them instantly, as men dropped to the concrete floor and screams and shouts were heard. The Russians returned fire, and Luca moved—fast, with his gun in hand.
The first shot he made was clean. It was a headshot that took down the guy instantly. The second guy he hit in the chest, and he went down as a third one tried to jump him. He didn’t hesitate and didn’t think. Luca just acted. Because this was where he thrived.
Dante’s team breached from the side entrances, flooding the warehouse like a controlled storm. Bullets tore through the air, echoing off concrete and steel. The Russians scrambled. They were too slow and unprepared. Luca advanced straight through the chaos, toward Romano. A man lunged at him from the left, and Luca turned and fired, dropping him. Another ran at him, and he shoved his knife into his chest, his bone cracking under his grip as he pulled it out of the guy, letting him drop to the ground.
He reached Romano just as another wave of men pushed forward. “Cut him loose!” Luca barked. One of his men moved in immediately, slicing the restraints, and Romano slumped forward, barely conscious. “Move him!” Luca ordered.
A shot rang out closer to where he stood. Luca turned to find the Russian still standing, his gun raised and aimed at Romano. Luca moved without thinking and grabbed Romano, yanking him sideways. The bullet hit Luca’s shoulder as pain exploded through Luca’s body, sharp and burning. But he didn’t stop, and didn’t slow down.
He shoved Romano behind cover, turning back toward the threat. The Russian had the nerve to smile. “Not so untouchable,” he drawled.
Luca’s grip tightened on his gun as blood soaked through his sleeve, but that didn’t matter, and it didn’t change a damn thing. “You should’ve stayed quiet,” Luca said, as he fired one clean, final shot. The Russian dropped, and Luca was sure that he was dead before he hit the ground.
Silence followed. The fight was over, and bodies littered the floor. Smoke hung heavily in the air, and Luca stood there, breathing steady despite the blood running down his arm. Dante approached him quickly. “Boss?—”
“I’m fine,” Luca cut him off. That was a lie, but not one that mattered.
“Romano?” Luca asked.
“Alive,” one of his men confirmed. “But just barely.” Good. That was all he needed. Luca rolled his shoulder, ignoring the flare of pain.
“Get him out,” he ordered. “Now.” His men moved fast. They were efficient and clean, just the way he liked it. Luca glanced around the warehouse one last time, and at the bodies and blood on the concrete floor. He was leaving behind a message for the Russians—one that they wouldn’t be able to miss.
Then he turned and walked out. Because anyone who had been left alive could spread the word. Luca Camorra had been threatened, and Luca Camorra had answered that threat with war. And now, there would be consequences—for everyone.
Isabella
The house was too quiet. It wasn’t peaceful or calm, but controlled just like the rest of the Camorra house. Like everything inside the house, the room felt as though it was holding its breath.
Isabella stood in the middle of the living room, with her arms wrapped tightly around herself, staring out at the dark stretch of the city beyond the glass. The lights flickered in the distance, unaware and unbothered. God, she missed her normal everyday existence. Her father was alive, but dying. Her family—her own blood—might have sold her out, and Luca Camorra had claimed her. He didn’t bother to ask her if she wanted him to do that. He didn’t make her an offer—he just claimed her as his own. The word settled deep in her chest like something heavy and permanent as she remembered how he said that she was going to be his wife, whether she liked it or not. It made her stomach twist.
A door opened behind her, but she didn’t turn. She didn’t need to because she felt him, and a shift in the air. The way everything in the room seemed to tighten around his presence. “Why am I not surprised you didn’t stay in your room?” Luca’s voice cut through the silence.
“I’m not a prisoner,” she said. She listened as his footsteps approached her, slow and measured.
“Right now?” he said. “You’re exactly where you’re safest.”
She turned then, anger flashing in her eyes. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“I already did.” Of course, he did, because that’s what Luca Camorra did. He decided things for everyone.
Her chin lifted. “You left me here while you went to war.”
