12. Elio De Luca
Chapter 12
Elio De Luca
The second we move toward the dock building, the air explodes—not with a single bang, but with a hail of gunfire that rips the breath from my lungs. The warehouse transforms into a war zone.
Fuck.
My instincts scream. I drop, twisting my body to slam against the rust-eaten side of a shipping container. Bullets rip through the space where I stood a heartbeat before, tearing chunks of metal and sending sparks showering down. The acrid smell of gunpowder stings my nostrils. They were prepared for us.
"Shit," I murmur trying to locate the others.
Jackson is to my right, letting loose a string of curses as he returns fire, his Beretta barking defiance into the night. Gio vaults over a stack of rotting pallets, firing a controlled burst that sends splinters flying from a nearby crate. I scan the space, my gaze darting between shadows, searching for an opening towards the building.
She's in there. I know it.
At least twenty men, maybe more, are scattered across the asphalt in front of the warehouse, behind pillars – all armed, all aiming.
This isn't a firefight. This is an ambush.
Forget cover. We need to move.
“Let’s go,” I hiss to Jackson. He doesn’t need to be told twice.
Ignoring the tremor of adrenaline coursing through me, I explode from behind the container, my boots pounding against the oil-stained concrete. Two quick shots leave my gun, and I see a figure in the shadows clutch his chest and crumple.
"Not bad," Jackson says, moving to my left.
"We gotta get inside," I pant.
A flicker of movement. A glint of steel. A man on the catwalk swings his weapon toward me. I throw myself into an improvised roll, the bullet whizzing inches over my head, tearing a hole in the container behind me.
"Fuck," I shout.
Rising to a crouch, I snap my arm up and squeeze the trigger. The man on the catwalk slams back against the railing, his rifle clatters to the floor. He hangs, lifeless, for a beat—then tumbles over the edge.
"Move up!" Jackson roars, laying down a suppressing fire that buys me precious seconds. I sprint, weaving through a labyrinth of crates stacked high. My lungs burn, and my muscles ache, but I push forward, driven by a single, burning purpose: the inner hallway of the building. That's where they'll be keeping her.
That's where Nica is.
I know it. I feel it in the marrow of my bones, a raw, primal connection that overrides everything else.
Then, a searing pain rips through my shoulder, a white-hot agony that steals my breath. It's like a branding iron searing flesh, sending shockwaves through my entire body.
No.
The force of the impact sends me stumbling, nearly knocking me off my feet. I slam into a stack of rusted metal drums, their sharp edges digging into my ribs. My sleeve is instantly soaked with blood, the dark stain spreading fast.
"Elio!" Gio shouts, approaching me from the right.
"I'm fine," I grit out, forcing the words through clenched teeth. The pain is a monster clawing at me. I don't have time for pain. I don't have time to bleed.
With a sharp tug, I rip off a shirt strip and wrap it tightly around my left arm, twisting the fabric into a makeshift tourniquet. The pressure sends a fresh wave of agony through me, but I grit my teeth and secure it.
My right hand is still steady. I can still shoot. That's all that matters.
Jackson isn't as lucky. A strangled grunt escapes his lips, and he collapses, clutching his thigh. His face is pale, his eyes wide with pain.
"Shit…" He grimaces, pressing his hand against the wound, his fingers quickly turning crimson. "I'm hit bad."
Gio is already there, dragging him behind the meager cover of a toppled crate. "We need backup."
Jackson clenches his jaw, his face slick with sweat. "I'm calling it in, the force, trusted friends. Get to Vickie! Keep going."
"Stay with him, cover him until help arrives," I say to Gio.
Gio looks at me, his eyes filled with worry.
“Don’t do this. There’s a shit load of men out there, heavily armed.”
He doesn't want me to go alone. This isn't how we do things.
But I have no choice. Nobody from my team is dying today.
No one.
“I’ll be fine. Fuckers won’t know what hit them.”
I slam a fresh magazine into my weapon. Every second counts.
“Don’t get killed, friend,” Gio says.
“Not planning on it.”
I get up; my steps are uneven, and my shoulder is throbbing. But I don't stop. I can't stop.
