11. Luca
ELEVEN
Luca
The room smells like eucalyptus and lavender, the soft spa music humming low in the background, but the tension cuts through the air like a blade. The whole setup feels surreal—like we’re getting ready for something relaxing to happen, not a hit that could go south in a heartbeat, or worse, start a war.
Adrian stands beside me, his arms crossed. He scans every inch of the room. We’ve been over the plan a dozen times, but now that we’re here, in the spa, it feels heavier. The reality of what is about to happen is sinking in.
“You good with this?” Adrian asks, his voice low.
I nod, glancing at the Massimo decoy. He’s already stripped down, lying face-down on the massage table with a sheet pulled up to his waist. Beneath that sheet, hidden within easy reach, is his sawed-off shotgun. He looks calm—too calm for what’s about to happen—but that’s why we picked him. He knows how to keep his cool .
The fake masseuse is standing at the ready, her hands at her sides, packing heat just in case, as well. Her face is set, no emotion there, just focus. Good. She’ll need it.
“I’ll be in the closet,” I tell Adrian, nodding toward the small, barely noticeable door at the far end of the room. “Door pulled to, but not latched. As soon as I’m cleared and the sonofabitch enters the room, I’m going ape shit on him.”
Adrian smirks, but his eyes are sharp. “Remember, Rossi, keep the emotion out of it. This is a job like any other, even if it is a crazy Vitale. We’ve got two guys at either end of the hall. No one gets in or out without them knowing.”
I glance at the camera feed on the monitor Adrian’s been setting up in the adjacent room. “And you’ll monitor everything from here? I’ll have my earpiece in, so give me a heads up if anything is off.”
He nods. “Every angle. We’ve got pinhole cameras around the room, so I’ll see it all. The second Marco shows up, our guy outside will let me know if he’s alone or if he’s got a tail.”
I nod, feeling the weight of the moment settle on my shoulders. “If he’s got backup, we adjust?”
Adrian’s looks toward the door, then back to me. “We’ll adjust. I’ve got it covered. I’ve got ten weapons on this one, including the ones in this room.”
I turn my attention to Lima, the decoy on the table, giving him one last look. “Remember, keep it smooth. If Marco gets suspicious, you make the first move.”
Lima nods, calm as ever. “Got it. If he twitches, I blow a hole in his face. ”
The plan is simple. Marco thinks he’s walking into an easy kill. He’s expecting to find Massimo alone, unarmed, relaxed. Vulnerable. What he won’t expect is the trap we’ve laid for him, the firepower we’ve got hidden in plain sight.
“We’ve covered everything,” I say, more to myself than anyone else. “Two men in the hall, a lookout outside, cameras, and we’re armed to the teeth. He’s not walking out of here.”
Adrian places a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm. “You’ve done this before, Luca. Stick to the plan, and this will be clean. Just like we talked about.”
I nod, the adrenaline already starting to pulse through me. We’ve set this up perfectly. Now, it’s just a matter of time.
“Alright,” Adrian says, checking his watch. “It’s almost three. Everyone get to your places.”
Lima adjusts his sheet, his finger on the trigger and rolls his shoulders as if he’s preparing for an actual massage. The fake masseuse steps toward the table, standing at the ready, her hands poised, and she actually starts to knead his shoulders. Damn, a good shoulder rub as I prepare for an ambush.
I head toward the closet, sliding inside, leaving the door cracked just enough for me to keep an eye on things and get a hidden shot if I need it. My gun is already in my hand, safety off, the weight of it familiar in my palm.
Adrian moves into the adjacent room through the adjoining door. The monitor glows a faint blue hue into the darkened room as he checks the feed one more time. We’re ready .
The tension builds with every passing second. All we have to do now is wait.
Through the crack in the closet door, I watch the door to the room from the hall, my breath steady but my pulse hammering in my ears. The dim light from the spa room casts long shadows, and everything feels too calm, too quiet. Perfect.
Adrian’s voice buzzes softly in my earpiece, his words clipped and efficient. “He’s in. Alone. Coming your way.”
