Page 17 of Sexted By a Stranger

Luca

"Boss, confirmed." Ragnar's voice cut like an ice blade. "Two hours before the hit, Connor's men assembled in batches across these three blocks." The laser pointer's red dot hovered over the tactical screen. "It was a meticulously planned ambush."

My gaze locked onto the glowing markers, fury churning in my chest.

That bastard Connor. Did he truly think one cheap shot would reveal my limits?

"Repeated intel from comms," Lennox added beside me, tracing audio waveforms on the screen, "explicitly targeted you, along with our casino and the core harbor zone."

I leaned back into the chair, my voice soft but lethal. "This wasn't an assault. It was a probe."

Both men stiffened instantly.

"Look at their positions and movement patterns.

" My finger swept across the display. "Peripheral thugs.

Hired guns. Connor's real core—those Irish mad dogs—would never use such sloppy tactics.

He's spilling this gutter trash's blood to test our reaction speed, and.

.." I paused as a sharp pain shot through my shoulder, making me suck in a breath, ".

..whether I've staked everything on New York. "

Ragnar's voice dropped lower, skimming the floor. "Our mole just confirmed Connor's scooping up the Marcheses' remnants." He pulled up another intel map. "And he's connected with 'Direwolf Bratva' through old snakehead Abramov."

Lennox's Adam's apple bobbed. "Those Eastern European rabid dogs?"

Ragnar nodded, laser flicking to a rapidly pulsing yellow marker.

"They're mobilizing at an alarming speed.

Connor's plan is clear—use the Marcheses' stragglers as cannon fodder to pin down our firepower, have Malkovich's men tear through our flank, then unleash Direwolf Bratva as the dagger to gut Manhattan's harbor and underground casinos.

The casinos we can rebuild. But the harbor. .."

"...would leave us stranded fish," I finished coldly.

The Marcheses. That second-rate family I'd crushed to dust. To think Connor would scrape up such pathetic scraps. A humorless laugh escaped me. "He's more desperate than I thought. Scavenging strays? That last lesson must've truly broken him."

"At this pace, they'll likely move within the month," Lennox said, thickening the air like poured lead. "Connor's counterstrike is at our throats."

One month.

With my injuries, a full recovery would be tight, but enough to wage war. More crucially, Connor had timed this perfectly—striking when I was wounded. That probe's results had clearly pleased him.

"Initiate 'Iron Curtain Protocol' on the estate—now!

" My command cracked like a whip. "Triple all posts with Family elites; fortify every entry point with blast walls and heavy weapons; snipers in rotating shifts, locking down every vantage and blind spot 24/7.

I want even a sparrow trying to enter to leave feathers behind. "

"On it, Boss!"

"Ragnar—pull the toughest enforcers from the West Sector. Order all assets to burn anything exposing Connor's new command post, mercenary nests, and firepower layout."

"Lennox." I turned to him. "Coordinate all district captains immediately. Tighten perimeter defenses at every outpost to Threat Level Alpha. Vet every fringe associate—especially near the harbor and casinos. Not a single spy gets embedded!"

"Also—Sheila's zones get rotating patrols. Nothing enters this estate without passing extreme vetting. I want even a suspicious fly near her."

The memory of her trembling in my arms flashed before me, twisting my heart like a rag. She didn't belong in this storm of bloodshed, yet Connor had already made her the crosshair aimed between my eyes.

"Understood!" Both answered, spines steel-straight..

Extremely light knocking came from outside the study door, accompanied by Sheila's careful voice. "Luca? Are you still busy? It's time to change your bandages…"

The secret meeting came to an abrupt halt.

Lennox reacted lightning-fast, striding to the door and opening it just a crack.

Sheila stood in the dim light outside, holding a medical tray in her hands.

Her face was somewhat pale, with faint shadows under her eyes.

Her gaze was filled with anxiety, looking past Lennox's shoulder and landing directly on me behind the desk.

When she saw the dark red bloodstains seeping through the bandages on my shoulder, her pupils contracted sharply, and she pressed her lips together tightly.

Lennox instinctively tried to block her view, reaching for the tray while lowering his voice. "Miss Stella, just give it to me. The Boss is…"

"Let her in."

Lennox's movement froze, and he stepped aside to clear the path.

Sheila practically squeezed through, her steps urgent. The lingering gunpowder and blood scent in the study made her delicate eyebrows furrow deeply. She hurried to my side, setting the medical tray on the edge of the desk.

