Page 30 of Intrigue (Dark Syndicate #4)

Selene

The shot rings out. But instead of pain, I feel a body slam into mine. Sandro. His weight knocks me sideways as crimson blooms across his shirt. Without hesitation, I snatch his fallen gun and fire. One shot. My father staggers, confusion etched into his features.

Then another. So close to where Giovanni shot him and blood bursts across his chest.

He collapses, knees hitting the floor first. There’s no satisfaction, just cold relief as his body slumps, lifeless.

“Sandro!” I drop to my knees, gripping his arm. His face is pale beneath the soot. Flames lick thewalls around us, hungry and unforgiving. Pieces of the ceiling crash down, exploding into sparks. The heat presses in like suffocation.

“We need to get you out of here.” Sandro’s voice comes out rough, pained. “The structure won’t hold. I can stand.”

I loop his arm over my shoulders, ignoring his grunt of protest. “Shut up and lean on me.”

With effort, he leans heavily on me, and we stagger toward the only window that hasn’t been taken up by the fire.

Smoke burns my lungs, blurring my vision.

Debris rains down as we stumble through burning hallways.

The building groans, timbers splintering overhead.

Somewhere in the chaos, I hear faint voices either from the Moretti men trapped or fleeing, I can’t tell.

Cassian could be among them, but he was too damn hurt to have not been trapped under the rubble.

“Leave me,” Sandro mutters. “Save yourself.”

“Not happening.” I tighten my grip, half-dragging him toward the exit. “You don’t get to play hero then check out.”

Fresh air hits like a punch when we finally break free. We collapse on wet grass as the building caves in behind us, sending sparks spiraling into the night sky. Sandro’s breathing comes shallow, his shirt soaked through.

Sirens wail distantly, barely audible over the roar of fire behind us. Sandro collapses onto the pavement, groaning. I drop beside him, heart hammering, hands trembling as I press down on his wound.

“Stay awake,” I snap at him, terrified by how weak his pulse feels under my fingertips.

He coughs and laughs bitterly. “After everything, you’re still giving orders.”

“Shut up.” My voice cracks, betraying me. Tears blur my vision, mixing with sweat and soot. “Just shut up and keep breathing.”

His hand covers mine, warm despite everything. “You’re worth it, Selene. I’d take that bullet again. Every time.”

My throat tightens, anger and gratitude tangled together. “You idiot. Don’t ever do that again.”

His fingers find my face, leaving smears of ash and blood. Then a small, tired smile pulls at his lips. “Can’t promise.”

“Come on, I need to take you somewhere and treat that,” I say, hauling him upright again. We need shelter, a place no one will think to look, especially the police. We cannot go to the hospital for now so as not to gather suspicion.”

“There’s a house nearby,” Sandro says, struggling to sit up. “My old apartment.”

Each step is agony, for him physically, for me watching him suffer. The streets blur past as I focus on keeping us both upright. Three blocks feel like thirty before we reach a nondescript building.

“Third floor,” he rasps. The elevator’s out of order, because of course it is.

By the time we stumble into his apartment, Sandro can barely stand. The emptiness hits me immediately as I scan through to see the apartment is barely furnished, so hollow, like a place waiting indefinitely for life to happen.

“Home sweet home,” he murmurs weakly, eyes moving around. “Always wanted to bring you here…but I never managed to live here myself.”

“Thank God you didn’t,” I tease gently, masking the tightness in my throat. “Your taste is terrible.”

A soft, painful laugh escapes him, quickly turning into a grimace. “Still kicking me when I’m down, huh? So typically you.”

I guide him carefully into the bathroom, peeling away his blood-soaked shirt. My breath catches as there’s so much blood, but at least the bullet passed clean through. Lucky, if you could call this luck.

“First aid kit’s under the sink,” he mutters, leaning heavily against the cold tiles.

I drop to my knees beside him, using my own shirt to gently wipe away the blood and grime from his face. For once, his eyes aren’t guarded, they’re raw, open, and deeply haunted.

“Forgive me,” he whispers, his voice ragged and small. “For every lie, for hurting you the way I did, for every damn mistake I’ve made.”

My fingertips lightly trace his bruised jaw, emotions knotted painfully within me. “I should hate you.” My voice trembles.

His eyes burn into mine. “Do you?”