I grip my Benelli MP 95E tighter, the silencer in place, focus locked on the door. Marco took the bait—just like we wanted. Fiamma’s note told him the back door would be left open for him and that everyone would be in town at the parade. All of it led him right into our hands.
“I see him now, strutting down the hallway like he owns the place. He’s got that cocky swagger, like a peacock with his feathers out,” Adrian whispers to me through my earpiece. That silence he’s walking in—it’s not his shield. It’s the countdown to his end.
Marco must have paused outside the door with his hand hovering over the handle because I see the knob twist slowly without the door opening. He thinks he’s got this all figured out. He thinks the Lucianas are about to fall into his lap, but he has no idea what’s waiting for him.
He pushes the door open slowly, the creak almost silent. From my vantage point, I see the fake masseuse, her back to Marco, leaning over Lima on the table, her hands rubbing his shoulders. Everything’s set up perfectly, right down to the smallest detail.
Marco raises his Beretta and points it directly at her back, ready to pull the trigger. But before he can fire, I step out of the closet, my gun already aimed.
BANG!
The shot hits him square in the right shoulder, sending him flying backward with a grunt. His gun goes off, the bullet burying itself in the ceiling as he hits the ground hard. He groans, clutching his shoulder, as shock spreads across his face.
Adrian bursts in from the other room, his handgun drawn, his face twisted into a cold smirk. I walk forward, my Benelli still trained on Marco’s face, who’s writhing on the floor, blood soaking through his jacket.
“You messed with the wrong family,” I say, my voice steady as I kneel beside him, pressing the barrel of my gun on his forehead. His face contorts with fear, his breathing ragged.
“Wait—wait—” Marco stammers, his voice a desperate rasp. “You don’t have to do this?—”
“Shut up.” I lean in closer, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You got outsmarted by a woman. Fiamma Luciana made a fool out of you. You really thought she’d be with someone like you? You pathetic piece of shit.”
Marco’s cocky bullshit is gone, replaced with raw fear. His lips tremble as blood oozes from the corner of his mouth. “Please… I’ll disappear. You won’t see me again. ”
I laugh, cold and cruel, enjoying the look of terror on his face. “Disappear? No, Marco. Your death is going to be a message. To the Vitales, to anyone who thinks they can touch the Lucianas. You don’t come after us. Not now. Not ever.”
Adrian steps forward, his face twisted in disgust as he stares down at Marco and spits on his face. “You’re just like your father, thinking you can take what isn’t yours. He managed to kill my old man, sure. But where did it get him? He got taken down because he was too stupid to know when to quit. Same goes for you. The hubris of your bunch has no end.”
Marco’s breathing turns ragged, his body trembling beneath the weight of Adrian’s words. He tries to speak, but the only sound that escapes is a strangled gasp.
I stand, looking down at him with a cold, calculating gaze. “I could let you live, torture you a bit before you meet your ultimate end, but I don’t have any more time to waste on the absolute garbage of a man you are. You’ve taken up more than I wanted, anyway. So say your last prayer, asshole.”
Marco pleads with me, his mouth opening in a silent scream as I press it harder. I pause, savoring the moment, then pull the trigger.
The bullet tears through his skull, blood spraying across the floor. His body goes limp immediately. What’s left of his face spills out on the tile floor.
Adrian looks down at the mess, then back up at me, his expression unreadable. “Brutal. But clean. ”
I wipe the blood from my hands, the adrenaline still surging through me. “He deserved worse. He’s lucky I got a little Christmas cheer today.”
Adrian smiles an evil smile and shakes his head. He steps back to take one last look at the lifeless body on the ground. “Make sure the cleanup crew knows to make it look like an accident. Marco Vitale won’t be walking out of here, but his death won’t spark a war. Let’s keep it that way.”
I holster my Benelli and step over Marco’s body. “No one will miss him. Give him a pair of cement shoes and get him the fuck out of here,” Adrian says to Lima, the decoy doubling as a cleaner.
