Chapter 3
M y head throbs slightly, a dull pressure behind my eyes that signals I should leave soon. These events drain me more than they used to. Before, I could last until dawn, floating through parties on champagne bubbles and adrenaline. Now, two hours feels like a marathon.
I scan the room for Damiano to let him know I'm leaving early, but he's deep in conversation with some politician.
Zoe isn't here tonight. Little Sofia had a fever, so she stayed home with the baby.
My fierce sister-in-law would normally be at Damiano's side, charming everyone while secretly assessing which ones might be threats. I miss her steady presence.
My gaze lands on Enzo and Sienna instead.
They stand near the bar, his arm wrapped protectively around her waist. Sienna looks beautiful tonight in a simple blue dress that makes her eyes glow.
She's good for my brother. The only person who's managed to break through his walls.
I should go say hello before I search for Daniel and ask him to leave.
Maybe spending time with them will ease this building exhaustion.
I take three steps in their direction when the first shot cracks through the air.
For a moment, everything freezes. The sound doesn't register as a gunshot in my mind. It's just a loud noise, a champagne cork or dropped tray. Then another shot follows. And another.
Screams erupt. Bodies drop to the floor. The perfect facade of wealth and power shatters as primal fear takes over.
I can't move. My feet feel cemented to the floor as I watch men in black masks pour through the side entrance. They fire methodically into the casino's ceiling.
My lungs won't work. I stand paralyzed as chaos erupts around me. Damiano's security team returns fire. The casino becomes a war zone of muzzle flashes and screams.
Through the haze, I see Enzo shoving Sienna behind the bar, drawing his weapon in one fluid motion. Damiano has disappeared from view. A security guard falls ten feet from me, blood pooling beneath him.
I should run. Hide. Move. Do something. But my body won't respond. I'm trapped in the nightmare again, helpless as violence explodes around me.
A man in black turns toward me. Our eyes meet through his mask. He raises his gun, aiming directly at my chest.
"LUCREZIA!"
Someone shouts my name as the gunman's finger tightens on the trigger. A body slams into mine, knocking me to the ground as the bullet whizzes past where my head had been seconds before. The marble floor knocks the breath from my lungs as a heavy weight covers me.
I gasp for air, the scent of gunpowder and cologne filling my nostrils. Someone hovers above me, shielding my body with theirs. Through the ringing in my ears, I hear more shots, feel the vibration of them through the floor beneath my cheek.
The man protecting me shifts, keeping his body between me and the gunfire. My vision clears enough to see his face, inches from mine.
I shift into protection mode. Lucrezia's frozen beneath me, her wide eyes vacant. Training kicks in. Assess threats. Find exit route. Move assets to safety.
"Lucrezia," I say sharper. "Look at me."
Nothing. Her mind's gone somewhere else. No time to coax her back.
Gunfire erupts near the main doors. Two more of Damiano's men go down. Fuck. I need to move her now.
I slide one arm under her knees, the other behind her shoulders, and lift her against my chest. Her body remains rigid, unresponsive. Blood trickles down her cheek from the marble cut.
"Coming through!" I bark at a security guard. "Cover me!"
He nods, positioning himself to block incoming fire while I carry Lucrezia toward the service corridor. Her pulse hammers against my forearm. Fast but strong.
The service hallway opens before us. Quieter here, the gunfire muffled. I navigate quickly past storage rooms and staff lockers. My boots echo on concrete as I make for the VIP panic room Damiano had installed.
Smart man. You never know when someone will start a war in our world.
"Almost there," I tell her, though I'm not sure she can hear me. Her focus remains somewhere distant, unreachable.
A sound behind us. I glance back to see a masked figure turn the corner, weapon raised.
No time for finesse. I kick through the panic room door, diving inside with Lucrezia clutched against me. My shoulder takes the impact as we hit the floor. I roll, placing her behind me as I draw my weapon.
The steel door begins its automatic closing sequence. Too slow. The masked man appears in the doorway, firing wildly.
I return fire, catching him in the shoulder. He staggers but doesn't go down. Instead, he empties his clip at the door's locking mechanism in desperate rage.
Metal screeches against metal. The door shudders, sparks flying from the damaged controls. I put two more rounds in the attacker's chest. He drops.
The door grinds to a halt, not fully closed, but jammed at an angle. The control panel beside it sizzles and goes dark. The emergency lights flicker on, bathing the room in dim red.
I check the door. It won't budge. The bullets destroyed both the external and internal locking mechanisms.
We're sealed in.
Nobody getting in, nobody getting out.
I scan the panic room, cataloging everything.
Twenty-by-twenty foot concrete box. Emergency lighting casts red shadows across the walls.
A single twin bed with military-style blankets sits against the far wall.
Small bathroom alcove with toilet and sink.
First aid kit mounted beside a storage cabinet. Basic, but functional.
Not the luxury suite I'd expect from the Ferettis, but Damiano designed this for function, not comfort. It'll work.
"Door's jammed," I announce, though Lucrezia hasn't asked. "We're secure for now."
She doesn't respond. Still locked in that thousand-yard stare. I approach slowly, keeping my movements slow. No sudden gestures that might trigger her.
