Page 16 of Devil’s Embrace (31 Days of Trick or Treat: Biker & Mobster #10)

"Such a pretty little thing." He reached out to touch Mina's hair. Emory shifted, putting her body between them. Mateo laughed. "Protective, isn't she? No wonder you've been hiding them, Luca. I always knew you had a weakness for broken things."

My world narrowed to a single purpose, every other thought and concern falling away.

Nothing existed but the need to get them away from him, to eliminate the threat he posed.

I scanned the foyer, noting positions, angles, and the distance to each of Mateo's men.

Three more of his soldiers stood near the front entrance.

Two by the eastern corridor. I calculated how many I could take out before they could react, how to create enough chaos to get Emory and Mina clear.

I stepped out onto the landing of the grand staircase, making no attempt to hide my approach. Mateo's head snapped up, his gaze locking with mine. A smile spread across his face—not of welcome, but of victory. He thought he'd won already.

"Let them go, Mateo—this ends now."

Mateo's smile widened. "Ah, there he is. The prodigal son returns." He gestured to my appearance with a mocking flourish. "You look like you've been busy."

Awareness struck me like a blow—my shirt caked with drying blood, my hands still warm from the violence I’d inflicted, my eyes cold with lethal intent. The acrid bite of gunpowder clung to my skin, and adrenaline left a sharp taste on my tongue.

"I won't repeat myself." I started down the steps with measured strides. Each footfall was deliberate, my muscles primed for the violence to come. "Release them. They have nothing to do with our business."

"Oh, but they do." Mateo's hand settled on Mina's shoulder, ignoring Emory's attempt to shield her. "They have everything to do with our business. Family business, Luca. The business of succession."

I continued my descent, each step bringing me closer to them, to him. "You're mistaken if you think using them against me will work."

"Am I?" Mateo's eyebrow raised. "Then why the rush to their rescue? Why the look in your eyes right now? You care for them. The great Luca Moretti, the Devil himself, brought low by a woman and her brat."

I reached the bottom of the stairs, stopping just outside the circle of his men. Emory's gaze met mine across the space between us—not pleading, not broken, but fierce with a mother's determination. I gave her an imperceptible nod. Hold on. I'm here.

"This compound, this territory, is mine." I let the cold fury show in my voice. "You were not invited. Leave now, without them, and perhaps I'll let you walk out rather than be carried."

Mateo laughed, but some of my men had appeared on the upper balconies, weapons trained on the scene below. The odds were shifting. He felt it too. His smile thinned.

"You always were ambitious." He moved his hand to rest at his waist, where I knew he kept his favorite silver pistol. "But you've forgotten who made you, Luca. Who taught you everything you know."

"Not everything." I glanced at Emory. I needed her to understand what was about to happen, to be ready. "You taught me enough to know when it's time to take what's mine."

Mateo's smile turned predatory as he pulled Mina closer, his fingers digging into her small shoulder.

The child whimpered, and something broke loose inside me—a cold, focused rage I hadn't felt since the day I learned the truth about my parents' murder.

I kept my face expressionless, my hand steady near my weapon, but my mind raced, assessing risks.

One wrong move could put Emory or Mina in the crossfire.

I refused to let that happen. They belonged under my protection now, planned or not.

"The great Luca Moretti." Mateo pressed Emory and Mina against him like shields. “Brought low by a woman." His fingers tangled in Emory's damp hair, yanking her head back. She didn't cry out, just stared at me with those fierce eyes. "The family deserves better than a leader who's gone soft."

My gaze never left Emory's pale face. Three of Mateo's men had moved to flank me, but I paid them little attention. They weren't the threat—Mateo was. The silver pistol glinted in his hand, still at his side but ready.

"Soft?" I kept my voice level, taking one measured step forward. "Is that what you call eliminating six of your men in less than ten minutes?"

Mateo's jaw tightened. So he hadn't known how many he'd already lost. Good. Let him understand what he was facing.

"A wolf who can kill isn't impressive, Luca. It's expected." He shifted his grip, moving Mina partly in front of him. "A wolf who hesitates because of sentiment is dangerous to the pack."

I took another step. Twenty feet separated us. Too far to rush him before he could fire. Too close to miss if I took a shot—but Emory and Mina were in my line of fire.

"You taught me to be smart, not sentimental." Emory tracked the movements of Mateo's men, her body tense and ready. She understood what was happening. "Smart means recognizing assets."

Mateo's laugh was harsh. "Assets? Is that what you call them?" He pressed the barrel of his gun to Mina's temple. The child went rigid with terror, a small sound escaping her throat. "Let's test that theory."

Something shifted in Emory's expression—a flash of pure, maternal rage replacing the controlled fear. I saw the exact moment she made her decision, her gaze meeting mine for a fraction of a second.

"Three seconds to drop your weapons, Luca. Or we find out how much this asset is worth to you."

"Don't." I made a small gesture with my left hand—not to Mateo, but to Emory. Wait.

"One."

