Page 15 of Devil’s Embrace (31 Days of Trick or Treat: Biker & Mobster #10)

Chapter Ten

Luca

I was reviewing the security footage from the night before, watching Emory slip from her room and make her way to my study, when Marco burst through my office door without knocking.

His face, usually composed, carried the unmistakable tension of betrayal.

"Mr. Moretti, your uncle has arrived. Unannounced.

" The words hit me like ice water. Mateo never came without warning unless he intended to catch someone off guard—unless he knew something.

"How many?" I closed the laptop, already calculating angles and escape routes.

"At least twelve armed men. They disabled the front gate cameras, but perimeter sensors picked them up." Marco's gaze flicked to the screen where Emory's frozen image lingered. "They're moving with purpose, sir. Not a social call."

A cold fury settled in my chest as I processed the betrayal. Mateo had raised me, shaped me, but never trusted me. Now he invaded my territory without warning. Someone had talked. Someone close.

"Who knew about the woman and child?" I kept my voice level as I moved to the hidden panel beside my bookcase.

Marco shook his head. "Only those you briefed. Vincent, myself, Antonio, and the house staff."

I entered the code, and the panel slid open, revealing my private arsenal.

My movements became precise, mechanical, as I selected a matte black pistol, checked the magazine, and holstered it at my back.

A second, smaller weapon went to my ankle.

A tactical knife slipped into my belt. No wasted motion, no hesitation.

"Maria heard his men talking when they first entered. They mentioned a blonde and her kid. I’m not sure how they discovered them.”

Rage flared hot and bright, then cooled into something more dangerous—a focused, deliberate calm. If Mateo touched them, if he harmed one hair on Mina's head, I would end him. The thought should have shocked me. Instead, it felt like clarity.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed a number from memory.

"Antonio. Code black. Mateo's here with a dozen men.

Secure all alternate exits, put eyes on every security camera.

" I paused, listening to his response. "Good.

Position your men at the east and west corridors.

Hold your position until I give the signal.

" I ended the call and dialed again. "Vincent.

Mateo's made his move. Secure the third floor, especially the blue room. No one gets near the woman or child."

I tucked the phone away and handed Marco a rifle from the wall. "Gather everyone you trust. South entrance, five minutes."

Marco nodded once, a soldier accepting orders, and disappeared through the door. I checked my weapons one last time, then moved to the window overlooking the courtyard. Mateo’s black SUVs crowded the space near the fountain, a deliberate violation of my territory.

I left my office and moved through the dimly lit corridors of the east wing, each step measured and silent.

The compound had gone quiet, the usual sounds of servants and guards replaced by an expectant hush.

Through windows, I glimpsed my men taking positions along the perimeter walls, rifles slung over shoulders, faces grim.

At the junction leading to the main hall, I paused, listening.

Voices drifted from below—Mateo's distinctive baritone among them, issuing orders.

I had a choice to make. I could confront him directly, asserting my dominance in my own home.

Or I could hunt his men one by one, weakening his position before the ultimate confrontation.

The decision made itself when I rounded the corner and found one of Mateo's soldiers crouched by the service elevator, attempting to override the security lock. He wore all black, with Mateo's silver wolf pin on his collar—the mark of his inner circle.

I moved before he registered my presence, my hand closing over his mouth from behind, my other arm snaking around his throat in a practiced hold. He struggled briefly, then went still as he felt the press of my knife against his artery.

"Where is Mateo going?" When I eased my hand from his mouth, he remained silent. I applied more pressure with the knife, just enough to break skin.

"Third floor. The woman and child. He wants them as leverage."

Interesting. Leverage? I’d thought he’d be here to eliminate them as a witnesses to my crime. "Against?"

"You." The man swallowed. "He says you've gone soft. That the family needs stronger leadership."

So that was Mateo's game. Not just a power play, but a full coup. Using Emory and Mina to prove I'd lost my edge, that I was unfit to take over when he stepped down. Rage bubbled beneath my skin, but I kept it contained, focused.