The door to Fiamma’s suite creaks open, and the moment I step inside, I see her pacing the room, her hands fidgeting nervously.
The second she spots me, she smiles, and runs across the room, throwing her arms around me. Her grip is tight, almost desperate, as if she needs to feel me there, alive, solid.
“Are you okay?” she asks breathlessly, pulling back just enough to look up at me. Her gaze drops to my shirt, and her face pales. “Luca, is that blood? Are you hurt?”
I shake my head, giving her a small, reassuring smile. “I’m fine. It’s not mine.”
Relief washes over her features, but she’s still tense. Her hands move to the buttons of my shirt, undoing them with quick, deliberate motions. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
She peels the blood-stained shirt from my shoulders, and for a moment, the room feels heavier with the weight of everything that’s happened. Her fingers brush against my skin as she slides the shirt down my arms, and then she carefully unhooks the gun holster strapped to my chest. The cold metal of the gun feels out of place in this room—here, with her.
She sets the gun on the counter, her movements slow and deliberate, like she’s trying to distance herself from the violence that’s still clinging to me. Her touch, though gentle, grounds me like a thousand pound weight.
“Come on,” she says softly, taking my hand and leading me to the bathroom. She flips the switch, and the warm, soft light fills the space. The rays slice through the air and bounce off the steam starting to rise from the shower as she turns the water on. The sound of the water hitting the tile is soothing, a stark contrast to the harshness and finality of the ambush just hours ago.
I stand there, watching her, feeling a mixture of exhaustion and relief settle over me. The bastard is dead. Marco Vitale won’t be coming for us, for her, ever again. I’m spent—emotionally, mentally—but I can’t help the satisfaction that curls in my chest. It’s over.
“You nailed it,” I say, my voice rough but sincere as I grab her head in my hands. “Everything. The idea in the midst of your own peril, the note, the setup… It was because of you that the cockroach of a man isn’t walking the earth anymore. ”
Fiamma pauses for a moment, her back to me as she adjusts the water. Then she turns, and a palpable electricity ignites immediately. The intensity between us is unspoken, but it is clear. “I just did what I had to.”
I let out a low chuckle, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I would call that being a badass, going above and beyond. And you did it damn well.”
She reaches for the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head, and for a second, the air between us shifts. There’s a quiet understanding, a connection that goes deeper than words. She steps out of her jeans, her bare skin glowing in the dim light. And before I can even register the moment, she’s pulling me into the shower with her.
The water hits my skin, hot and soothing, washing away the blood, the grime, the tension that’s been coiled tight inside me for hours. Fiamma’s hands slide up my chest, her touch gentle but deliberate as she helps me rinse off the weight of everything. Her fingers trail over my shoulders, over the tattoos on my arms, tracing the roundness of my muscles. Her movements are slow and calming.
I lean into her, my forehead resting against hers, the steam curling around us like a cocoon. The sound of the water, the warmth, the way her body presses against mine comforts me in a way nothing else can.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the water. “For trusting me.”
Her hands cup my face. The touch of her skin on mine is the catalyst that puts something in motion neither of us can stop. “Thank you for trusting me. ”
The heat between us simmers a slow burn that I have no intention to try to resist. Her lips brush against mine, and I kiss her back, not with urgency but with a deep, aching need. The need to feel her and remind myself that we made it through.
The steam envelops us in its warm embrace. This has become our thing, I guess. Something about water and Fiamma sets me off before I even let my dick touch her.
The water cascades over us, washing away the remnants of our ordeal, but it does nothing to quell the fire that burns between us.
Her back presses against the cool tile wall, and I position myself at her entrance, the tip of my cock barely penetrating her, feeling her heat and wetness, drinking in all of her.
“You feel that, Fiamma? Feel how hard you make me?” My hips grind against her, the length of my cock sliding along her belly, leaving a trail of want. “You’re like a drug, and I’m addicted.”
