Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
NICO
The world reduces to the weight of the Glock in my palm and the sound of my breathing. Slow. Controlled. Deliberate.
Blake moves silently to my right, Alessandro’s elite team fanning out behind us in perfect formation.
The derelict Sterling Steel Mill rises before us, a massive silhouette against the night sky.
Its rusted frame reminds me of a beached whale carcass—once mighty, now hollowed out and left to decay.
Moonlight filters through the broken windows, casting long fingers of light across the crumbling concrete.
“Perimeter secured,” Blake’s voice comes through my earpiece, a low tone. “No signs of Moretti’s men.”
I survey the building, every sense on high alert. Something feels wrong. This isn’t a typical ambush. The quiet is too complete, the isolation too perfect. If this is a trap, it’s unlike any Moretti has set before.
“Three entry points,” I say, gesturing with my free hand. “Blake, you take Alpha team through the east loading dock. Bravo will cover the west exit. I’ll lead Charlie through the main entrance.”
Blake hesitates. “Sir, protocol?—”
“I’m going in first.” My tone permits no debate. Protocol can go to hell. Lea is in there.
The thought of her—bound, terrified, at Moretti’s mercy—sends a bolt of raw fury through me.
I force it down, lock it away. Emotion is a luxury I cannot afford.
I need the cold, calculating mind that has kept me alive.
Later, I will repay Moretti. I will make him watch as I dismantle everything he values brick by brick.
But first, I need Lea back.
I approach the rusted main door, Team Charlie moving in perfect sync behind me. The door gives way with a protesting screech. We enter the cavernous space, weapons raised, sweeping in practiced formation. The tactical light on my Glock cuts through the darkness, illuminating decades of abandonment.
“Clear,” comes the word through my earpiece, first from one man, then another.
I move deeper into the building, step over a fallen beam, narrowly avoiding a patch of broken glass. My earpiece crackles. “East wing clear,” Blake reports. “West clear as well. No hostiles.”
I frown. This makes no sense. Moretti wouldn’t just leave her unguarded.
A muffled sound reaches me. I freeze, raising a fist to halt my team. There it is again—a soft, desperate sound.
I signal for the team to hold their positions, then move forward alone, staying close to the shadows.
The sound grows louder as I approach what must have been the main melting floor—a vast open space dominated by giant, rusted machinery.
And there, directly beneath a single industrial light, is Lea.
The sight of her stops my breath. She’s bound to a metal chair, her dark hair falling in tangled waves. She’s gagged, her eyes wide with frantic terror as she struggles against the ropes. My anger is a white-hot flash, but I force myself to assess.
She’s alone. No guards, no Moretti. It makes no tactical sense unless?—
My eyes drop from her face to the chair. And I see it.
Taped to the underside of her seat is a block of C4, wired to a digital timer. The red numbers are counting down. 1:47… 1:46…
The air leaves my lungs. This isn’t a message. It’s an execution. A crude trap designed to kill Lea and anyone who tries to be a hero.
“Blake,” I say into my comm, my voice dangerously calm. “Fall back. All teams. Fall back to the perimeter. Now. That is a direct order.”
I step out of the shadows, holstering my weapon as I walk toward her, my movements measured. Her muffled cries coming through the gag are desperate.
“Shh, Lea. Look at me,” I command, my voice low and even as I drop to my knees before her. “I’m going to get you out of this. Trust me.”
My focus narrows to the device. It’s a simple pressure-plate trigger. If I cut her ropes, her shifting off the chair might complete the circuit. The timer is the only thing holding back the blast. 1:12… 1:11…
I pull my tactical knife. I can’t cut her free. Too risky. Might trigger the bomb. I have to disarm it.
My fingers, steady from years of discipline, probe the device.
It’s Moretti’s work, alright. No finesse.
Just a block of explosive, a battery, and a simple timer connected to a detonator.
Two wires. One red, one blue. A fifty-fifty chance.
But Moretti is a creature of brute force.
He deals in absolutes. He wouldn’t gamble.
0:45… 0:44…
Her muffled sobs are the only sound besides the frantic beat of my heart. I meet her terrified gaze. “Don’t move,” I say.
I position the edge of my knife against the red wire. My entire world shrinks to this single point of contact. The cold steel, the thin plastic sheath. My hand does not shake.
0:32… 0:31…
I cut the wire.
For a single, eternal second, nothing happens. The timer freezes at 0:29. The red light flickers, then dies.
A breath escapes me. I press my forehead against her knee for just a moment, the wave of relief so powerful it almost brings me down. Then, the fury returns.
I rise, my knife flashing as I slice through the ropes at her wrists and ankles. The moment she is free, I rip the gag from her mouth. She launches herself into my arms, her body shaking violently, her sobs raw and unrestrained against my neck.
“I’m sorry,” she chokes out. “They came—they tied me up—I thought we were going to die.”
We. The word lands hard. He wasn’t just trying to kill me. He was going to execute her. The last shred of doubt I ever had about her is obliterated. She was never a player. She was a pawn. And Moretti was willing to sacrifice her to get to me.
I pull her close again, one hand cradling the back of her head. “I’ve got you,” I murmur against her temple. “You’re safe now.”
The realization hits me. This terror—this dread that gripped me when I knew she was gone—it wasn’t strategic concern.
It was the raw fear of losing someone irreplaceable.
Alessandro warned me. But here, fresh from saving her from a shared death, I can no longer lie to myself.
I am in love with Lea Song. The admission, even to myself, should feel like surrender. Instead, it feels like clarity.