I hear gunfire behind me, rounds punching into the crumbling brick, spitting dust into the air. I don't look back. Can't. My eyes are locked on the rusted metal door ahead.
Another shot cracks past my ear as I lunge for the door. I slam into it, shoulder-first, forcing it open with a splintering groan. I dive inside and throw my weight against it, twisting the lock with shaking fingers. A busted chair waits in the corner—I drag it over, jam it under the handle. It won’t hold. Not for long. But it’ll buy me seconds. Maybe that’s all I need.
The hallway yawns ahead, narrow and stinking of rot. Damp wood. Mold. The walls are lined with doors, their paint peeling like old scabs. Fluorescent lights flicker overhead, humming like they’re alive—and just as ready to die.
“What the fuck is this?” I mutter, my voice hollow in the stillness. “A horror movie?”
My boots thud on the concrete floor, each step louder than the last, each one dragging like I’m sinking.
Every shadow stretches too long.
Every sound has teeth.
And then I see her.
Or what's left of her.
The body on the floor. Twisted. Bloody.
Susan Galli?
A thick trail of blood snakes through the hallway, as if she’d been dragged from somewhere deeper inside.
I raise my gun, heart pounding, and move in closer.
She’s slumped against the far wall, lifeless. Her eyes stare up at the ceiling, frozen in some blank expression of surprise. A single, clean bullet hole marks the back of her head.
Dead. Cold. Gone.
Who the hell did this?
My stomach clenches, and a wave of nausea rises in my throat. Something isn't right.
If she's dead. Then who the hell is running this show? Who is pulling the strings?
A slow, deliberate clap echoes through the hallway. I whirl around, snapping my gun up, adrenaline surging through me like a jolt of electricity.
A man steps out from under a stairwell, his smirk lazy and self-assured. His gun, a polished Glock, held casually at his side.
Tall. Lean. Dark eyes that gleam with a cold, unsettling intelligence. A sharp, cruel edge to his expression.
"Elio De fucking Luca," he drawls, dragging my name out like an insult. "Right on time. I was beginning to think you weren't coming."
I don't lower my gun. My finger rests lightly on the trigger, ready to fire. "You killed Susan? Who the hell are you? And where's Nica?"
She can't be dead, too.
Can't. Can't. Can't.
He tilts his head, considering my words with feigned innocence, before flashing a chilling grin. "Yeah, dear Suzy. She got… tiresome. Unpredictable. Emotional." He sighs dramatically. "You know how it is. Some people just outlive their usefulness."
This was never Susan's show, was it?
She was a pawn, just like everyone else. The realization leaves me momentarily stunned.
"Who. Are. You?" I keep my voice steady, but my grip on the gun tightens.
The guy steps forward, slow and deliberate, like he has all the time in the world. Like he knows he's already won.
"Name's Eduardo," he says, voice casual, almost amused. "Eduardo Rodríguez."
I take a step back. No way. The last name hits me like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs.
He catches my reaction and grins. "Didn't see that coming, huh? Guess my siblings did a damn good job keeping me a secret." He claps once, the sound sharp in the dead air. His eyes—cold, detached, unreadable—send a chill down my spine. I've seen eyes like that before.
Naomi. He's her brother. And Peter’s. Has to be. But younger.
"No way," I murmur, trying to make sense of it.
"Oh, way." He flicks a few curls from his forehead, still grinning. "And you're gonna lower the gun now… unless you want dear Nica to die. I much prefer Victoria, more…royal. It fits her."
“If you hurt her, I swear,” I groan in his direction.
My stomach knots. She's alive. Thank God. But my shoulder is screaming, and I can't afford to let him see the weakness.
Keep him talking. Stay in control.
Slowly, I lower the gun—but I don't let go.
"Why'd you kill her mother?" I ask, my voice careful. "Susan wasn't a threat to you, was she?"
Eddie's smirk fades. His jaw tightens.
"Told you. She was getting tiresome, besides I don't share power."
"Fine, just tell me where Nica is. And I'll leave you to it. You don’t need her."
And I mean it.