Her breath hitches as I nip at her neck, her hands exploring the contours of my chest, her nails scraping lightly over my skin. “You’re mine, every inch of you,” I tell her, and I capture her mouth in a searing kiss, our tongues dancing in a rhythm as old as time.
My fingers find her, slick with more than just the water from the shower. I tease her, stroking, circling, until she’s whimpering into my mouth, her body thrusting against mine, desperate for more.
“Tell me what you want,” I demand, my voice rough with desire, as I pull back to look at her, to see the need mirrored in her gaze. “I want to hear you say it.”
She shudders, her cheeks flushed with perhaps a bit of shyness and arousal. “I want you, Luca. All of you.”
I groan at her words, the sound echoing off the tiled walls. “You’ve got me, babe. Every thick, hard inch.” And with that, I lift her, her legs wrapping around my waist, and I drive into her with one powerful thrust.
Her cry of pleasure reverberates through the steam-filled air, and I still, letting her adjust to my size, the intensity of our connection. “Christ, you’re tight,” I grunt, struggling to maintain control. “So perfectly tight. I love the way your pussy feels around my cock.”
I start to move, each thrust punctuated with a word, a vow, a confession. “So. Fucking. Perfect.”
“Fuck me, Luca. Yes, more, devour me.”
Her responses, breathy and eager, spur me on, and the tempo increases, our bodies slapping together in a primal rhythm.
With a growl, I drive into her, burying myself to the hilt. She cries out, her fingers digging into my shoulders, her legs tightening around me.
Every thrust is a release, a primal need to claim her, to mark her as mine in the most basic way possible. The anger, the violence, the fear of nearly losing her—it all pours out of me with each pounding stroke. I’m rough, unrelenting, but she takes it, meets me thrust for thrust, her breathing ragged, her moans echoing off the walls .
“I want all of you,” I grunt, my voice harsh against her ear. “Tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m yours, Luca,” she gasps, her voice laced with desperation and desire. “Only yours.”
But I’m not done with her yet. I turn her around, placing her hands on the wall for support. She arches her back, offering her round ass to me, and I enter her from behind, my cock sliding into her slick heat with ease. I grip her hips, pulling her back onto me with a force that leaves no room for doubt—I own her, and she owns me.
I fuck her like I’m trying to meld us together, to erase the line between where she ends and I begin. The sounds of our bodies colliding, the feel of her skin against mine, the scent of our arousal mixing with the steam—it’s all-consuming.
She tightens around me, her orgasm building, and I know I won’t last much longer. “Oh, God, I am going to come inside of you. Don’t let me beat you to it. Come for me.”
And she does. Her body convulses around mine, her screams of release are only muffled by my kiss. Her second orgasm seems to hit her hard, and as she clenches around me, it’s too much. With a final, deep thrust, I join her, my own climax barreling through me like a freight train. I let go, burying myself as deep as I can as I explode inside her, filling her with my seed.
The force of my release is like nothing I’ve ever felt before. It’s as if every ounce of pent-up tension, every drop of adrenaline that’s been coursing through my veins, is being channeled into this one moment, this connection between us .
We stay there, locked together, until our breathing evens out and the water begins to cool. Reluctantly, I ease out of her and set her back on her feet, our bodies begrudgingly part.
I reach out and shut off the water, the sudden silence a stark contrast to the ruckus of our passion. I grab a towel just outside of the shower and wrap her. As I do, I can’t help but think that this, right here, is worth any risk, any danger. Because Fiamma isn’t just a job, a duty, or a forbidden temptation. She’s everything.
We step out and slump against each other, the steam still surrounding us. I hold her close, my nose buried in her wet hair, her face against my chest. I can feel her heart racing in tandem with mine, and in this moment, it feels like we’re one entity, one soul, bound together by something far greater than either of us could have imagined.
As our breathing slowly returns to normal, I realize that in the act of bringing death to someone else, I’ve somehow managed to breathe life into myself through her.
It’s a strange, almost ironic revelation, but it’s one that I can’t deny. She’s changed me, irrevocably and irrefutably, and I know that from this moment forward, my life will never be the same.