Chapter 18 Luca
LUCA
The house wakes up ugly: shouting on comms, boots on gravel, the radio spitting codes that mean not a drill.
Gunshots crack the night.
"Behind me," I tell Belle, already moving. French doors. Gun safe. Next, hallway. I draw and clear before I let Belle follow.
But just then, I see men who aren't mine.
I shove Belle behind me so hard she stumbles.
No time for gentle. No time for sorry.
Two shadows in tactical gear surge up the staircase, their gear slick with blood that isn't theirs. My men's blood.
I slam Belle against the wall, body shielding her. "Don't fucking move."
The lead gunman spots me and his eyes go wide. "Moretti!" he screams, weapon swinging toward us.
Not today.
My Glock barks twice—center mass, clean shots. He drops like a marionette with cut strings, rifle clattering down the stairs.
Then I add in a headshot just for insurance, even though he's dead. His partner moves back down the stairs, where I can't exactly see where he is.
"Fucking coward," I hiss.
He fires from somewhere down the bannister, and I feel the air split as bullets tear past my ear. Belle gasps. The bastard's shooting wild, but wild bullets kill just as dead as aimed ones.
"Running out of patience here," I mutter, dropping to one knee to reduce his line of sight.
"Luca…" Belle whispers behind me.
"When I tell you to run, you run, okay?" I hiss back. "Do not question me. Just go get Sofia."
She doesn't say anything.
"Okay?" I turn to her. She's ashen. Terrified.
"Okay, okay!" she says when I don't stop glaring.
The house alarm wails, finally catching up to reality. Red emergency lights paint everything in blood. Belle's breathing hard behind me, each inhale like a countdown.
I spot movement downstairs.
Not today.
"Run," I tell Belle, and shove her down the hall. "Now!"
She bolts, and the guy makes his mistake—he climbs back up the stairs just to track and his eyes follow her for a split second.
That's all I need.
I empty three rounds into the space where his head just appeared. His body drops like someone cut the strings.
Two down. But there could be more.
Gotta get to Sofia.
I follow down the hallway, listening for Belle. The gunfire outside has quieted—either my men have handled it, or we're in deeper shit than I thought.
I burst through Sofia's door, gun first, eyes scanning.
Belle's there, Sofia clutched against her chest. My little girl's eyes are wide, terrified.
"Daddy?" Her voice cracks.
"It's okay, princess. I'm here."
I cross over.
Belle's holding it together, but barely. Her face is white as bone, but her arms around Sofia are steady. Strong.
"Daddy, are these the bad men?" Sofia's voice trembles like a bird's wing. "The ones who want to hurt us?"
Something tears open in my chest. This child shouldn't know about bad men, shouldn't have words for the darkness that follows me everywhere.
"Yeah, princess. But they can't touch you." I cup her small face in my hands. "I won't let them."
I look at Belle. "Panic room. Behind the bookcase."
"I know where it is."
"Code is 0-4-1-2—Sofia's birthday backwards." My thumb traces my daughter's cheek. "Belle's going to keep you safe while Daddy handles the bad men."
Sofia's bottom lip quivers. "What about you?"
"I have to make sure all the bad guys are gone. Then I'll come get you." I kiss her forehead, breathing in her baby shampoo smell. "Be brave for me, okay?"
She nods, tiny and solemn. "I'm always brave."
Belle stands, shifting Sofia to her hip. Fear lives in her eyes for one beat, then purpose eats it. That's Belle for you.
"Take care of our girl," I tell her, every word iron. "Do you hear me?"
Belle nods. "I will. With my life."
I believe her. That's the craziest part—I actually believe her.
"Follow the service corridor," I instruct. "Stay low. Don't stop for anything."
I put a small .38 into Belle's free hand. She takes it without hesitation.
"You know how to use this?"
"Point and pull," she says. "Can't be that hard."
Another surprise from Belle Donovan.
"Good girl."
Sofia reaches for me, and I hug them both. My family. My reason. "Go."
Sofia curls into her like she chooses it. "Where are we going?"
Belle lies beautifully, smoothing Sof's hair. "We're going somewhere special, okay? I'm with you. I won't let anything bad happen to you."
That's the last I hear as they disappear down the corridor—Belle's voice, calm and sure, promising the impossible and meaning it. The door swallows them; the noise of the house turns up again.
My chest tightens. I allow myself exactly three seconds of fear at having sent them away without me, at what might happen if they take a wrong turn, then I lock it down.
Time to hunt.
Then I'm moving, memory-mapping the floor plan, counting the men I can't afford to lose and the ones I already might have lost.
I move room by room, clearing the entire floor. Nothing. The attackers must have come in a small team, making this a surgical strike, not an all-out assault.
That's worse.
It means they were targeting someone specific.
Belle. Sofia. Me.
Outside, the gunfire has stopped completely.
"Status," I snap on the radio, cutting through cross-talk.
"Perimeter holding, boss. We killed the ones outside and two intruders confirmed inside, but we believe you got them both."
"Yeah."
"Unknown if more coming through the east wall—sensor tripped then died."
Jesus. Gate cam down. East sensor dead. Security rotation changed two hours ago because Declan thought an earlier shift would "keep the men fresh."
I told him no.
He did it anyway.
I let it slide because I was tired.
Now I'm starting to wonder if he had other plans all along.
I head to the security room, needing to check the cameras, review the breach. As I round the corner, I nearly collide with Declan.
"Jesus, Luca!" He jumps back, hands up. He's dressed in a suit, like he came from a dinner, not bed. "What the hell happened?"
I study him, keeping my face blank. "Attack on the house."
"Is Sofia okay? Belle?"
"They're safe."
His relief looks genuine, but something's off. He's too put together, too calm.
And why is he here at midnight, anyway?
"I was on my way to see you when I heard the gunfire," he explains, reading my suspicion. "Thought I'd swing by to discuss the Colombians."
At midnight. In a suit. Sure.
"Convenient timing," I say, watching his face.
His eyebrow lifts. "You think I had something to do with this?"
"Did you?"
"You're my brother," he says, like that's code for innocent.
I think about the folder. The clinic stills. The council whispers he fed. The way he was parked in the security room the other night, smiling at footage he shouldn't have had. A dozen small coincidences that don't feel like coincidences at all.
"Where's Belle now?" he asks, glancing down the hall.
"Safe," I repeat, giving him nothing.
"Smart move." He steps closer, lowering his voice. "But we need to think strategically here, Luca. Someone's targeting you. The whole family."
"And?"
"And Belle might be the key to drawing them out."
My hand twitches toward my gun, but Declan's acting blind as a bat.
"She's the weakness," he says—reasonable tone, like he's pitching a new restaurant. "The one they'd never expect us to use. Put her somewhere visible, somewhere they can't resist, and when they come for her—"
"We spring the trap," I finish, flat.
He nods, pleased. "Exactly. Use her."
I look at the face I've known my whole life. The dimple that shows when he performs sincerity. The tiny scar above his brow from when I shoved him too hard off a bike. The eyes colder than I remember.
"Use Belle as bait," I say slowly. "Dangle my fiancée in front of killers."
"For the family." He smiles. "For Sofia."
And that's when I see it.
My brother's smile doesn't reach his eyes.
It never has.