"What does he plan to do with them?" The man hesitated too long. I twisted the knife slightly, felt warm blood seep against my fingers.

"Use them to control you. If that fails..." He didn't finish the thought. He didn't need to.

I broke his arm with a single, sharp motion, the snap of bone punctuating his strangled cry. As he doubled over, I pressed the barrel of my pistol to the base of his skull. "My uncle made a mistake teaching me to be thorough."

Without another word, I pulled the trigger.

The shot echoed through the corridor, joined seconds later by distant gunfire from the west wing.

It had begun then. My phone buzzed in my pocket—Antonio, reporting contact with Mateo's forces near the kitchen.

I issued new orders, redirecting men to pressure points throughout the compound.

As I moved toward the main staircase, images of Emory and Mina flashed through my mind.

Emory's delicate hand tracing the edge of my desk.

Mina's wide blue eyes as she asked for more syrup on her unicorn pancakes.

The mother and daughter, who had witnessed my kill and somehow become something more than just loose ends to tie up.

Something tightened in my chest—unfamiliar, uncomfortable.

Protective instinct warred with the cold calculation I'd relied on my entire life.

Mateo had raised me to be a weapon, to view people as either assets or liabilities.

Nothing more. Yet here I was, blood cooling on my hands, moving through my home with single-minded purpose not just to protect my territory, but to protect them.

I reached the main hall just as another burst of gunfire erupted from the floor above. My phone buzzed again—Vincent, reporting that Mateo's men had breached the east wing second-floor security. Too close to Emory's room. Too close to Mina.

I took the stairs three at a time. Behind me, Marco and three of my most trusted men fell into formation without a word. We moved as a unit, as we had on countless other missions. But this time was different. This time wasn't just business.

This time, it was personal.

I was checking the eastern corridor with Antonio when I heard it—Emory's muffled cry followed by the unmistakable thud of bodies hitting the floor.

The sound cut through the gunfire and shouting like it was the only noise in the world.

My blood turned to ice, then fire. I sprinted down the hallway, no longer concerned with stealth or tactics.

Antonio called after me, but his voice faded into nothing.

All that mattered was reaching that room, reaching them, before Mateo's men could carry out whatever orders they'd been given.

My heart hammered so hard. Each footfall echoed my single thought: not them, not them, not them. The corridor stretched endlessly before me, each step seeming to increase the distance rather than close it.

I rounded the corner to Emory's wing and found Vincent sprawled face-down, a pool of dark blood spreading beneath him.

His hand still clutched his pistol, two of Mateo's men lying dead beside him.

He'd fought hard. Too hard to survive whatever they'd done to him.

I didn't stop to check his pulse. The bloody trail leading toward the main staircase told me everything I needed to know—they had Emory and Mina, and they were taking them to Mateo.

I reached the bathroom door where the struggle must have started.

It hung crookedly from one hinge, with splintered wood and broken glass littering the marble floor.

Inside, a scene of desperate struggle—towels strewn about, the shower curtain torn down, a small bloody handprint on the edge of the tub.

Rage burned hotter in my chest, threatening to consume my reason.

Voices drifted up from below—Mateo's smug baritone, a child's frightened whimper, Emory's voice taut with barely controlled fear. I moved to the balcony overlooking the grand foyer, staying in shadow, assessing the situation with the cold calculation that had kept me alive all these years.

Mateo stood in the center of the foyer, beneath the grand chandelier that had hung there since before I was born. Four of his men formed a loose circle around him, weapons drawn. And there, directly before him, were Emory and Mina.

My breath caught at the sight of them. The child clutched her mother's leg, face buried against Emory's thigh, still wearing her unicorn pajamas—the ones Maria had found for her.

Emory's face was pale but composed, one hand protectively on Mina's head, the other clenched into a fist at her side.

Even in fear, she showed more courage than most of the men I'd known.

Mateo circled them slowly, like a wolf sizing up wounded prey. He looked older than when I'd last seen him, the gray in his hair more pronounced, but no less dangerous. His expensive suit was immaculate, not a drop of blood marring its perfection. He never did his own dirty work.