I let my hand drift toward my holstered pistol, as if preparing to surrender it.

"Two."

Behind Mateo, Marco appeared in the shadowed hallway entrance, rifle raised. I caught his eye and gave an imperceptible nod.

"Thr—"

Emory exploded into motion before Mateo could finish, driving her elbow into his throat with surprising force. The gun jerked away from Mina as he staggered back. In the same moment, Emory grabbed her daughter and lunged sideways, putting a marble column between them and the impending violence.

I drew and fired in one fluid motion, catching the nearest of Mateo's men in the chest before he could react.

Marco's rifle cracked from the hallway, dropping another.

The foyer erupted into chaos—the crash of gunfire, the splintering of wood as bullets found furniture instead of flesh, men shouting orders that were lost in the din.

I moved on instinct, diving behind an overturned table as return fire chewed into the marble where I'd been standing.

From my new position, I could see Emory huddled with Mina behind the column, covering the child's body with her own.

Their gazes met mine across the battlefield that had once been my home, and I gave Emory a single nod. Stay down.

More of my men poured in from the upper balconies and side entrances—Antonio leading a group from the eastern corridor, Vincent's second-in-command bringing men up from the basement levels.

Bullets shattered windows and tore into antique furniture.

The chandelier swayed dangerously overhead as stray rounds clipped its support chain.

I rolled to a new position, coming up firing.

Two shots, two of Mateo's men down. Movement caught my eye—Mateo himself, using the confusion to edge toward where Emory and Mina hid.

My world narrowed to a pinpoint focus. I broke cover, ignoring the bullets that whined past my head, and intercepted him with a tackle that sent us both crashing into a side table.

His silver gun skittered across the floor.

I drove my fist into his face, felt cartilage give beneath my knuckles.

He was strong for his age, bucking beneath me, fingers clawing for my eyes.

I slammed his head against the floor once, twice, but he hooked a leg around mine and rolled us, reversing our positions.

"You could have had everything." Blood from his broken nose splattered on my face. "Everything I built!"

His hands found my throat, squeezing with surprising strength. I brought my knee up hard between his legs. As he doubled over, I shoved him off, gasping for air. All around us, the battle raged—the sound of glass breaking, wood splintering, men shouting and dying.

I staggered to my feet, scanning for Emory and Mina. They'd moved from the column to behind a heavy sofa, still huddled together, still alive. Relief hit me so hard it almost knocked me back down.

That moment of distraction cost me. One of Mateo's men emerged from behind a doorway, rifle aimed at my chest. I twisted away as he fired, the bullet grazing my side instead of finding my heart.

White-hot pain blazed across my ribs, but I pushed through it, raising my pistol and squeezing off three rounds.

The man dropped, his rifle clattering uselessly beside him.

I pressed my hand to my side, felt the warm slickness of blood. Not serious. Not yet. I moved toward Emory and Mina, keeping low, using fallen furniture as cover. My eyes never left them—the way Emory shielded her daughter, the fierce protectiveness that mirrored my growing need to keep them safe.

A flash of movement to my right—another of Mateo's men taking aim at the sofa, at them.

I didn't hesitate, didn't think. My pistol bucked in my hand, once, twice.

The man crumpled, dead before he hit the ground.

Emory's gaze found mine again across the chaos, wide with fear but also something else—recognition, perhaps, of what I was willing to do to protect them.

I reached them finally, sliding into cover beside them behind the sofa. Mina pressed her small face against her mother’s chest, her body shaking with silent sobs. Emory tightened her arm around her daughter when I appeared, then eased her hold once she recognized me.

"Are you hurt?" I asked, my voice rough from Mateo's stranglehold.

She shook her head, then gestured to a minor cut on Mina's arm. "Just this. From the glass."

I brushed my fingers gently across the child's hair, surprised by my tenderness. "Stay here. Don't move until I come for you."

"Luca." Emory's hand caught my wrist as I rose. "Mateo—"

"Won't touch you again," I finished for her, the promise burning in my throat like a vow. "Either of you."

I slipped back into the fray, every shot a promise, every dead man a step closer to fulfilling it.

My men had pushed Mateo's remaining forces back toward the main entrance.

Bodies littered the once-pristine marble floor.

Blood spattered the pale walls. Through the destroyed windows, I could see more of my people securing the grounds, ensuring no one escaped to report back.

But Mateo himself was nowhere in sight.

I caught Antonio's eye across the room, mouthed the question: Where?

He jerked his chin toward the west corridor—toward my study.

Of course. Mateo would go for leverage, for information he could use against me. I moved in that direction, stepping over bodies, my pistol ready. Behind me, the sounds of gunfire were dying down, replaced by the moans of the wounded and the efficient movements of my men securing the scene.

Every step took me further from Emory and Mina, but I forced myself not to look back. The fastest way to protect them was to end this—to end Mateo. The time for sentiment, for mercy, for family loyalty had passed. Now there was only the cold certainty of what needed to be done.

I'd burn down my entire world if that's what it took to keep them safe.