Page 2 of Shattered King

Fiorella

L uca parks outside of a large trucking depot out on the edge of Philadelphia. It’s in one of those bland office parks set back away from a main road near where the city blends into the suburbs. A sign out front reads Cross Country Shipping , which is basically the most generic name I’ve ever seen.

“Come on,” he says, climbing out onto the parking lot.

I reluctantly follow, limping as I go. A part of me is tempted to stay in the truck, but I really hate confined spaces. I catch up with him as he strides toward the blue building, struggling to keep pace on my injured knee.

“Where are we right now?”

“I told you, it’s my place.”

“You live here?”

He snorts and shakes his head. “I work here.”

“Does my brother know where I am right now? Why don’t we just go straight to him?”

“Because I don’t know if anyone followed us, and I’d rather not have a gunfight in the city if I can avoid it.” He glances at me with a deep frown. “You ask too many questions.”

“And you’re not telling me anything useful.” I grab his arm before he can walk through a side entrance. His eyes flare as he meets my gaze, and I’m shocked at the thick slab of muscle under my fingers. “Can you just hold on a second?”

He takes a deep breath, steadying himself. Luca might’ve saved my life back there, but I still don’t know him, and I have no clue what’s going on.

He suddenly turns and takes me by the hips. I yelp in pure shock as his fingers dig into my skin. He turns me, pushes me back against the wall of the building, and drops down to one knee.

My guts do figure eights as the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen looks up into my eyes.

“Let me look at your injury.”

I don’t even know what to say. He’s kneeling in front of me like he’s about to do something much worse than checking out some bruises. Reluctantly, I let him roll up the hem of my baggy jeans, slowly exposing my tanned and muscular leg. I grab the pant leg before he can go much further up my thigh.

“That’s enough,” I say, heart racing.

He licks his lips, looking at me with a strange mixture of desire and surprise. But then he probes at my knee, making a low grunting sound. “I think you’re okay. You’ll be bruised and swollen, but I doubt it’s broken.”

“That your expert opinion?” I shove him back, even though the sight of him down there drives my heart wild. “I want a phone. I need to call Raf.”

“Alright.” Luca stands up as I roll my pant leg back down. My God, what’s with this guy? “Get inside.”

The bossy motherfucker.

But I’m not in a position to argue. Even though I keep trying.

He leads me through the door and into an industrial space similar to my family’s big chop shop garage.

Except this one’s filled with trucks, some of them undergoing repairs, others sitting around idle waiting to get back out on the road.

There are working men in here, but they seem much more normal.

Half of them ignore us, and the others seem only mildly curious.

Luca nods to an older man with graying hair and a sharp face and gets a small salute in return.

We duck into an office at the far end of the building.

Luca closes the door, flips the blinds shut, and locks it.

I cross my arms over my chest, struggling to keep myself under control as the memory comes back.

Normally, I can keep it out of my head, but watching men get butchered earlier messed me up more than I like to admit, and now some of my old wounds are leaking again.

They’ll come soon. You know they will, right?

Of course they will. So drink as much water as you want.

Shouldn’t I save some for you?

It’s okay. You have it. There’s not a lot.

But what if they don’t come?

They will. Just drink.

I rub my face with both hands, probably leaving grease stains down my cheeks like black tears.

“Here, you can use this.” Luca drops a landline phone onto a big steel desk cluttered with paperwork and notebooks.

The office is simple, with a big whiteboard covered in shipping schedules, a calendar, more books, filing cabinets, and work materials, plus several more chairs.

There’s a blanket and a pillow folded neatly on a small couch, and I wonder if he sleeps in here sometimes.

I sit in the chair behind the desk. Luca moves away, his cell held up to his ear, speaking softly to someone on the other end. I dial Raf’s number, my knee jostling up and down. I want to get the hell out of this room as soon as I can. I want something to make sense again.

I want to make sure nobody shot my poor beautiful Spider.

“Hello? Who is this?” Raf sounds annoyed.

“This is your younger sister. I’m currently being kidnapped by the Marino family. So don’t act like picking up the phone is some crazy imposition.”

Raf lets out a sigh. “Hello, Fiorella. You sound okay.”

“What the hell is happening, Raf?”

“Honestly, I’m not totally sure. I got a call an hour ago from Luca Marino. Apparently, some crooked cop they have on their payroll got a tip about a raid at our shop. I made sure the guys knew to steer clear, but you always go in early. Luca said he’d pick you up.”

I glance over at my kidnapper. Or maybe my savior. I’m still not convinced, but at least his story checks out. “They showed up. There was shooting.”

Raf’s voice lowers. “Anyone get hurt? Are you okay?”

“Luca got me out. But the other guys—” I stop talking, glancing down. My stomach twists into a knot. I’ve seen my share of violence over the years, but it never fails to make me feel small and helpless all over again.