"You look terrible, and your wound is bleeding again. The doctor said you need to rest." Her voice carried undisguised anxiety and almost accusatory concern.

Looking at the worry thick enough to drown in her eyes and her reddened eye sockets, I could almost imagine how she'd forced herself to stay by my side last night, and how she'd turned away to secretly wipe her tears.

For a moment, tenderness and heartache overwhelmed me, driving away the gloom and violence that had been occupying my mind.

I raised my hand, gently covering the back of her hand resting on the tray's edge. Her hand was very cold, making my heart ache even more.

"Just a small matter. Already handled."

My voice unconsciously softened, my thumb stroking soothingly across the back of her hand, and then I waved at Ragnar and Lennox. "Execute the plan."

Both men bowed silently and swiftly retreated. The heavy study door closed softly behind them, leaving just the two of us in the room.

I tried to lean back in my chair, but the movement aggravated my shoulder wound, the sharp pain instantly causing fine beads of cold sweat to break out on my forehead.

"Luca." Sheila cried out, her voice cracking. She immediately leaned forward, one hand extremely carefully supporting my back, the other trying to steady my arm. "Don't move. Please… let me take a look."

With her help, I moved to the nearby sofa and sat down. She knelt on the carpet beside me, gently removing my shirt and peeling away the blood-stained bandages.

The sharp, pungent smell of alcohol spread as she opened the medicine bottle.

She picked up a cotton ball with tweezers, bit by bit wiping away the dried blood crusts and fresh blood still seeping from around the wound, her movements as gentle as if afraid of breaking precious porcelain.

I closed my eyes, feeling her cool fingers carefully touching my skin. Her breathing was somewhat rapid—clearly the wound had frightened her—but her hands remained steady.

"The wound's still inflamed," she murmured softly. "You really can't keep pushing yourself like this."

"Hiss..." When the alcohol inevitably touched the raw flesh, I couldn't help a muffled groan.

She stopped abruptly, looking up at me, eyes brimming with heartache and apology. "Does it hurt badly? I'll... I'll be gentler."

"It's fine." I looked at her. "You're doing great."

She said nothing more, just breathed lighter, moved slower.

After cleaning everything, she applied healing dressings, then wrapped clean bandages round and round, finally tying a neat knot.

Hard to imagine that in just two days, she'd become so skilled at these tedious, nerve-wracking procedures. Even worried sick, she never cried or complained, just silently shouldered the responsibility of caring for me.

This was my Sheila.

"There, the bleeding's stopped. You absolutely can't strain yourself, or the wound will tear open." Sheila exhaled in relief after finishing the bandaging.

I raised my uninjured hand, gently caressing her cheek. "Sheila," my voice somewhat hoarse, "go get some real sleep. Stop staying up."

"You need to get better fast," she shook her head, "otherwise I..."

She didn't finish, but I knew exactly what she meant. These past few days, she hadn't left my side, curling up on the sofa in my room at night, terrified something would happen to me.

My heart melted completely, while anxiety kept deepening.

Connor may be a viper coming for me—and I'll meet that strike head-on. But he dared to target Sheila! Now that he's confirmed my injury, he'll only grow more rabid. Sheila—cradled in my hands like something precious—has become the brightest bullseye for Connor and his jackals.

Keeping up the charade of the "jewelry tycoon"? That would no longer protect her. It would be wrapping a blindfold over her eyes—leaving her a lamb stumbling into a slaughterhouse, ignorant of the knife at her throat.

I gazed at her pure eyes, heart full of conflict.

"Luca?" Sheila spoke when she saw me just staring without speaking. "What are you thinking about?"

I pulled back my thoughts, meeting her concerned gaze.

"Thinking about you," I touched the corner of her eye. "Thinking about how you haven't slept well these days taking care of me."

Her face flushed slightly. "How could I sleep with you hurt so badly?"

"Sheila," I grasped her hand, "promise me, don't leave the manor during this time if you can help it.

If you absolutely must go out, take Ragnar and the others.

" I tried to keep my tone light. "Recently, some business competitors haven't been playing by the rules.

I'm afraid they might get desperate and target you. "

She blinked. "Competitors? You mean..."

"Yes," I nodded. "Some people have no bottom line. They'll use any means to strike at opponents. That attack the other day..." I paused. "Very likely their handiwork."

Sheila's expression turned serious. "So you're protecting me?"

"I can't let any harm come to you."