Luca lowered his gun slightly. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.” Serge’s gaze flicked toward the house—toward the second-floor windows where Isabella was. Luca wanted to take the fucker’s eyes for looking at his wife, but that would have to wait.
“You can’t keep her locked away forever,” Serge called.
Luca’s expression didn’t change. “Don’t have to. I have the manpower to keep her safe anywhere.”
“She chose wrong,” Serge said.
Luca’s jaw tightened. “No,” he said, low and deadly. “She didn’t.”
Serge held his gaze for one more second and then turned and walked away, taking what was left of his men with him. Silence followed, but Luca knew that was only temporary. Because now, a war had started.
Luca stood there for a second longer, scanning the perimeter, making sure it was clean, and then turned to go back inside. He found her exactly where she shouldn’t have been—halfway down the hall, not in her room. She was watching and waiting for news.
His jaw tightened immediately. “I told you to stay upstairs.”
“I heard gunfire.” Her voice wasn’t panicked. In fact, it was steady—too steady. Luca closed the distance between them fast, his hand gripping her arm—not rough, but firm enough to make a point.
“You don’t come out here when that happens.” Her eyes lifted to his, unafraid. “If you hear gunfire, you stay in the fucking room until I come to tell you that it’s all clear.
“It was him, wasn’t it?” she asked, not really listening to him.
Luca wouldn’t lie to her. “Yeah.”
Her jaw tightened. “Serge.”
“Yes,” he said again.
“He’s not going to stop,” she said. No, he wasn’t going to stop. Serge’s life was in danger until he delivered her to the Russians. He wouldn’t stop coming for her because doing so would cost him his life.
Luca’s grip shifted slightly, his hand sliding from her arm to her jaw, forcing her to look at him fully. “I’m not going to stop either, honey.”
Her breath hitched. “He came for me.”
“Yes,” Luca said.
“And next time—” she started.
“There won’t be a next time like that,” Luca cut in. He meant it too, because next time Luca wouldn’t be waiting. He wouldn’tbe reacting, either. He’d be hunting, and Serge wouldn’t get away from him again.
Her gaze searched his as though looking for something. Maybe fear or doubt, but she wouldn’t find either. “Good,” she said. There was no hesitation or second-guessing—just acceptance. She was accepting him, and his world, and what was coming for them all. Luca’s thumb brushed once along her jaw before he dropped his hand.
“Go back to our room,” he said. This time, she didn’t argue. Isabella didn’t push him for answers, and she didn’t test him. Instead, she turned and walked back upstairs, following his orders. Luca stood there for a second longer, watching her go, and then turned back toward the front of the house, to where the blood and bodies lay. He turned back to the war that Serge had just started. And this time, Luca wasn’t waiting for them to come to him. He was going to take the war to the Romano family, and he was going to end it.
Isabella
The house didn’t settle after the gunfire stopped. The war between her new and old families loomed in the air. She could feel it, like it was waiting for something else to happen. But then again, so was she.
Isabella stood in the bedroom, but she hadn’t moved far from the door since Luca sent her back upstairs. She could still hear it—echoes of shots, boots on the wood floorboards, and men shouting. Even now, even with the silence back, it felt like it was still happening under her skin.
Serge, of course, it was him. Her cousin would want to come after her himself. He’d want the glory of bringing her in, but she couldn’t allow that to happen. Her jaw tightened as she paced the floor, then stopped, pressing her hand against her mouth for a second. No—not this time. She wasn’t going to break over her family’s betrayal. She wouldn’t cry over someone who had just tried to storm Luca’s house to drag her out like she was a package that hadn’t been delivered yet.
Her stomach twisted as she remembered Serge’s words. He said that she had been promised to someone already. Promised. God—that thought made her sick. She moved toward the window, staring out at the front drive. The bodies were alreadybeing handled—cleaned up like it was routine to scrape dead bodies off the driveway. Like this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. It probably wasn’t.
Her fingers curled slightly at her sides. “He said it wasn’t over,” she muttered under her breath. And she believed him, too, because men like Serge didn’t walk away from something like this. They came back—harder, smarter, and meaner.
A knock sounded behind her, but she didn’t jump this time. “Come in.” The door opened, and Luca stood in the doorway. Her shoulders lowered just a fraction, and she hated that. She hated that her body reacted to him like that—like his presence felt like something safe. But right now, it did.
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him, his eyes already on her. Not scanning the room but looking at her directly. He was always watching her. “You okay?” The question was simple and direct, but that was his version of checking in on her.