“Where are you?”

I tell him about the trucking depot. “He’s with me right now. I think he’s talking with his people.”

“All right. Okay, that’s good. You’re safe, Rella. Just sit tight and I’ll send some people to pick you up.”

“This is beyond fucked. A heads-up would’ve been nice. I thought I was getting kidnapped.”

“I know. I’m sorry. But be nice to Luca. We owe him and his people big time for this. Just hang tight; we’ll get you as soon as we can.”

The line goes dead. I sigh and hang up the handset. That as soon as we can bit means it could be a while. I’ve never been a priority in the Famiglia, and there are bodies to clean up back at the garage.

What a mess.

I watch Luca. He’s standing on the far side of the room.

His shoulders are tense, and he’s having an animated discussion with someone on the other end of the line, half in Italian and half in English.

I only catch bits and pieces, but I get the sense they’re discussing how to dispose of the bodies.

When he’s done, he shoves the phone back in his pocket and rubs a hand down the bridge of his nose.

It goes against my better judgment, but when he looks back at me, I let down my guard for just a moment.

“Thanks for what you did back there.”

He stares at me. Those beautiful, tortured eyes. Death and passion seem to roll off him in waves. My heart’s in my throat, and I despise myself for it.

“I was just doing my job.”

“Still, you risked your life for me. Thank you.”

He nods once. “You’re welcome.” He walks over to one of the cabinets, roots around inside, and pulls out a ball of beige bandage wrap. “Let’s get you set up before your brother sends his people to pick you up.”

I make a little grunt as he comes toward me. This time, I manage to keep myself under control when he gets on his knees and rolls up my pant leg.

“Don’t hold your breath. Now that Raf knows I’m safe, I have a feeling I’ll be waiting a while.”

“You and him close?”

“No, not really.”

“He seemed concerned about you earlier.”

“That’s new then.”

His lips press together, and he pushes my pant leg up more. “This would be easier if you just took these off.”

“Like hell I’ll do that.”

“Suit yourself.” His hands are quick and surprisingly gentle as he wraps the bandage around my knee.

My heart skips a beat every time his fingers touch my skin.

I can’t remember the last time somebody went out of their way to look out for me like this.

Luca threw himself on top of me and could’ve gotten himself killed, all to keep me safe.

And I know he only did that to preserve whatever alliance he’s building with my father, but still. I’m not used to being treated that way.

“There, how’s that? Too tight?” He leans back slightly, and I move my leg.

“No, that’s okay.” The bandage feels just right. “You’re good at that.”

“I’ve done this a few times.” His eyes roam my body. My work clothes are baggy, my shield against the world. His gaze lingers on my face, and his frown deepens. He reaches out, and I flinch back, but he keeps coming. His thumb brushes my cheek.

My heart races into my throat. I’ve never been touched like this. Never let anyone get this close. His lips part slightly, and his jaw relaxes as if being this close to me eases some of his burden. I’m struck all over again by his scent, by his nearness, by the size and strength of him.

“You’re bleeding,” he says softly.

“What?” I ask, flushed and dizzy. The near-death experience must’ve scrambled my brain.

“Just a little scratch.” He brushes his thumb again, leaning closer. His other hand touches my hip. I should push him back. I should squirm away. Any other day, any other time, and I’d slam my fist right into his mouth.

Instead, I tilt my chin toward him. “How bad?” I ask, breathless and out of control. More out of control than I’ve been in a long time. I hate this feeling, but it’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

“It’ll heal. But you should take care. Sometimes it takes a while, coming down from something like what we just went through.”

“What do you mean, coming down?”

“Emotionally. Physically. Watching men die takes a toll. Nearly dying yourself opens you up. Makes you fucked. Makes you vulnerable.”

“Is that what I am right now?”

“You tell me.”

“I don’t feel vulnerable.” No, I feel stripped bare and burned to a crisp. Emotionally raw and wounded. But not vulnerable. I'm still in control. “Luca, I’m going to do something.”

“What’s that?” He’s so close to me. His mouth inches from mine. His dark eyes draw me in deeper and deeper until I’m dizzy with him.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

“Fiorella—”

“Just don’t move. This is thanks… for what you did.”

I reach behind his head, digging my fingers into his hair, grabbing on tight. Maybe to keep him steady, or maybe to make sure I don’t chicken out.

I know this is dumb. I’m still buzzing on adrenaline and not thinking clearly. But I’ve never wanted someone this badly before, and I need a release more than I ever have in my entire life. It’s burning in me, a pressure and an ache, a craving for a man I barely know.

He doesn’t move. His lips part, his pink tongue pressed against straight white teeth.

I lean forward and kiss him.