Chapter 23 Giuliana #3
“The address is in the industrial district,” I say quietly, my voice barely audible over the engine. “Old manufacturing area.”
“I know it.” His voice is clipped and professional, like we’re discussing business instead of driving toward what’s probably a death trap. “Plenty of places for an ambush.”
The silence that follows is suffocating.
I watch his profile in the dim light—the hard set of his jaw, that sharp jawline I’ve traced with my fingers, now so rigid I can basically see his teeth grinding together.
His dark hair is still disheveled, falling across his forehead in wavy locks that makes him look more like a model than the cold crime lord sitting beside me.
Chicago streets move past us. The drive feels eternal and too short all at once.
“This really is suicide,” Luca finally says. “You know that, right? Romano’s not going to let us just walk out of there.”
“I know.” My hands twist in my lap. “I don’t need you to remind me. But I won’t ever forgive myself if I just let my father die.”
“We are talking about the father who got Marco killed,” Luca reminds me, his eyes darting to mine before they focus back on the road.
I’m getting really tired of him reminding me of that. “The father you were going to use to torture me before killing us both,” I counter quietly.
His hands tighten on the wheel. “Point taken,” he admits grudgingly.
More silence. The industrial district approaches, abandoned warehouses and empty lots creating a landscape of urban decay. Luca pulls into a dark alley a few blocks from Romano’s specified location and kills the engine.
We sit there in the darkness, neither of us moving, both aware this might be the last conversation we ever have.
“I need you to know something,” I say before I can lose my courage.
Tears well in my eyes. “Whatever happens in there, I don’t regret falling in love with you.
I regret the circumstances. I regret the lies.
But loving you?” I shake my head, watching the way the distant streetlight catches in his dark hair, throwing his face into sharp relief. “I-I don’t regret that.”
His throat works as he swallows hard, that strong column of his neck moving with the effort. Those eyes—nearly black in the dim light—finally turn to face me, and the raw anguish in them takes my breath away.
“Giuliana—” he says in a low voice.
“No, let me finish.” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “You said your feelings for me were real, that I became everything. I believe you.”
His eyes widen.
“But I also know that even if we survive this, too much damage has been done. You’ll never fully trust me again, knowing I kept Romano’s identity secret.
And I—” My throat closes and I have to clear it to continue, to keep pushing the tears back.
“I’ll never be able to forget that you planned to kill me.
That you made me fall in love with you while plotting my murder. ”
“So this is goodbye,” he says quietly, those eyes fixed on my face like he’s memorizing every detail.
“This is goodbye,” I confirm, feeling tears spill over my eyelids. My hand aches to rest on my belly, but I keep this secret to myself too. “Even—even if we live through the next few hours, whatever we had is over.” Agony rips through me as I say those words. “We’ve destroyed each other too much.”
For a long moment, neither of us moves. Then all that careful control shatters like glass.
“Fuck that,” he growls. Suddenly he’s moving, his hands reaching for me with desperate urgency. “If this is goodbye, if we’re both going to die in the next hour…” His fingers tangle in my hair, pulling my face toward his. “Then I’m not wasting our last moments on regret.”
His mouth crashes onto mine, and it’s nothing like the tender kisses we’ve shared before.
This is desperate and raw, tasting of grief and rage and the terrible knowledge that we’re about to die.
His tongue demands entry, and I give it, opening for him as his hands tighten almost painfully in my hair.
When he pulls back, we’re both breathing hard. His eyes are wild, pupils blown wide with need and desperation.
“I need you,” he says roughly. “One last time. I need—” His voice cracks. “I need to feel you, to remember what it was like before everything went to hell.”
I should say no. We need to maintain the distance I just claimed we needed. But I can’t. Not when this might be the last time I ever see him alive. Not when my body is already responding to his proximity, heat pooling low in my belly despite everything broken between us.
“Yes,” I whisper, heart thumping.
He moves fast, climbing over the console to the back seat with surprising agility, pulling me with him. I follow awkwardly, my knee catching on the gearshift, but then his hands are on me and nothing else matters.
“Tell me,” he demands, his fingers already working at the button of my jeans. “Tell me your feelings were real. That I wasn’t imagining it.”
“They were real.” I help him with my jeans, both of us fumbling in the cramped space. “God, Luca, they were so real. I fell in love with you. I let myself believe—I let myself believe we could have a future.”
“We could have,” he says, and there’s such grief in his voice it makes me want to cry. His hands frame my face again, forcing me to meet his eyes. “If I hadn’t been such a coward. If I’d told you sooner that the plan changed, that you changed everything—”
“No.” I silence him with a kiss, not wanting to hear about what could have been. Not when we’re sitting in a car about to drive to our deaths. “Don’t think about what we could have had. Just…” I pull at his belt, desperate to feel him. “Just give me this. Give me one last moment when it’s just us.”