Eddie tuts, wagging a finger in mock disapproval. "That's not how this works, Elio. There are rules, even in a game like this. Besides, she'll be my queen. Not yours."
I take a step closer. "Tell me where she is."
"You're really gonna try to intimidate me right now? That's adorable with her life in my hands." He shakes his head. "You're hurt, you're outnumbered, and you're clearly not thinking straight. And yet, here you are, trying to play the hero."
My finger twitches on the trigger. "You don't want me as an enemy. Trust me on this one."
"Oh, but I do, Elio. I really do." He smirks again, that same smug curve of his mouth like a knife twisting in my gut.
"You took something from me. Something irreplaceable. It's only fair I return the favor, don't you think? Tit for tat, as they say."
I don't move. Don't blink. But inside, everything twists—cold, sharp, and sickening.
Eddie watches me with quiet satisfaction, feeding off my silence. "You killed someone, Elio. Someone... important. Someone I loved. My big brother."
His voice is smooth—too smooth. Calm in a way that’s more terrifying than if he’d screamed. There's a blade beneath it. Thin. Precise. And it slides right under my skin.
Pedro Rodríguez.
Eddie’s brother.
Pedro... or Peter.
The man I buried after what he did to Nica.
Eddie grins as the realization settles in my eyes.
"Ah. There it is. That look. That flicker of fear."
He exhales, shaking his head with exaggerated pity. "God, you really thought you won, didn’t you? Took out Pedro, saved the girl, wiped your hands clean. Thought that was the end of it."
I say nothing. I need to play his game. Let him think he’s in control.
I measure my words. Careful. Calculated.
"I should’ve seen it coming," I say quietly. "I should’ve known there’d be consequences."
He smiles, all teeth.
"Yeah. You should’ve. But you were too busy patting yourself on the back—drunk on your own goddamn righteousness."
"Mmmh." Just a sound, low in my throat, as I edge a step closer. One step. One breath.
Eddie watches me, head tilted like he’s admiring a dead man walking.
"And now? You’ll be next. Along with your idiot brother, your mother… and that precious little sister of yours."
Something detonates inside me—hot, immediate, volcanic.
Rage ignites in my chest, molten and uncontrollable.
"Don't fucking touch them," I growl. "Or I'll kill you."
He laughs. "Yeah? It's not really up to you, is it? My men are already on their way to the hospital to.. Take care of the girls. Vinny should be dead by now."
His words hit me like a truck at full speed. A sharp, gutting impact. I'm sadder than I expected—but the sadness doesn't last. It morphs into something sharper, hotter.
"You're a dead man," I say, voice like ice.
Because he is.
"I don't think so." He smirks. "I think you are. And Victoria… well, if you're not careful—"
"I thought she was supposed to be your queen?" I spit.
One step closer.
“If she won’t be, she’ll be dead.” He shrugs like it’s nothing. “This really cool tech—slow-acting poison. Already in her system. And with one click on my phone…” He holds it up, thumb hovering just above the screen. “It turns lethal.”
Is he bluffing? I don’t know.
But I can’t take that chance.
“Don’t,” I grind out, forcing my body to stay still. Every instinct is screaming at me to act—but one wrong move could end it all. I take one more step.
He grins, almost too smug.
“Depends on how you beha—”
I don’t wait for him to finish. I belt my lowered gun and then I lunge, all fury, all force.
But Eddie’s fast. He sidesteps, his elbow slamming into my ribs. The air punches out of my lungs, sharp and cold. I stagger, but I don’t stop. Not now.
Pain blooms across my side, but I shove forward, crashing into him, his gun skiddles across the cement floor. He slams into the concrete wall with a grunt, his breath knocked out of him. I use the momentum, trying to pin him, but he fights back viciously—his knee drives into my stomach, knocking the wind from my lungs. I stagger again, but I’m on him, both of us scrambling now.
He grabs for his gun, but I beat him to it. My hands are a blur, grabbing the barrel off the floor just as his hand closes around the grip. The gun is too close to him; I twist it in his hand, wrenching it free with a grunt, my wrist cracking from the strain. It tumbles across the slick surface, clattering to the other side of the room.
