Chapter 27 Luca
LUCA
The warehouse looks exactly as it did three years ago when I found Marco’s body, with its rusted metal siding and broken windows, the kind of industrial decay that Chicago’s waterfront wears like a badge of honor.
Water laps against the concrete pilings below, and the smell of the lake mixes with motor oil and rust.
Behind me, an army assembles in the shadows.
Danny is checking weapons, his massive frame moving with practiced ease as he distributes ammunition and body armor to our men.
Viktor stands beside his own crew. He brought twenty of his best soldiers, all heavily armed and ready for war.
My own organization has mobilized every available fighter.
We have forty men, maybe more, all converging on this single point.
Romano wanted me to come alone. He wanted me desperate and exhausted, walking into his trap like Marco did three years ago.
Fuck that.
“Thermal imaging shows approximately fifteen hostiles inside,” Viktor says, studying a tablet one of his tech guys is holding. His narrow face is illuminated by the glow of the screen. “They’re positioned in a defensive perimeter around a central point. That’s probably where they’re keeping her.”
“How do you want to play this, boss?” Danny asks, and I can feel his eyes boring into me.
I can’t necessarily blame him. I haven’t slept in a little north of forty-eight hours.
My head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton.
But every time my body tries to get me to go to sleep, my thoughts keep dissolving into images of Gigi hurt, dying, gone.
I force myself to think logically. I need to be the leader these men need instead of the terrified husband threatening to tear me apart from the inside.
“Three teams,” I say. “Viktor, take your men around the north entrance. Danny, you’re south. I go in the main entrance with ten of our best. We hit them simultaneously from all sides. Fast, brutal, overwhelming force.”
“They know we’re coming,” Viktor warns. “Romano’s been expecting this. His men will be alert and ready.”
“Good.” I pat my fully loaded gun and feel the weight of the knife at my ankle, the backup weapon in my jacket. “Then I’ll fuck them up like they deserve.”
We move into position like a military operation, which in a way it is. This isn’t a raid—it’s an invasion. This warehouse is about to become a war zone, and I’m bringing enough firepower to level the fucking building if that’s what it takes.
At my signal, all three teams hit the entrances simultaneously.
The doors explode inward from breaching charges, and we’re through before Romano’s men can fully react. They’re alert, yes, guns already drawn, taking positions. But they weren’t ready for this level of assault.
Haha fuckers.
Gunfire erupts immediately. My men move brilliantly, using the massive support columns for cover, advancing in pairs while providing suppressive fire.
I’m moving forward, gun up, targeting anyone in my path.
A guard appears from behind a stack of crates, and I put two rounds in his chest before he can get a shot off.
A smarter one is using the high ground from a catwalk. Danny takes him out with a rifle shot that echoes through the warehouse like thunder.
“Gigi!” I roar her name, rage and fear mixing in equal measure as I scan the vast space. I try to ignore the flashbacks of the last time I was here. When I discovered Marco’s body. “Gigi!”
Romano’s men are trying to hold their positions, but they’re being hit from three directions at once and my people are better trained, better equipped, and fueled by three years of hunting the man who killed Marco. We’re here to fuck shit up and kill a bunch of bastards.
A guard breaks cover, running toward what looks like a central area. I sprint after him, vaulting over debris, my shoulder screaming from the effort. He turns, fires—the bullet grazes my arm, hot and burning—but I don’t stop.
I tackle him before he can fire again, and we go down hard. My fist connects with his face once, twice, three times until he stops moving. I grab his radio, his weapon, and keep moving.
The warehouse opens up into a larger space, and there—
My heart stops completely.
Gigi.
She’s on a cot in the center of the room, wrists zip-tied to the metal frame, but she’s conscious. Alive. Her face is pale, too pale, and there’s blood on her shirt. But its not fresh blood, nor the spreading stain of active bleeding. Bandages wrap her chest where Romano shot her, and her eyes—
Her eyes find mine across the chaos, and the relief that floods her face makes me want to break down crying.
“Luca,” she breathes. At the sound of her voice, I’m running again.
I’m across that space in seconds, dropping to my knees beside the cot, my hands shaking so badly I can barely reach for her. “Gigi. Fuck, Gigi, are you—” The words won’t come. I can’t form coherent thoughts past the overwhelming need to touch her, to make sure she’s real and that she’s here.