“Sir.” Blake’s voice breaks the moment. He stands a respectful distance away. “We should move. This location is too exposed.”
I nod, helping Lea to her feet. She sways, and I wrap an arm around her waist. “The car?”
“Waiting at the south entrance.”
We move through the factory, Team Charlie forming a protective circle around us. I keep Lea pressed against my side. The armored SUV waits, engine running. Blake opens the rear door, and I help Lea inside before sliding in beside her.
As the door closes and the vehicle pulls away, I feel the last of the adrenaline ebb, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion and something else: relief.
In the dim light, her face is a study in shadows. I reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
She leans into my touch. “They took me to that place,” she says, her voice small. “Tied me up. One of them dropped his phone when they were leaving. I knew you’d come for me.”
The phone. Conveniently dropped so Lea could call me, lure me into this trap of a shared death without knowing. The ultimate stroke by Moretti. Kill me and the woman I love in a single act of deception.
“Always,” I tell her, and it’s not a reassurance. It’s a vow.
I give the driver the destination—the lake house. The city is a battlefield now.
The long drive passes in silence, her head resting against my shoulder. I text Alessandro a brief update: Lea recovered. Moretti tried to kill us both. It’s war. His reply is immediate: Burn him down.
The gates of the lake house slide open for us.
I’ve already had Blake’s team sweep the property twice, confirming it’s clean.
The house stands dark and silent against the water, a bastion of calm after the night’s chaos.
I help Lea out, noting how she stays close to my side as we walk to the front door.
Once inside, the full impact of the night seems to crash down on her. She stands in the center of the great room, looking small and lost. I dismiss Blake with a look, waiting until the door closes behind him before approaching her.
“You need to rest,” I say, gently taking her hand.
“I should shower,” she says, her voice distant. “I can still feel that place on my skin.”
I nod, releasing her hand reluctantly. “I’ll be here.”
While she’s in the bathroom, I set my gun on the nightstand.
The adrenaline crash is hitting hard, leaving me raw and unguarded in a way I rarely allow myself to be.
The sound of running water from the shower fills the silence.
I picture her under the spray, washing away the terror of her captivity, and the protectiveness I feel is almost overwhelming. I restrain myself. She needs space.
Instead, I pour two glasses of whiskey from the decanter. The amber liquid catches the low light as I take a sip, the burn of it grounding me. The shower stops, and a few minutes later, the bathroom door opens.
Lea emerges wrapped in one of my robes, her damp hair leaving dark patches on the white fabric. Her face is scrubbed clean, her eyes clearer but still holding shadows of the night’s events. She looks impossibly vulnerable and achingly beautiful.
I cross the room and offer her the second glass of whiskey. She takes it, her fingers brushing mine. The simple contact sends a current through me that has nothing to do with power or control and everything to do with connection.
“Thank you,” she says after taking a sip. “For finding me.”
I set my glass down and cup her face in my hands. “I will always find you, Lea.” The words come from somewhere deep and unguarded. “Always.”
Her eyes search mine, looking for the calculation that has defined us. But there’s none to find. What she sees instead makes her breath catch.
She reaches up, her hand covering mine. “Nico,” she breathes.
I don’t know which of us moves first. One moment we’re standing apart, the next her glass is abandoned on the dresser and we’re crashing together. Her mouth finds mine with desperate certainty, her hands fisting in my shirt as if afraid I might disappear.
I lift her, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carry her to the bed. The robe falls open. I lay her down with a gentleness that surprises us both, then rid myself of my own clothes.
When I join her on the bed, it’s different.
This isn’t about dominance or submission.
It’s about reaffirmation—proof of life, of safety, of connection in its most primal form.
I kiss her deeply, memorizing the taste of her.
Her hands move over my skin, tracing old scars.
When I finally enter her, it’s with a reverence that borders on worship.
“Look at me,” I command softly. I see everything I’ve been afraid to acknowledge reflected in her eyes. Want. Need. A desperate, consuming connection that transcends the games we’ve played.
We move together with a synchronicity that defies the tangle of our past. Every touch, every kiss is both a promise and a plea.
I watch her come undone beneath me, her back arching, my name a breathless prayer on her lips.
Her surrender triggers my release, and for a perfect, suspended moment, there is no Moretti, no danger, no uncertain future—just this, just us.
Afterward, I hold her against my chest, her heartbeat a steady counterpoint to my own. Her fingers trace idle patterns on my skin.
“I thought I’d lost you,” I admit into the darkness.
She tilts her head up to look at me. “You didn’t.”
“When I saw that bomb...” I tighten my arms around her, the memory still raw. “I’ve never felt fear like that.”
She’s silent for a long moment. “Why?” she finally asks. “You never fear anything.”
The truth has been clawing its way out since I cut that wire. “Because you matter to me, Lea,” I say, my voice raw. “More than is safe for either of us.”
Her breath hitches. “What does that mean? For us?”
In my world, love is a liability. The strategic move would be to distance myself. But looking at her, I know that’s no longer possible.
“It means things change,” I tell her, brushing damp hair from her forehead. “It means Moretti’s actions tonight were a declaration of war. It means I protect what’s mine. And you, Lea Song, are mine in ways that have nothing to do with leverage.”
She studies me, then leans up and kisses me—softly, sweetly.
“Yours,” she agrees when she pulls back. The single word is a vow, holding a thousand promises.
I pull her closer. Tomorrow, I will be the Diplomat again—methodical, ruthless in my pursuit of Moretti’s destruction.
But tonight, holding the woman I just saved, the woman Moretti condemned to die with me, I am simply a man who has been given a second chance.
And I will burn the world down to keep it.