Page 17 of Devil’s Embrace (31 Days of Trick or Treat: Biker & Mobster #10)

Chapter Eleven

Luca

I caught up with Mateo in the blood-soaked foyer where it had all begun.

He stood amid the carnage—overturned furniture, shattered glass, the bodies of his men scattered like broken dolls.

Blood had soaked into the pristine marble, turning white to crimson in spreading patterns that reminded me of the Rorschach tests Mateo had made me take as a child.

He'd claimed he wanted to understand how I saw the world. Now he was about to find out.

He'd lost his expensive suit jacket somewhere in the chaos, his white shirt stained with blood—some his, most not. A cut above his eye leaked red down his face, but his stance was steady, his eyes clear. The old wolf still had fight in him.

"It didn't have to be this way," he said as I approached, his voice oddly conversational despite the destruction surrounding us. "You could have just followed orders. Like always."

I kept my pistol trained on his chest, circling slowly. "You should have just asked for a meeting. Like always."

He laughed, the sound brittle in the ruined space. "Would you have brought your little pets to the table? Would you have admitted how pathetically attached you've become?"

My finger tightened on the trigger, but I didn't fire. Not yet. "You murdered my men. Invaded my home. Threatened a child. For what? To prove a point?"

"To save the family." His hand moved, a slight shift that had me tensing. But he only reached up to wipe blood from his eye. "To save you from yourself."

The gunfire had died away. Just this left. Just us.

"Where are your guard dogs now, Mateo?" I circled him carefully. "All dead or running."

Rage flashed across his face, cracking his controlled facade.

He lunged suddenly, faster than a man his age should move, his fist connecting with my wounded side.

Pain exploded through my ribs, but training took over.

I dropped the gun rather than letting him take it, pivoting to drive my elbow into his kidney.

He grunted, staggered, but recovered quickly. We circled again, both bleeding, both breathing hard.

"I made you." He raised his hands in a boxer's stance I recognized from my childhood training. "Molded you from nothing into the perfect weapon."

"You killed my parents." The words came out flat, emotionless. An old truth that had lost its power to hurt me. "You took a child and turned him into a killer."

"I saved you!" He swung again, a wild haymaker I easily dodged. "Your father was weak, just like you're becoming. The family would have been destroyed."

Our fight escalated, fists giving way to anything at hand.

He grabbed a broken chair leg, swinging it like a club.

I ducked, snatched a letter opener from the fallen side table.

Metal flashed in his hand—a knife appearing from some hidden sheath.

We moved in a deadly rhythm, each blow potentially fatal, each dodge a temporary reprieve.

The knife sliced across my forearm as I blocked his thrust. I countered, the letter opener finding flesh between his ribs, not deep enough to kill but enough to make him howl.

Blood slicked the floor beneath our feet, making footing treacherous.

We slipped, recovered, attacked again. No elegance now, just brutal necessity.

I noticed movement at the edge of my vision—Emory, emerging cautiously from the corridor, Mina clutched against her hip.

She'd found a better hiding place during the worst of the fighting, but now she watched our battle with wide, fearful eyes.

The momentary distraction cost me. Mateo's fist connected with my jaw, sending me staggering back against an overturned table.

"That woman has made you pathetic." He followed the words with a kick that I barely deflected. "Your father would be ashamed."

I swept his leg, sending him crashing to the floor, the knife skittering from his grasp. In one fluid motion, I pinned him, forearm across his throat. "No, Mateo. She's made me see what's worth fighting for."

His eyes widened at that—not in fear, but in confirmation of his worst suspicions. "You've become weak."

I increased the pressure just enough to silence him.

"I learned everything you taught me. How to kill efficiently, to remove threats, and to recognize when someone has outlived their usefulness.

" I leaned closer, my voice dropping to a whisper meant only for him.

"Guess what conclusion I've reached about you? "

Something clattered across the floor—his silver pistol, kicked free from beneath a fallen bookcase by one of my men securing the room.