But Eddie isn’t done. He roars in frustration, shoving me hard. His fist slams into my jaw, snapping my head back, and a bolt of pain shoots through my skull. Blood floods my mouth, but I don’t let go.
He drives his shoulder into my chest, forcing me back a few steps. The air is thick with sweat and adrenaline, both of us panting and scrambling for control. His foot comes up, catching me under the ribs, and I stumble sideways. My head cracks against the wall. Stars explode in my vision, but I keep moving.
I reach for him again, clawing at his shirt, yanking him closer, slamming him into the wall again. My forearm presses against his throat, pinning him. He gasps for air, eyes wild, but he’s not out yet.
With all the force I have left, I shove my knee into his stomach. His eyes widen in surprise—then the sick sound of air rushing out of his lungs fills the space between us.
I bring the gun from my belt to his chest, the barrel hard against his ribs. My breath is ragged. His is shallow.
“Where. Is. She?” I growl, pressing harder against him.
Eddie laughs—low and cracked, like a man at the edge of insanity.
“God, you're predictable, Elio. So easily manipulated.”
I shove harder, the pressure building, but it’s not enough. The gun digs into his skin. I can feel him bucking, desperate, but I don’t give an inch.
“Tell me, damn you!” I roar, my voice raw, dangerous, the words scraping from deep in my chest.
His smile doesn't fade. It's fixed, unwavering, infuriating. "She's waiting for you, Elio. Waiting for her knight in shining armor to come and rescue her." His voice drops, taking on a mocking, taunting tone. "But can you get to her in time? Can you save her from what I have planned for her?"
Something cold and heavy settles in the pit of my stomach, a feeling of dread so profound it threatens to paralyze me.
Eddie steps back. "You should run, Elio. Every second you waste talking to me is a second she's closer to her end. And if you kill me, you’ll never be able to save her." He winks. "Clock's ticking."
I don’t hesitate.
No time for games. No time for threats.
I slam my fist into his face, feel his nose break under the force.
Fuck, that hurts.
He drops with a grunt, crumpling like a wounded animal. I am already turning, already moving.
“You think this ends here?” I yell, my voice ricocheting off the warehouse walls. “You’re not walking away from this, Eddie!”
I’m already halfway to the door, but I spin back just once, fury burning in every inch of me.
“I’m going to get Nica. And then I’m coming back for you. You hear me?”
Because if there’s one thing I know—
One thing carved into my goddamn bones—
It’s her.
Nica doesn’t have much time.
And neither do any of us.
* * *
The clock’s ticking.
The hallway blurs, the pain in my shoulder fading beneath a sharper, deeper ache—pure fear.
Nica.
Every breath I take here, every second wasted, is one step closer to...
I can't even let the thought form. My muscles coil, primed for the hunt.
Adrenaline screams at me to turn back, to tear Eddie apart, to make him choke on his own taunts—to wipe that smug grin off his face forever.
Justice demands it.
But something else—something stronger—pulls me in the opposite direction.
Her face. The curve of her lips. The way her eyes crinkle at the corners when she laughs. The fire that burns behind them. The ghost of her hand in mine.
Every fiber of me wants retribution.
Wants to make him pay.
But if I turn back now, if I give in to that fury… I might lose her.
Forever.
I clench my fists. The gun bites into my palm like a warning.
Does he expect me to come after him?
Maybe he’s counting on it.
He thinks he knows me.
Was he bluffing about the button?
There are too many questions. Too little time.
Fuck. I forgot to take his phone. I’m such an idiot.
But my legs are already moving, thundering down the hallway. Doors fly open left and right. Going back would slow me down. I can't afford that.
"Fuck. Nica!" I shout. My voice echoes, frantic, splintering off the walls.
No answer.
I can almost hear Eddie's laughter chasing after me as I run. But when I look back, no one is there.
Am I going crazy?
"Nica?"
My vision swims, the world tilting and blurring. My shoulder must be worse than I thought.
I follow the hallway deeper into the warehouse, the air growing colder, damper.
I try to focus, to shut out the pain, to concentrate on finding her. But Eddie's words keep echoing in my mind: Can you get to her in time?
