Page 51 of Entwined Lies (Entwined #1)

Luca

I slammed through the door and into a narrow hallway, dim as hell, the walls closing in on me. Behind me, chaos. Somewhere ahead—voices. Maybe a scream.

I ran toward it.

My mind churned, racing through every twisted scenario Ivanov could’ve set in motion. If he got out now—if he slipped through that damn door—it was over. We’d lose him. Lose them . No second chances.

The corridor narrowed the deeper I pushed in. At the end, a rusted-out door—its surface streaked with years of neglect—stood barely ajar.

I paused. Just for a breath. My hand hovered over the handle, every possible worst-case scenario slamming into me at once.

But there was no more time for thinking.

I shoved the door open, every muscle tensed as if it could stop what was waiting.

The room was big—too big—and lit by a single flickering bulb overhead, like every room in this fucking place. It was bare, except for a few crates and Ivanov standing dead center, gripping Isabelle and Jake like a prize, holding his gun to Isabelle’s head.

My gut clenched. It was a trap, and I’d walked right into it.

Ivanov smiled .

The smug bastard.

He had them right where he wanted, and now? I was exactly where he needed me.

“Luca. You really thought you could outsmart me? Bring in your crew and play the hero? You should know by now, I’m not that easy to beat.”

“Let them go. This is between you and me.”

His smile twisted—mocking, slow, like he was savoring it. “Oh, no, no. You’re missing the bigger picture. This isn’t just that anymore. It’s evolved. You let her become your weakness. You let them all become your weakness. And now look at us.”

I glanced at Isabelle.

Her skin was ghost-white, her fingers clenched so tight around Jake’s that it looked like she was trying to keep him tethered to life itself. Tears spilled over, but it was her face—the raw panic in it—that ripped right through me.

Ivanov walking out of here alive? Not a chance in hell. I’d bury him before that happened.

“You’ve done enough,” I said, stepping forward slowly. “You’ve caused enough damage. Don’t drag them any further into this mess.”

Ivanov’s grip on Jake’s shoulder tightened, making him wince.

Everything in me screamed to move, to attack, to end him right there. But I couldn’t. Not yet.

“Oh, no. This is perfect,” he spat, a wild smile twisting his face. “You thought you could just show up and play hero? Take them and walk out like nothing happened? Nah, Luca. I want you to feel it. The way I did.”

I scanned the room, my heart jackhammering behind my ribs. No way to move without risking them both.

“You’re done. So fucking done,” I said, keeping my voice steady.

Ivanov’s laugh grated like nails on glass—cold, hollow. “Done? Oh, Luca… I’ve barely started. You’ve already lost. You just don’t know it yet.”

He was basking in his own twisted little monologue, so wrapped up in the sound of his voice, he didn’t see Enzo slip in through the side door. Ivanov didn’t notice a thing. His arrogance was a blindfold, and time was slipping through his fingers.

Then, everything unfolded in a blur.

Isabelle looked like she might faint. Her chest rose too fast. Her lips parted, fighting to get enough air. Her legs folded under her, as if her body was done. She surged forward, off-balance, arms thrown out like she was falling.

Ivanov instinctively moved to steady her, his hand slipping off Jake’s shoulder. That was the opening.

Enzo moved fast—too fast for Ivanov to catch it. He lunged in and snatched Jake so fast it was like time stuttered.

I yanked him into me, held him tight, backing away with my heart thundering against my ribs.

Ivanov’s eyes flared. Just for a second. Then his gaze snapped to Isabelle. But Isabelle didn’t break. She kept the mask on. Eyes low. Shoulders slumped. His gun was still locked on her, but the balance had shifted—and he felt it.

Nina stepped in, calm as ice, gun aimed right between his eyes. She didn’t say a word. Just reached for Jake and hauled him toward the door like this was just cleanup.

Ivanov’s voice cracked. “You think it’s that easy? That your son just walks away?”

“We’ll see,” I said, my finger twitching on the trigger. One wrong move and I’d end it.

Ivanov grinned.

“I’ve got one move left.” He yanked Isabelle closer like a shield. His eyes locked on mine, taunting. “One move you didn’t see coming. ”

Every cell in my body was on edge, knowing full well this could explode at any second. Isabelle was too close. And Ivanov—he had that dead-eyed look, like nothing mattered anymore.

“Ivanov, don’t,” I said, trying to anchor him.

But I saw it—the twitch in his hand, the fire in his eyes. He was already gone. This was his last play, and he was all in.

Ivanov’s free hand slid toward his pocket.

Fuck.

My gut told me everything I needed to know—he was going for something. A detonator.

There wasn’t any time for second-guessing.

Negotiations were over.

I pulled the trigger.

The shot was dull, barely a whisper thanks to the silencer, but in that silent room, it still rang like a bell.

He didn’t have time to react. Not really. Just enough for his face to twist into a stunned, almost hurt kind of expression. Like he never thought I’d actually do it. His blood sprayed across Isabelle’s cheek. A bright, violent red against her pale skin.

She blinked once. Didn’t scream. Didn’t move.