“You came.” She’s crying, tears streaming down her pale and cold cheeks. “You actually came for me.”
“Always,” I say gently, my hands cup her face, gentle despite the violence still raging around us. “I’ll always come for you, cara. Always.”
I scan her body, taking inventory of injuries. The gunshot wound is bandaged well. Her color is poor but not the gray of someone actively dying, thank fuck. She’s dehydrated, exhausted, in pain—but alive. Fucking alive.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?” I demand, my hands moving over her carefully, checking for other wounds. “Did he—did Romano hurt you?”
“Just the gunshot.” Her voice is weak but steady, her eyes locked on mine. “There was a doctor. He stitched me up. Said I’d be okay if—” She gasps as I cut through the zip ties with my knife, her wrists red and raw where she’s been struggling against them.
I’m going to fucking kill Romano.
The moment her hands are free, she throws her arms around my neck, and I gather her against me as carefully as I can, mindful of her wound. She’s shaking—or maybe I’m shaking—and for just one moment, I let myself feel the relief of having her in my arms again.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur against her hair as I rock her against my body, feeling so much relief that she’s alive and with me. “I’ve got you, baby. You’re safe now. I’m getting you out of here.”
Her fingers dig into my jacket, holding on like I might disappear. “Luca, I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “I should have told you about Romano. I should have—”
“Shh.” I press my lips to her forehead, breathing in the scent of her despite the blood and smell of the warehouse permeating her hair. “We’ll talk about it later. Right now I just need you safe.”
“How touching.”
I release her gently then whirl around to see Romano standing there, looking infinitely amused.
I’m on my feet immediately, gun drawn, positioning myself between Gigi and the threat. Romano is flanked by three of his remaining guards. They all have weapons trained on us.
But my men are here too. Danny appears from my left, Viktor from my right, both with their own weapons up. Romano and his men are surrounded, outnumbered, outgunned. This isn’t the trap he planned. It’s his death sentence.
And I plan on being the goddamn executioner.
“You should have come alone, Marchetti,” Romano says, and there’s anger beneath the smooth tone now.
His silver hair is disheveled, his expensive suit rumpled.
The control he’s always worn is cracking.
“You’ve ruined everything. This was supposed to be poetic.
Full circle. You dying where Marco died. ”
“Marco died because you ordered it,” I snarl, and the gun in my hand is steady now. Everything has focused into cold, focused rage. “You used Gigi’s father for information, then tortured my cousin to death when your plan went wrong.”
“Your cousin was an unfortunate casualty,” Romano says dismissively. “I wanted you, Marchetti. You were the real threat. Marco was just”—he shrugs—“a necessary if unintended end.”
The casual way he discusses Marco’s murder makes my finger tighten on the trigger.
“Three years,” Romano continues. “Three years I’ve watched you grow stronger while my own power eroded. The Torrino alliance would have destroyed me completely. So yes, I shot your wife. Yes, I used her as bait. Because taking everything from you was the only way to level the playing field.”
“You failed,” Viktor says coldly, looking at Romano with disgust. “Your organization is finished, Romano. Half your men are dead. The other half will scatter the moment word gets out that you’re gone.”
“Then I’ll take something with me.” Romano’s gun swings toward Gigi.
Everything happens at once.
I throw myself between Romano and Gigi, my own weapon coming up. His shot goes off and the bullet tears through my shoulder, spinning me sideways. Pain explodes white-hot through my arm, but I’m still firing and moving.
It’s just a flesh wound, right? I’ve had worse.
My shot catches him in the chest. He staggers back but doesn’t go down. Goddamn body armor, fuck me. His remaining guards open fire.
The warehouse erupts into chaos. Danny and Viktor’s men engage Romano’s guards in a firefight that echoes off the metal walls.
Romano himself is backing away, using the support columns for cover, firing methodically.
He’s not panicking or running. He’s a predator who’s been in this game longer than I’ve been alive, and he’s going to make me bleed for every inch.
Fucking bastard. It’s going to feel so good to kill him.
I duck behind a crate as bullets tear through the space where I was standing. My shoulder is screaming, blood running hot down my arm, making my grip slippery. I can’t hold my gun steady with my right hand anymore.
Good thing I’ve learned to shoot with both hands. I switch to my left hand and keep moving.