Page 17

LUCA

T he polished surface of the table gleams under the warm light of the office’s chandelier, but there’s nothing warm about the atmosphere in the room.

Maps and documents are spread out like pieces of a fractured puzzle, each one a reminder of last night’s ambush.

My jaw tightens as I lean forward, my hands splayed across the table.

The tension in the room is suffocating, the men seated around me shifting uneasily under my gaze.

“Explain to me,” I begin, my voice sharp enough to cut through steel, “how we were made fools of?”

No one speaks.

Marco clears his throat, his sharp blue eyes scanning the room before he looks at me. “We’re still piecing it together. They’re careful—no obvious affiliations. But the timing?—”

“The timing is Rossi,” I finish for him, my tone dry and bitter.

A muscle in Marco’s jaw twitches, and he nods. Adriano, seated to my left, shifts in his chair. His dark eyes are fixed on me, and he’s chewing the inside of his cheek. “We’ll interrogate every informant in the network,” he says. “No one gets a pass.”

I nod once in a sharp gesture of approval. “Good. I want names, alliances, and motives. If they so much as whisper Rossi’s name, I want them dragged in here.”

The room is silent again as my words sink in.

I glance at Dante, who’s leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed.

His usual smugness is gone, replaced by a seriousness that tells me even he understands the stakes.

“Dante,” I say, drawing his attention. “Financial records. Find out if anyone’s been shifting money in ways that don’t make sense. Follow every trail.”

Dante nods, his expression tight.

The meeting drags on, compelling me to finish three cups of coffee in quick succession.

Reports begin to trickle in as the night wears on, each one more frustrating than the last. Every clue points to the same conclusion: a small but ruthless faction backed by the Rossi family carried out that night’s ambush.

The realization burns through me in a wave of anger that I keep tightly controlled. The Rossis have always been ambitious, but this? This is a direct challenge, a declaration of war on my family’s power. “Rossi thinks he can take what’s mine,” I say, my voice low but brimming with menace.

Marco leans forward, his gaze steady. “We’ll remind him why that’s a mistake.”

“We will,” I agree. “But first, I want to know who the traitor is. They couldn’t have known we’d be there without inside intel.”

The door to the office creaks open, and Enzo—the Salvatore executioner—steps in, his face grim.

He’s draggin Franco De Luca, a man I’ve shared drinks with, trusted at my table, even defended once when others doubted his loyalty.

He handled reroutes and controlled access to the secondary ports.

If he wanted, he could map my movements down to the hour.

Now he looks like he’s been yanked from a grave.

He’s ghostly pale, eyes flicking from me to the floor and back, like he’s not sure which one will crack open first. “Luca,” Enzo says, voice tight. “He’s got something to say.”

I step away from the table. My eyes are locked on Franco, who’s shaking like he already knows this room is the last one he’ll ever stand in. “Speak.”

He swallows hard. “They threatened my daughter,” he blurts. “Said they’d kill her if I didn’t give them something. I didn’t want to, I swear it—I only told them small things. Delivery windows. Travel routes. Just once. I thought I could control it?—”

The words die in his throat.

I take a step closer, my presence towering over him. “You sold me out,” I say, my voice quiet but lethal. His knees buckle, and he falls to the floor, sobbing. “I didn’t have a choice,” he pleads. “They would’ve killed my family?—”

I crouch down, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look at me. “You think your family’s safe now?” I ask, my voice icy. “You think whoever is running the faction will keep their word? They use you, and then they kill you. And now, your mistake has cost me two men.”

His sobs grow louder, but I’ve heard enough. I release him, standing to my full height. My hand drifts to the gun at my side, the weight of it a cold comfort.

“Luca,” Marco says quietly, a hint of warning in his tone. I ignore him. My finger tightens on the trigger, and a single gunshot shatters the silence. The man crumples to the floor, lifeless.

The room is deathly quiet. No one moves. I turn to Marco, my expression cold. “Clean it up.”

He nods, and Enzo steps forward to drag the body out of the room. As the door swings shut behind them, I catch a glimpse of Valentina standing in the hall. She must have heard the shot. Her eyes are dark. For a moment, the fire in my chest dims.

“Go back to your room,” I tell her, my voice gentle.

