Page 65 of The Hidden Heir

The words come out without much thought. Luca seems surprised by them, too, as he gazes at me with wonder for a moment.

“Despite everything that happened?” Luca asks.

I nod slowly. “I’d probably be dead if it weren’t for you. Michael would grow up without his mother and…”

My voice breaks. Luca captures my mouth in a tender kiss. It feels different, intense and intimate at the same time.

“We have the surviving shooter,” he tells me. “The cops didn’t get a chance to see him.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I will find out who tried to hurt us. I’ll end this.”

I believe him. I was raised in the life, and I never felt like I could survive any of it on my own.

With Luca, it almost seems possible.

20

LUCA

Victor sends Valentina back to the mansion with an escort. She’ll be safe there with Michael while I handle what clearly needs to be handled. It was an egregious attempt to destroy me and my family. They almost succeeded tonight.

I let Solomon, one of my lieutenants, guide me through an abandoned warehouse in Bronzeville—one of the black sites we keep specifically for this type of situation. In the middle of the main hall, bloodied and bound to a rickety old chair, sits the surviving gunman from tonight’s gala. Checking my watch first, I see it’s close to midnight.

“Mr. Petrucci, you’ll be surprised to hear this,” Solomon says.

The guy in the chair looks up, genuinely terrified at the sight of me.

Good.

I want this bastard pissing his pants until he takes his last breath.

He’s surrounded by three of my men, their knuckles bloodied from the beating they gave him prior to my arrival. They know the protocol—prime him for my turn, and I can’t fucking wait to sink my teeth into this fucker.

“What’s that, Solomon?” I ask without taking my eyes off him.

Water drips into a puddle somewhere nearby, its echo wrapped in darkness and suffocating humidity. The smell of rusted iron, mixed with the stench of sweat and blood, fills my nostrils.

“This is Lanny,” Solomon replies.

I honestly think I couldn’t be surprised by anything anymore. Yet here I stand, genuinely surprised as I stare at the guy with wide, sparkling eyes.

“Lanny. One of the gentlemen who had the audacity to rob a Petrucci transport,” I say with a calm tone. “And kill my driver.”

“Yes, sir,” Solomon says, then shows me Lanny’s driver’s license. “I found this hidden in his boot.”

Indeed, the name on the license matches, and it brings everything into a startling yet troubling perspective. But it also feels like the goose that laid the golden egg has been accidentally dropped into my lap. Providence or accident?

“Lanny,” I say, looking at him. “You’re quite the jack-of-all-trades, aren’t you?”

“I’m not saying a word. I’ll only speak to the cops,” Lanny hisses.

I give Solomon an amused glance. “I thought you made the terms and conditions clear to the man.”

“I did. He’s just trying his luck.”

I step forward slowly. “Lanny, so here’s the thing,” I say. “You’ll never see the inside of a cell. The cops can’t save you. Nobody knows you’re here. Nobody knows you’re even alive.”