Mateo's gaze tracked it, a desperate calculation forming.

I moved faster, releasing his throat to lunge for the weapon.

My fingers closed around the grip just as he scrambled up, reaching into his boot for yet another hidden blade.

I twisted, disarming him with a swift motion that bent his wrist backward until something snapped. The knife fell from nerveless fingers as he howled in pain. I backed away, with the pistol now leveled at his face.

"It's over, Mateo." My breathing was steady despite the fire in my ribs, the blood dripping down my arm. "On your knees."

For a moment, I thought he might comply.

His shoulders slumped slightly, his broken wrist cradled against his chest. Then his gaze shifted, looking past me to where Emory stood with Mina.

A smile spread across his bloodied face, and I knew with sudden certainty that he had no intention of surrendering.

I hesitated, glancing back at Emory. Her face was pale, her eyes wide as she pressed Mina's head against her shoulder, shielding the child from the violence.

Something twisted in my chest at the sight—not weakness, as Mateo claimed, but a clarity I'd never experienced before.

These two lives had somehow become precious to me, their safety more important than the empire Mateo had built on blood and fear.

Mateo seized that split-second of divided attention. He darted his hand to the small of his back, reaching for what I knew was his final hidden weapon.

"Luca!" Emory's sharp cry snapped my focus back just in time to see the glint of metal as Mateo pulled a compact pistol from his waistband.

I didn't think. Didn't hesitate. My finger squeezed the trigger once, twice.

The shots echoed in the cavernous space, oddly final after the extended chaos of the battle.

Mateo's body jerked with the impact, surprise blooming on his face as he looked down at the spreading red stain on his chest. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came.

His legs buckled, and he collapsed to the floor.

The echo of the shots faded, leaving an eerie silence broken only by Mina's frightened whimpers. I stood frozen for a moment, the pistol still aimed at Mateo's now-still form. My uncle. Tormentor. Maker. Dead by my hand, just as he'd trained me to kill so many others.

I lowered the weapon slowly, feeling a strange emptiness where I'd expected triumph or relief. Marco approached cautiously, his rifle ready.

"Sir?" he prompted quietly. "Are we secure?"

I nodded, suddenly desperate to be away from Mateo's empty stare. "Check the grounds again. Make sure none of his men escaped. We can't risk anyone reporting back to his lieutenants."

Marco hesitated, glancing at Mateo's body. "And him, sir?"

"Later." I was already moving, each step carrying me away from my past and toward the two figures who had somehow become my future.

I crossed to Emory and Mina, holstering the pistol to keep from frightening the child further.

My expression shifted without conscious effort, the merciless killer giving way to something else entirely.

I reached them in three long strides, my eyes sweeping over them, checking for injuries beyond the cut on Mina's arm.

"Are you hurt?" I asked, my voice softer than I could ever remember it being.

Emory shook her head, her eyes never leaving my face. "You're bleeding."

I glanced down at my torn sleeve, the blood dripping from my fingertips. It seemed unimportant now, a minor detail in the face of everything we’d just survived.

"It's nothing. Thank you. Your warning... you saved my life."

She nodded once, her arms tightening around Mina. In her eyes I saw fear, shock, horror at the violence she'd witnessed. But beneath that, something else—recognition, perhaps. Understanding of what had just changed between us, of the protection I now offered without condition or expectation.

"It's over. You're safe now. Both of you."

Marco approached again, this time with more urgency. "Sir, we need to move quickly. If word reaches Bianchi about what's happened here—"

I raised a hand, silencing him. There would be consequences, of course. Power vacuums, territory disputes, questions about succession. The business of death and power would continue, as it always had.

But for this moment, looking into Emory's eyes, feeling Mina's small hand tentatively reach for mine, none of that seemed to matter.

"See to it. I'll join you shortly."

He nodded and withdrew, leaving me standing with the woman and child who had somehow breached defenses I hadn't even known I still maintained.

"Come." I offered my hand to Emory. "Let's get you both somewhere safe."