Suddenly, I hear a sound – a faint, muffled cry coming from behind one of the doors. My heart leaps. Is it her? It has to be her.
I reach the door, trembling as I grasp the rusty handle. Locked. Of course.
"Because nothing can ever be fucking easy," I mutter.
I take a step back and slam my non-wounded shoulder against the wood. Pain explodes through my arm, white-hot and blinding. The door barely rattles.
"Really?" I hiss, shaking out my throbbing arm. "You're gonna make me work for it?"
I lift my boot and drive it hard into the weak spot near the handle. The door shudders but doesn't give.
"Come on, you piece of shit—"
Another kick. The frame splinters, but it's still holding.
I grit my teeth, frustration boiling over.
One more time.
I throw my weight into it, ignoring the sharp, tearing pain in my shoulder.
With a sickening crack, the wood finally gives. The door bursts open, slamming hard against the wall. I stumble forward, breath ragged, heart hammering.
The room is small. Windowless.
Stale air clings to my skin like sweat.
A single bare bulb swings lazily from the ceiling, casting jerky shadows.
A rickety armchair sits in the center, like a prop in a shitty interrogation scene.
I exhale, rolling my shoulder, trying to stay focused.
Then my eyes land on—
Nothing.
Nica’s not here.
“Fuck this!”
The words tear from my throat.
Disappointment slams into me like a freight train. I freeze, gut hollowing out. The hope that had kept me going—burning hot and blinding—is snuffed out like a candle in a storm.
But then—
I hear it again.
A faint cry.
Closer this time. Clearer.
“Nica?” I call out, voice breaking on her name.
I spin, scanning the room. My eyes rake over every shadow, every corner, hunting for anything.
And then—
I see her.
A small, almost imperceptible figure slumped against the far wall.
Pale. Sweating. Leaning there like she’s seconds from collapsing.
My heart stutters, then kicks into overdrive.
It’s her.
"Elio!" she cries out, her voice barely a whisper. "Help—"
I don't hesitate.
Somewhere in the distance, I hear something—sirens? Maybe. I barely register it. My head is still spinning, my pulse a frantic drumbeat in my ears.
No time. Keep moving.
Her face is a canvas of raw fear.
The color has leached out, leaving her skin the shade of bleached bone.
When her gaze locks onto mine, something flickers in her eyes—not quite relief, but a fragile spark of recognition.
Like a pilot light sputtering to life after a long, bitter outage.
“Elio,” she breathes, her voice frayed, barely there. “You… you came.”
My throat tightens. I can’t swallow.
“Of course I came,” I manage. “I’ll always come.”
Eddie’s sneering face flashes through my mind. The poison. The threat.
I move toward her, each step like wading through quicksand. Kneeling before her feels like genuflecting at a broken altar.
"Are you okay?" The question feels inadequate, almost insulting. It's like asking a tidal wave if it feels damp. "Are you hurt? Did he... did he touch you? The poison?"
A single tear escapes, carving a clean track through the grime on her cheek.
"I'm... I'm still here," she whispers. "You're here. That's all that matters…"
She doesn't know about this potential poison that can kill her. Or does she?
"How do you feel?" I ask, tilting her chin up to meet my gaze.
She's too pale, her pulse is weak. My thumb skims her lip, and something tightens in my chest. I don't think—
I pull her in, holding her close.
She collapses against me like a broken bird. Her body trembles, a low, continuous vibration that resonates through me. Her sobs are silent, muffled against my chest, but I can feel the tremors racking her body.
"Did he… did he put something in you?" I look at the door, expecting an army to show up any minute.
She points down to her side and whimpers, "There's something under my skin, he—cut me open while I was sleeping."
Fuck, Eddie was telling the truth.
I hold her tighter. My cheek rests against her hair.
"We need to get you out of here. Get that shit out of your system," I murmur, brushing damp hair from her face. "Can you walk?"
She tries, but her legs give out beneath her. Before she can hit the ground, I catch her and lift her into my arms.
She raises a trembling hand, like she wants to say something, then lets it fall.
"What, Nica?" I urge, my chest tightening.