“No,” I admit softly, throat tightening. “And that scares me more than anything.”

His hand comes up, fingers threading through my hair, pulling me close. The kiss is desperate, fierce, tasting of smoke, regret, and the bitter tang of blood. I melt into it, clinging to him, before forcing myself back, my heart pounding violently.

“Let me finish this,” I whisper shakily.

I work swiftly but methodically, cleaning his wound and bandaging him tightly, my hands steadier than my heart. When it’s done, relief washes over me as he’s alive, still breathing, though pale and weak.

I help him to the couch and search the cabinets for anything edible. Oddly, everything seems fresh, newly stocked.

Noticing my confusion, Sandro murmurs, eyes half-closed, “I wasn’t lying.

I always imagined us here. This was the first place I bought with my own money, dreaming you’d make it ours one day.

Since we had your first time at the villa, I wanted to do something even better for you.

To show how serious I was about you. I was going to tell you at the party…

but things didn’t exactly go as planned. ”

A tender warmth blossoms deep within my chest, slowly unfurling into something almost painful in its beauty.

He had planned for us, dreamed of us, long before everything fell apart, long before I made choices that twisted and tore at the fabric of our lives.

Before I took Edoardo’s life and set our worlds ablaze.

Sandro had envisioned a future, stubbornly hopeful, carefully crafted against all odds and despite every harsh reality.

Even with my father’s calculated moves to pawn me off back then, Sandro had seen past the barriers, the battles, the betrayals.

He’d imagined us together, not as pieces on someone else’s chessboard, but as something genuine, something real.

He wanted us.

My heart swells and aches with that realization, the profound simplicity of being wanted, chosen, not for power or convenience, but purely out of love.

Just like he always has.

“I would never have forgiven myself if you’d died tonight,” I say quietly, swallowing hard.

He meets my eyes, intensity blazing through his exhaustion. “Again I’ll say this. Worth it. Always worth it.”

I walk back and sit next to him, the reason I was looking for something for him to eat slipping from my mind entirely.

His fingers curl around my wrist, sending a shock of raw, primal desire through me.

This time, I don’t hesitate. I press my mouth to his, urgent and hungry, matching the desperation in his touch.

We kiss for what feels like forever, lost in the heat of it, before I finally pull back, breathless, and beg him to get some rest. Reluctantly, he complies.

I lay by his side, my fingers running through his hair, soothing him until I’m sure he’s asleep. But sleep soon claims me as well.

***

The next day, I wake to find him still sleeping peacefully beside me.

I don’t know what time it is, but it feels like we’ve been asleep for almost twenty-four hours.

My mind stirs with curiosity, trying to piece together the hours we’ve lost in a haze of exhaustion and passion.

I glance around, unsure of where to check the time.

I stand up, my feet meeting the cool floor, and walk over to the window. The curtains are thin, frayed at the edges, and barely block the weak light from outside. I pull them back, and peek out, hoping to catch a glimpse of anything that might give me some sense of the hour.

I get distracted, watching two cats play near a garbage can in the alley below, completely unaware of the world beyond their small, insignificant fight. The sight almost brings a smile to my lips, but the moment is interrupted by a faint rustling sound from the couch.

I turn, and to my surprise, I see him awake, his eyes heavy but alert, silently gesturing for me to come closer.

His body is still marked with the remnants of his injuries, but the pain that had tortured him yesterday is less visible now, as though he’s masking it with sheer willpower.

He’s something beyond human, something almost otherworldly, and the thought makes my heart race. This man—he's not really of this earth.

“Come here,” he says and jerks me to him. It’s not a plea but a command, dripping with possession. “Please...Selene,” he breathes against my lips.

“We shouldn’t, you’re hurt—”

“Shut up.” He moves me to straddle his lap, careful of his wound. “I don’t want to wait any longer to have you. I need this. Need you.”

Our coupling is frantic, raw hands grasping, bodies melding. Every kiss feels like forgiveness, every touch like absolution. We’re both broken, both healing, both alive against impossible odds.

I want to do this right this time, we both need to heal, we need to determine what this whole run down mean for us, but I follow him blindly because it’s Sandro, and because I’ve allowed myself to understand that I’ll never be able to forget him—his scent, his violence, his fucking grip on my soul.

“Ah, my love, I still can’t believe you’re here. You’re here. God—I…I…fuck!”