"Lucrezia. We're safe. Can you hear me?"
Blood trickles down her cheek from where the marble cut her. I grab the first aid kit and crouch in front of her. Her eyes don't track my movement.
"I need to clean that cut." I telegraph my movements, opening the kit where she can see. "I'm going to touch your face now."
No response. I gently wipe the blood away with an antiseptic wipe. The cut isn't deep—won't need stitches. Her skin feels cold under my fingers.
"You're in shock," I mutter, more to myself than to her. I take her from where she's standing and sit her on the bed.
I grab the blanket from the bed and wrap it around her shoulders. "Lu, I need you to come back now."
Her breathing starts coming in shallow gasps. Shit. This is beyond shock. She's having a panic attack.
"Lucrezia." I keep my voice firm but not harsh. "Focus on my voice. You're in the panic room at the casino. You're safe."
I place my hand over hers, applying gentle pressure. "Feel that? Focus on my hand. The pressure. The warmth."
For a moment, nothing changes. Then her fingers twitch beneath mine.
"Good. That's good," I encourage. "Now breathe with me. In through your nose. Out through your mouth."
I exaggerate my breathing, watching as she struggles to match it. Her eyes finally shift, focusing on my face. Recognition flickers.
"Hayes?" Her voice sounds small, shattered.
"Yeah, it's me. You're safe."
"The men... they were shooting..."
"I know. We're secure now."
She glances around, orienting herself to our surroundings. "Where are we?"
"Panic room. Your brother had it built..." I stop myself. No need to reference useless details right now. "We'll stay here until it's clear."
Her eyes dart to the jammed door. "But the door..."
"Is keeping the bad guys out," I finish. "Damiano will send backup. Until then, my job is to keep you safe."
She nods slightly, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. The green dress looks out of place in this concrete box. So does she—a delicate thing surrounded by gray walls and harsh light.
I check my watch. Twenty minutes since the first shots. Protocol says Damiano and Enzo should be in their own secure locations by now. Noah will be organizing a response team.
My earpiece crackles with static but no voices come through. The concrete walls are blocking communications. We're on our own for now.
I stand guard by the jammed door, forcing myself to focus on potential threats instead of the woman huddled under the blanket. But my eyes keep drifting back to her anyway.
Lucrezia Feretti.
Lu.
Her dark hair has fallen from its perfect arrangement, a few strands brushing against her cheek. Even now, with makeup smudged and fear etched across her features, she's the most breathtaking thing I've ever seen.
Not that it matters what I think. Not that it should.
She catches me staring and quickly looks away. I do the same, checking my weapon for the third time, an excuse to break eye contact.
My job is to protect her. Nothing more. I've been doing it since the day that everything changed for her. Standing in shadows, watching her piece herself back together day by day. Always at a distance. Always professional.
But sometimes, in unguarded moments like this, I let myself see her. Really see her.
The gentle slope of her neck as she tilts her head, listening for sounds beyond our shelter.
The way her fingers twist together when she's anxious—like now—delicate but strong.
The curve of her lips when she almost smiles, which happens so rarely these days that each one feels like witnessing something precious.
Before the incident, she used to laugh. The sound would carry across rooms, making everyone turn to find its source. I'd watch from security posts as she charmed entire crowds, her spirit too big to be contained by her small frame.
That Lucrezia is gone now. This quieter version breaks my heart in different ways.
"Stop it," I mutter to myself.
"What?" She looks up, those dark eyes finding mine.
"Nothing," I say, checking my watch. "Just thinking out loud."
She doesn't believe me, but she doesn't press. The Lucrezia from before would have teased the truth out of me. This one just pulls the blanket tighter around her shoulders.
I shouldn't notice how the movement highlights the elegant line of her collarbone. Shouldn't catalog the way her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks in the dim light. Shouldn't remember exactly how many freckles dust the bridge of her nose—seven, barely visible beneath her makeup.
I know these things because it's my job to observe. To protect. Not because I've spent eighteen months falling for a woman who barely speaks to me. A woman who belongs to a world I only guard, never enter.
Damiano would have me killed if he knew. Enzo would do the job himself.
"Do you think they're okay?" she asks suddenly, her voice small in the concrete room.
"Your brothers?" I cross to the small desk, checking the dead communications system again. "They have their own security details. Noah was with Damiano. They'll be fine."
She nods, seeming to draw strength from my certainty. I don't tell her that I'm worried too. That the attack was too coordinated, too precise.
Instead, I crouch beside her, careful to maintain a professional distance. "How's your cheek?"
"It stings," she admits, touching the small bandage I applied earlier.
My fingers itch to brush her hair back, to check the wound again. I clench my fist instead.
"It'll heal clean," I say. "No scar."
She almost smiles at that, and something shifts in my chest. "Always the practical one, Hayes."
If only she knew. If only she could see past the soldier, the bodyguard, the wall of muscle and training that stands between her and danger. If she could see how impractical my thoughts about her truly are.
But she can't. And she shouldn't.
So I stand, resuming my post by the door, letting the concrete walls remind me of all the barriers between us.