Her breath shudders. "Are we still—still…" A cough racks her body, weakening her even more. "Getting married? Was… was t-that all a dream?" Her voice barely holds, her eyes flickering in and out of focus.
Fuck. She tears my heart out with those words. How could she even question that? I know it's not her. It's whatever they did to her. But still.
I tighten my grip, staring into her eyes. "There'll be a wedding. You're my bride. I love you more than life itself, Nica. I always have. There was never anyone else. Never. I love you so much it's like a physical pain." My voice is rough, raw. "Yes, I asked you to marry me, and I'd do it a thousand times over."
She exhales, her body going limp against me, her glow fading.
Not good.
Her lips barely move, but I hear her whisper, "Good… then—'cause I l-love you."
"You better, 'cause I'm marrying the shit out when we get home," I say. "Let's get you out of here."
We leave the room, Nica's limp body in my arms, my shoulder screaming with every step. Blood soaks through my shirt, warm and sticky, but I don't care. She's too pale, her breaths too shallow. My heart slams against my ribs as I move through the warehouse hallway. I need to get her out. Get help.
Then—
Footsteps. Fast. Aggressive.
I skid to a stop as Eddie and two men round the corner, guns already raised.
"Not another step," Eddie says, voice cold, smug. In one hand, he’s holding his half-shattered phone. But there’s a small light still blinking on the screen.
Shit. It’s still working.
I don’t hesitate. Twisting, I shield Nica with my body, my back pressing against the cold concrete wall.
This isn't good.
"You think you can just walk out of here?" Eddie sneers, tilting his head. "You're good, Elio, I’ll give you that, but you're bleeding. And you're outnumbered."
"I should have killed you when I had the chance," I hiss.
Eddie smirks, unfazed. "Yeah, you should have." He takes a slow step forward, his confidence dripping off him like oil, slick and toxic. "But you didn't. You're soft, aren't you? Not the leader you need to be. Not the kind of person who does what has to be done to protect their family. You’re no Shadow King. More like a scared little prince playing dress-up in daddy’s crown."
My blood turns molten. "Fuck you."
He chuckles, shaking his head like he's disappointed. "That temper of yours—so predictable. That's the problem, isn't it? You act tough, but when it counts, you hesitate. You blink. You leave loose ends." His gaze darkens. "And loose ends get you killed."
His words crawl under my skin like barbed wire—tightening, cutting deep.
“Say another word,” I grit out, “and I swear I’ll put a bullet between your eyes.”
Eddie grins, lazy and unbothered. “Now there’s the fire. But let’s be real—if you were gonna do it, you’d have pulled the trigger already. You’re scared she’ll die. She’s your weakness.”
He lifts the phone, thumb hovering. “And I can still press that button.”
Behind me, I feel Nica stir. Her fingers twitch weakly against my chest.
Damn right she’s my weakness.
I don’t have a choice.
I don’t want a choice anymore.
I love her—with every jagged, broken piece of my goddamn black heart.
Gently, I lower her behind an overturned metal crate, brushing a hand over her face.
“Stay down, my love,” I whisper. “This is going to get ugly.”
Then I rise. Gun raised.
The first shot echoes through the hallway, deafening. My bullet rips through the closest man's chest. He crumples before he even gets a shot off.
The second guy fires, and I duck behind the crate just in time. The impact sends a searing pain through my already wounded shoulder.
"Shit," I hiss, the pain tearing through me like fire. It's unbearable.
But I can't give up. I can't hesitate. What did Papa teach me about this? Hesitate, and you die.
I spot him—the second man. His stance is sloppy and too exposed, which works to my advantage.
I bite down on the burning ache, grit my teeth, and force myself to push up. The world tilts, but I steady myself, locking in. My gun feels like an extension of my arm, instinct taking over.
One shot. I squeeze the trigger.
The bullet slams into his skull, and he drops without a sound.
Two down.
"I told you you'll die today," I groan.
"Fuck off, Elio De Luca," Eddie spits, but his voice it's cracking.
He's scared. I have to use this momentum.
I force my body to move despite the burning pain. With a grunt, I lunge forward, my legs unsteady. Eddie's eyes snap toward me, and I hear the sound of a gunshot as he fires towards me. The bullet rips through the air, and I duck, just barely missing it as it whizzes over my head.