Ivanov’s body dropped like a bag of bricks, dragging her with him before she stumbled forward—straight into my arms.

The room went still. It was dead silent. Like the whole world stepped back and left just us standing there. Just Isabelle—breathing too fast, shaking as the adrenaline had finally caught up with her.

Isabelle clung to me, clutching me like she needed something solid.

I held on tighter, the sound of sirens already rising in the distance. Low at first, growing louder with every second, closing in. A reminder that the world was still spinning, that we weren’t done yet. No relief, no time to catch our breath. Just the next round of shitstorm rolling in .

“It’s over,” I whispered into her hair. “He’s done. Can’t hurt you anymore.”

She buried her face into my shoulder, and the hell we’d survived felt like a distant memory. But that fragile sense of calm shattered as the SWAT team stormed in, the door slamming against the wall with a crash that made Isabelle flinch hard.

“Police! Don’t move! Police! Drop the gun!” they shouted, their voices sharp and commanding. Their tactical gear absorbed the dim light, rifles locked and ready.

“Drop the gun!” one of them barked again. The red dot hovered right between my eyes.

I hesitated—just long enough to weigh the odds—then let it go. The gun slipped from my fingers and hit the ground with a heavy thud.

I raised my hands. Slowly. No sudden moves.

Isabelle, though, didn’t let go. Her fingers dug into my sides, trembling, clinging to me.

“Get your hands up!” another SWAT officer snapped.

Isabelle stepped away from me, her hand shaking as she raised them, her eyes locked with mine, wide and full of fear. She knew—just like I did—that this was only the start of the next nightmare.

I wanted to keep holding her, shield her from what was coming, but the truth was, we were out of time. Out of control.

A tall cop in full gear—probably the captain of this whole fucking team—burst in after his guys, and instead of assessing the scene or barking orders, he went straight for Isabelle. No hesitation. As if the destruction around us didn’t exist.

“Izzy, are you okay?” His voice cracked like thunder, full of concern and way too personal for my liking.

He clearly knew her—hell, probably half the damn team did. That’s why they came running the second Chrissy called .

It took every ounce of self-control not to snap, not to tell him to stay the fuck away from my wife. But they were here to save her just as much as I was.

She froze, eyes flicking between him and me, breathing hard.

“I’m… I’m fine,” she said, but her voice cracked halfway through.

“Get her out. Now,” he shouted, leaving no room for argument.

Isabelle flinched, breathing too fast.

“It’s okay,” I said gently. “Just do what they say. We’ll be fine.”

Or as fine as you can be when you are standing on the edge of a lifetime behind bars.

Her eyes stayed on mine longer than they should’ve. She didn’t want to leave.

One cop moved to her side, hand light on her arm. The other stayed close, guiding her out.

And just like that, the room shifted. The remaining ones turned their attention back to Enzo and me, ready to lock us up.

“Hands behind your back.”

I complied, the bite of the cuffs digging into my wrists.

Enzo wasn’t spared either. As the cuffs clicked shut, he turned his head slightly, mouth curled at the edge.

“You know,” he muttered, “last time I got cuffed, it was by a long-legged brunette. A hell of a lot more finesse than these guys.”

I rolled my eyes, but my lips betrayed me.

An officer snorted, gave him a slight shove, and started in on the script.

“You have the right to remain silent…”

Yeah. Yeah. I know the drill.

But silence never stopped the system from finding a story.

Enzo’s jaw was locked so tight it made my own ache.

The officer’s eyes scanned the dent in my bulletproof vest. The edges were frayed, the fibers split and stretched to their limit .

“That vest took a hell of a hit. You’re lucky if that didn’t break a rib. You need medical attention.”

I shook my head, the dull ache still radiating from my chest. “I’m good.”

The officer’s eyes flicked to Enzo, quickly assessing the situation. “What about you? Do you need a medic?”

Enzo shook his head.

The officer shot a look, brow arched, and gave a clipped nod. “Get them out of here.”

A hand clamped down on my arm—no hesitation, no warmth. Just duty. We moved, boots striking the concrete in grim, steady rhythm. Every step echoed, as if we were walking out of a tomb.

Outside, flashing lights strobed over everything, turning the whole mess into a made-for-TV disaster. Cameras rolling. Cops posing. Crowd eating it up. All we were missing was the theme music.

My eyes tore through the scene, heart crawling up my throat.

Then I saw her. In the back of an ambulance, Jake curled into her side. A medic was touching her face, checking her head. She looked wrecked. But breathing.

Relief hit me so hard that I almost laughed.

Her gaze met mine, and for one second, everything else—noise, light, chaos—just stopped.

She mouthed something.

Didn’t matter that I couldn’t hear it. I already knew: I love you.

An officer’s hand gripped my arm as they led me toward an ambulance.

The cuffs bit into my wrists, but honestly?

I barely felt it. I’d been through worse.

All that mattered was the look in Isabelle’s eyes, that flicker of relief, the one that told me I’d made the right call—even if my future was locked behind bars.

Life never follows the script, and what was waiting for me wasn’t anything I saw coming.