61. Luca
61
LUCA
Ana’s car pulled into the courtyard, followed by a second. Her face was pale and beautiful, visible to all of us. Her bridesmaids, all Russian, surrounded the car and opened the door.
Ana stepped out, a vision in white brocade and lace, the first time I’d seen her since she snuck out the night her other lovers’ parents were taken. The dress skimmed her figure, high necked, with long sleeves, flaring out into a full skirt that didn’t impede her stride. It was nothing like the simple elegance she would have chosen for herself.
Her eyes skimmed over the crowd through her veil, meeting mine for half a second before cutting away. Every crime family in Yorkfield had received an invitation— my father declined, but I had to see her one last time.
Dmitri clapped his hand on my shoulder. “How are you doing?”
Boris Tchérnov exited his vehicle and walked to join his bride. My vision narrowed, only for Dmitri to move his hand from my shoulder to the hand that gripped my weapon.
“Don’t. He’ll take it out on her.”
All the Italian families were here. Sofia and one of her husbands were already inside the church, but I’d had to see Ana with my own eyes to believe that she was going through with this farce. She’d refused to marry me, but didn’t hesitate to jump into bed with the bratva to save someone else.
It wasn’t fucking?—
“Easy,” Dmitri said. “She’s made her choice, and you’d be an asshole to try and take that away from her.”
Her choice.
She’d chosen Boris Tchérnov instead of me, and I hated it.
My eyes focused on her stiff gate, nothing like her natural grace. My woman was in pain, and there wasn’t a goddamned thing I could do about it.
Boris took her hands and brought them to his lips, as if this were a love match and not a fucking travesty.
Ana pulled away, but he held her hands tight, glaring down at her as he whispered fiercely. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, then jerked her hands away, throwing herself backward, her expression a perfect distillation of feminine rage.
I moved toward her, but Dmitri’s fingers tightened on my arm, and he dragged me two steps back.
“What the f?—”
The courtyard exploded.
Ana’s body flew through the air an instant before a blast of fire and brick threw me backward, the heat searing into my skin.
I lay there for a moment, my entire body screaming in pain. “Ana!” I yelled, dragging myself to my feet and stumbling toward the entrance of the church, ignoring the agony of every step.
“Ana!” I yelled again. I couldn’t hear a fucking thing. My ears rang with the force of the blast, and smoke obscured my vision as I fought my way through the crowd of screaming guests. Where was she? Was she okay? Ana!
By the time I shoved my way to the site of the bomb, it was a smoking crater, the front of the church destroyed, men and women picking themselves off the ground, tending to each other’s wounds and sobbing with fear.
Where the fuck was she?
My vision swam as I searched the area, barely able to stand but desperate for a sign of her white dress. I imagined her laying on the ground, her neck broken, her spine crooked, her limbs—fucking hell, where was she?
Please.
I stumbled through the rubble, moving aside debris with superhuman strength, frantic in my terror that she hadn’t made it.
Please.
I begged the same god who’d introduced us, who’d saved both of my sisters, who’d saved my father, who’d given me everything —I promised him whatever he wanted if he would only save Ana.
Please.
Seconds later. Minutes. Hours. A hand on my shoulder brought me back to the present and out of my panicked search.
“Russo,” Enzo said quietly, sweat and blood dripping down his brow. “Enough.” His clothes were filthy, covered in blood that clearly wasn’t his.
“She’s not here,” I gasped. “Where the fuck is she?”
“Check your phone,” he said softly.
What? I pulled my phone out of my pocket, the screen only slightly cracked. Sofia found me and wrapped her arms around me, Lorenzo, one of her husbands and an old friend, waiting watchfully behind her. “Luca?”
I hugged her back, squeezing her tight. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, and relief swept through me.
I opened the tracking app that showed where we were.
Valentin was in southern France.
Angelo in Italy.
I stood in this godforsaken churchyard.
Ana’s red dot was missing. Fuck.
“Luca?” Sofia asked. “Are you okay?”
No. I wasn’t fucking okay. I’d lost the woman I loved. I stepped out of Sofia’s embrace to glare at Enzo and almost fell over as dizziness swept through me. Sofia adjusted her grip so that I could lean at her.
“What the fuck do you mean check my phone?” I snapped. “Find her!”
Enzo’s face was sympathetic. “She’s not yours,” he murmured. “Not anymore.”
“The hell she’s not,” I exploded, stepping out of Sofia’s hold.
He drew a gun and held it to my forehead, his hands steady despite his injuries. “She doesn’t want you to follow her.”
My eyes shot to his, devastating pain breaking my heart open all over again.
He didn’t give me a chance to question him.
“She was willing to give up everything to save two strangers. She’s free, Russo. And so are they. And that’s something you could never give her. You and those two assholes that spent the summer playing with her instead of doing their fucking jobs and taking care of the people who built the Costa empire.”
I swayed on my feet, and Enzo swore. My vision faded to black.
“Russo? Russo!”