Chapter 26 Giuliana #2
The door opens again, and I glance up frantically. It’s the doctor. He carries a bag of supplies, his expression as detached as before. Late fifties, gray hair, the kind of face that’s seen too much to be shocked by anything.
“I need to check your wound,” he says in that accented English, setting down his bag.
“Please,” I try, my voice cracking. “Please, you have to help me. Romano is going to kill me. He’s going to—”
“I’m a doctor, not a savior,” he interrupts, already pulling on latex gloves. “My job is to keep you alive until Mr. Romano says otherwise. Nothing more.”
He cuts away the bandage, and I have to bite down on a scream as air hits the wound. It looks angry and red, the stitches pulling at torn flesh that’s already starting to bruise purple around the edges.
“No infection yet,” he observes, dabbing at the wound with something that burns like liquid fire. I thrash against the restraints. “Hold still. You really are lucky. Bullet went clean through. Another inch to the left and you’d have died before we got you here.”
Lucky. That word again.
“How long have I been here?” I manage to ask through gritted teeth as he applies fresh bandaging.
“Two days.” He works quickly and efficiently, like this is just another job, which I guess it is for him. “You’ve been in and out of consciousness. The blood loss was significant.”
Two days. Forty-eight hours that Luca’s been tearing through the city looking for me. Forty-eight hours that Romano’s been setting his trap.
“Please,” I try again as the doctor packs up his supplies, trying anything that will make him even a tiny bit sympathetic. “I’m pregnant. There’s a baby. If Romano kills me—”
“Then the fetus dies too.” He says it with such casual indifference that I want to scream. “My advice? Cooperate. Do what Mr. Romano wants. Maybe he’ll let you live.”
But we both know that’s a lie.
He leaves, and I’m alone again with the pain and the terrible knowledge that time is running out.
I close my eyes and force myself to think. Past the pain, past the fear, past the desperate need to curl up and give in to the darkness that keeps trying to pull me under.
The zip ties are plastic. Plastic melts. If I can find heat—friction—something.
My eyes scan the warehouse space I can see from this angle. Exposed beams overhead. Concrete floor. Metal shelving units against the far wall holding what looks like old equipment and supplies. Windows set too high to reach even if I could stand.
But nearby—is that a radiator? The old cast-iron kind that probably hasn’t worked in years but might still have sharp edges if I could reach it.
I test the cot’s stability, trying to see if I can move it. The metal frame scrapes against concrete, the sound horrifically loud in the quiet warehouse. My chest screams in protest, and I have to stop, gasping through waves of agony that threaten to make me pass out.
You can do this, I tell myself, the words fierce in my mind even if I can’t say them aloud. You’ve survived everything else. You can survive this too.
For myself. For the baby. For the slim chance that Luca and I might—
Nope. I can’t think about that. I can’t let myself hope for anything beyond getting out of here alive.
I try moving the cot again, slower this time. Inch by painful inch, using my legs against the floor for leverage even though the effort makes my vision blur and my stomach heave with nausea.
The sound of footsteps outside makes me freeze.
Multiple sets. Heavy boots on concrete.
The door opens, and Romano walks in flanked by two of his men. Both armed and looking at me like I’m already dead.
“Ah, trying to escape?” Romano’s voice carries amusement as he takes in the cot’s new position, the sweat beading on my forehead, the way I’m gasping with pain. “How admirable. Your husband would be proud.”
“Fuck you,” I manage through clenched teeth.
He laughs. “Such spirit! Even now, bleeding and broken, you still have fight left in you.” He moves closer, and I see something in his hand. A phone. “I thought you might like to see what your husband’s been up to while you’ve been resting.”
He holds up the screen, and my heart stops.
It’s news footage. Building fires. Body counts. Police statements about gang violence reaching unprecedented levels. And through it all, grainy security camera footage of Luca covered in blood, leaving a trail of destruction across Chicago.
“He’s been quite busy,” Romano comments, scrolling through more footage.
“Forty-three of my men dead or missing. Six buildings destroyed. Two operations completely shut down. The police are calling it the worst outbreak of gang violence in a decade.” He looks up at me, smugness radiating off him. “All because of you.”
The guilt threatens to crush me. “I-I didn’t ask for this,” I whisper.
“Of course you didn’t. But that’s the beauty of it, isn’t it?
” Romano pockets the phone. “You didn’t have to ask.
Luca loves you enough to burn the world down trying to find you.
And when he finally gets here, when he walks through that door thinking he’s going to save you—” His smile turns cruel.
“That’s when I’ll break him completely.”
“Why?” The question bursts out of me. “Why go through all this? Why not just kill him and be done with it?”
“Because death is too quick.” Romano’s eyes are cold, empty of anything resembling humanity.
“Three years ago, Marco Marchetti died in this warehouse. I watched him refuse to betray his cousin through hours of torture. That kind of loyalty is rare. Admirable, even.” He pauses.
“But it also showed me how to really hurt Luca. Not by killing him, but by taking away everyone he loves. Marco first. Now you. Making him watch as everything he cares about is destroyed.”
The calculated cruelty of it steals my breath.
“When he arrives,” Romano continues, “he’ll find you here.
Bleeding. Dying. And he’ll have a choice—try to save you and die himself, or watch you die slowly while he lives knowing he couldn’t protect you.
Then I’ll kill him anyway.” His smile widens.
“Either way, I win. The man who’s been threatening my empire gets destroyed and then eliminated. And I get to rebuild in the ashes.”
He turns to leave, then pauses. “Oh, and don’t bother trying to escape. The doctor has orders to keep you alive and conscious, but he’s not particular about how much pain you’re in. Try anything, and I’ll have him break your legs. Clear?”
I don’t answer. I can’t answer past the rage and fear choking my throat.
The door closes. The lock engages.
And I’m alone again with the terrible knowledge that I’m not just bait in Romano’s trap—I’m the weapon he’s going to use to destroy Luca completely.
But as I lie here in pain and the dim light filtering through dirty windows, something hardens inside me. A core of determination that Romano’s threats can’t touch.
I’m not going to be his weapon. I’m not going to be the reason Luca breaks.
I’m going to survive this. For myself. For my baby.
The zip ties cut into my wrists as I start working them again, ignoring the pain, ignoring the way each movement makes the wound in my chest throb.
I’ve learned too much about survival to give up now.