He helps me with his belt, his pants, both of us moving with frantic urgency. There’s no finesse to it, no practiced seduction. Just desperate need and the terrible knowledge that this might be goodbye.
When he finally pulls me onto his lap, positioning me over him, we both freeze for a heartbeat. His hands span my waist, his eyes locked on mine with such intensity it steals my breath.
“I love you,” he says.
The raw honesty in his voice makes more tears spill down my cheeks.
“I know you don’t believe me. I know I’ve given you every reason not to. But it’s the truth, Gigi. You became everything.”
“I love you too,” I whisper, even though it hurts to admit. Even though I know this love is poisoned by everything we’ve done to each other. “I hate you and I love you and I—”
He pulls me down onto him, and the rest of my words dissolve into a gasp. The stretch is almost painful after days apart, but it’s exactly what I need. What we both need.
His hands tighten on my hips, holding me still for a moment as we both adjust. “Move,” he growls against my neck. “Please, Gigi, I need—”
I move.
It’s desperate and almost violent, both of us channeling too many weeks of rage and grief and betrayal into something physical.
His hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise, guiding my movements.
I cling to his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin through his shirt hard enough that I’m probably drawing blood.
“You destroyed me,” I sob against his neck, even as I move faster, chasing something I can’t name. “You made me love you and then—”
“I know.” His voice is wrecked, broken. “I know, and I’m sorry. God, Gigi, I’m so fucking sorry—”
One hand slides between us, finding my clit and swirling his thumb and forefinger around it, making me cry out and arch my back.
He expertly works me, knowing exactly how to make me fall apart, and I hate that he knows my body this well.
I hate that even now, even furious and heartbroken and terrified, I respond to his touch like I was made for it.
“I hate you,” I gasp, even as pleasure builds low in my spine. “I hate you for what you planned. I hate you for making me fall in love with you. I hate—”
“I know.” His lips find mine again, swallowing my words. “Hate me. Hate me all you want. Just don’t—” His voice cracks. “Just don’t leave me. Not yet. Not when this is all we have left.”
The orgasm hits me like a freight train, stealing my breath and making my vision white out. I feel him follow moments later, his grip on my hips tightening to the point of pain as he buries himself deep and comes with a sound that’s half-sob, half-groan.
We stay like that for several long moments, both of us shaking, both crying, both aware that what just happened was goodbye as much as anything else.
When I finally lift my head from his shoulder, his face is wet with tears. His brown eyes—usually so controlled—are red-rimmed.
“Even if we survive this,” I say quietly, my voice hoarse, “we’re done. You know that, right?”
He nods, his hands coming up to frame my face with surprising gentleness. “I know. Too much damage. Too many lies.” His thumb traces my cheekbone. “But thank you for giving me this. For letting me—” His voice breaks. “For letting me love you one last time.”
I don’t respond. Can’t respond. I just press my forehead against his and try to memorize this moment. The feel of his hands on my face, the sound of his breathing, the warmth of his body against mine.
Then I force myself to move, to climb off his lap and straighten my clothes with shaking hands. He does the same, both of us silent as we make ourselves presentable again.
When we’re done, I climb back into the passenger seat. He returns to the driver’s side. And without a word, he starts the engine and pulls out of the alley.
We drive deeper into the industrial district, moving through shadows and abandoned lots toward the address Romano specified. The warehouse looms ahead, dark and foreboding, every window a potential sniper’s nest.
This is suicide. We both know it. But we keep driving anyway, because the alternative—living with the guilt of not trying—is worse than dying together.
“Luca,” I say as he parks near the warehouse entrance. “When we get in there—”
“I know.” His voice is quiet, resigned. “If it comes down to saving you or killing Romano, I’m choosing you. I need you to know that.”
I startle. That’s not what I expected him to say nor was it what I was going to say. “Wait—but Marco—”
“Would hate what I’ve become in his name,” Luca finishes.
“He would tell me that you’re more important than revenge.
And he’d be right.” He reaches for my hand, squeezing once before letting go.
“So if I have to choose, I’m choosing you.
Even knowing that it doesn’t change anything between us and that you’ll still leave if we survive. ”
Tears blur my vision. “I will leave,” I confirm quietly, reminding him and reminding myself. “Because I can’t—” I press my lips together, choking back a sob. “I can’t look at you without seeing the man who planned to kill me.”
“I know.” He stares straight ahead at the warehouse. “But I’d rather have you alive and gone than dead because I couldn’t let go of vengeance.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I don’t know how to process the fact that he’s finally choosing love over revenge, but only when it’s too late to matter.
So I just take his hand again and hold on tight.
Together, we step out of the car and walk toward the warehouse entrance.
Into whatever Romano has waiting for us.
Into an ending we both know is inevitable but are powerless to prevent.