She doesn’t move, her gaze locked on mine.

“Valentina,” I repeat, this time more firmly.

She nods slowly, turning away and disappearing down the hall.

The fire in my chest reignites, but this time it burns differently. The faction, and the brains and money behind it, will all pay for this betrayal, and I’ll make damn sure they never get another chance to come at me or my family.

The rest of the day unfolds in pieces. I meet with Marco and Adriano in the study, laying out what needs to be done—names to call, routes to lock down, men to reassign.

Enzo handles the cleanup without a word.

There’s no need for orders between us. We’ve done this before.

I spend hours at the desk, sorting through reports, looking for patterns in the chaos, making sure no one else slips through the cracks.

There’s a point where the light changes, where the gold fades from the windows and night begins to fall, but I barely notice.

I don’t eat. I don’t speak unless I have to. I don’t stop getting things done.

By the time I climb the stairs, the estate has quieted. The guards shift into their overnight posts. The corridors stretch out in silence, and for the first time all day, there’s no one waiting for a decision.

The bedroom is quiet, save for the faint rustle of the night breeze slipping through the slightly cracked window.

I step inside, my thoughts still consumed by the day’s chaos, the betrayal, the blood.

My hand grazes the doorframe as I close it behind me, expecting the room to be dark, expecting her to be asleep.

But the soft light of the moon spills across the space, and what I see stops me in my tracks

She’s standing by the window, the sheer curtains framing her like a portrait.

The faint glow outlines the curves of her body, wrapped in delicate lingerie that clings in all the right places, leaving little to the imagination.

Her hair cascades down her back, glinting like fire in the silvery light.

For a moment, the fury I’ve carried all night dissipates, replaced by something deeper, more primal. Her eyes meet mine, and I see the flicker of hesitation there, but also something else—an ember of defiance, of curiosity.

I cross the room in three long strides to her.

She doesn’t move, doesn’t retreat, but her lips part slightly, a shallow breath slipping past them.

When I reach her, I stop, towering over her as I let my gaze rake over her body.

My hand rises, brushing a strand of hair from her face, my fingers lingering at her jaw.

Her skin is soft, warm beneath my touch, and when I tilt her chin upward, she doesn’t resist. “Luca,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible.

The sound of my name on her lips sends a shiver down my spine.

Without a word, I slide an arm around her waist, pulling her to me in one smooth motion. She gasps, her hands instinctively coming to rest on my chest, but she doesn’t push me away.

I lift her effortlessly, cradling her against me as though she weighs nothing. Her body is soft and warm, fitting perfectly against mine. The scent of her, floral and clean, fills my senses, intoxicating.

“Luca,” she says again, this time a whisper, her breath brushing against my neck.

I look down at her, my lips curving into a faint smile. “Tonight, you’re mine,” I say, my voice rough, filled with a promise I intend to keep.

Her eyes widen slightly, but she doesn’t argue, doesn’t pull away.

Instead, she holds my gaze, her own expression a mix of anticipation and vulnerability.

I guide her away from the bedroom, down the corridor, into a separate chamber, the door of which I push open with my foot.

The space inside is selectively illuminated, the glow of a single lamp casting shadows across the walls.

Her eyes dart around the room, taking in the sleek black shelves that line one wall, the carefully arranged items on display.

A collection of toys, implements, and tools designed for pleasure and control.

Her gaze flicks back to mine, her breath hitching as realization dawns.

I lower her onto the plush chaise in the center of the room, my hands lingering at her waist as I pull back just enough to study her expression.

There’s a hint of uncertainty there, but it’s overshadowed by curiosity,perhaps intrigue.

I brush my thumb along her jawline, tilting her face up to mine.

“You okay?” I ask softly, my voice a low growl that vibrates between us.

She nods, her lips trembling slightly but her eyes locked on mine.

I take a step back, unbuttoning my shirt with deliberate slowness, giving her time to process, to adjust. Her gaze follows my movements, her cheeks flushing as the fabric falls away, revealing the scars, the lines of my body.

“Do you trust me, Valentina?” I ask, my voice quieter now, but no less commanding.

“Yes,” she whispers. “Somehow,” she adds, because it’s her, obviously, “I do.”