I'm closer now, and there's no turning back.
I rise from my crouch and take the shot—focusing on Eddie's chest. The bullet strikes his side with a sickening thud.
My aim is off by a few inches, but he's hit.
Eddie stumbles back, clutching his bleeding side. His face twists in pain, but then, that sick fucking smirk spreads across his lips.
"Still too slow, De Luca," he croaks, grabbing his phone off the floor. "And now, no one will have her."
A warning alarm blares in my head.
I lunge forward, but it's too late.
He presses a button on his cracked phone.
I look back just in time to see Nica's entire body seize. A choked scream rips from her throat. Her back arches violently, her nails clawing at the air, then she goes still.
"Nica!"
I run back towards her. I'm on my knees, grabbing her and shaking her. Her eyelids flutter, her lips parting as if to speak, but nothing comes out. Her pulse is weak beneath my fingers.
"No, no, no, Nica, shit! Stay with me," I rasp.
Eddie chuckles, a wet, wheezing sound. "Game over."
I snap my head up just in time to see him raising his gun. My own weapon is too far and my body too slow.
BANG.
I brace for the impact, for the searing pain to rip through me. The acrid scent of gunpowder fills my nostrils. My life flashes before my eyes – Papa, the De Luca name, Nica. A wave of helplessness washes over me.
Then… nothing. I'm still standing. Still breathing. The adrenaline floods, and my muscles tense, but not from pain. I look down—I’m not hit.
Instead, I watch Eddie's chest erupts in a spray of a red blooming across his crisp shirt. His body jerks backward like a marionette with its strings suddenly cut. He stumbles backwards into the wall, leaving a smear of blood and grime, his eyes wide with disbelief before he slides down, crumpling to the ground in a lifeless heap. The phone, his control panel, clatters beside him.
"What—?" I stammer, my breath ragged as I whip my head around, searching for the source of the shooter. My hand grips the handle of my nearly empty gun. No one out, no bullets being fired. But the guy is down. Was he so stupid he shoot himself? There can be a lot of crazy…
Then—I hear someone speaking.
"Sorry, I'm late, brother." The voice is familiar. But this tone… it's different than what I've heard before from him.
"Vinny?"
He steps out of the shadows beneath the catwalk, gun still raised, but his expression is… unreadable. Shadows break the soft lighting across his hard-set face and jaw. Blood splatters his knuckles. His face is twisted in something like regret—or maybe redemption. The skin around his eyes is tight with emotion, and his lips are a thin, hard line.
Sirens wail in the distance, growing closer—like a beast that’s finally caught the scent of blood. Heavy footsteps thunder toward us.
“What a fuckwad,” Vinny mutters, casting a glance at Eddie’s lifeless body. “Going after my family. My baby sister. Our mother. And now he’s hurt someone too good for us.” He spits on the floor. “He had it coming.”
I barely register his words.
All I see is Nica.
I drop to my knees again, gathering her into my arms. Her skin is too cold—clammy, lifeless beneath my touch. Too still. Like marble, not my Nica. Not the girl with wildfire in her veins.
Where’s her fire, goddamn it?
“Wake up, Nica. Fuck, no!”
My voice fractures—raw, pleading, cracking against the heavy, damp air.
The sirens blur into a dull roar. I press my ear to her chest, desperate for something—anything.
A heartbeat.
A breath.
A whiff of cinnamon and whatever scent is uniquely her.
She’s breathing—but it’s shallow, unsteady.
A thread stretched too thin. One hard tug and it’ll snap.
Panic grips me like a vise, squeezing the air from my lungs.
The last three days crash over me all at once. The heat. The cold. The blood. The guilt.
I’m so fucking tired. So weak now. Is this what it feels like for her?
To be trapped between life and death, hovering?
Moments after, Gio bursts into the hallway, gun raised. He looks exhausted, the shadows under his eyes nearly as dark as night. His eyes land on me, then Nica, and something shifts in his expression – the hardness faltering for just a second.
“There’s an ambulance here, and police,” he says, but the words sound distant, muffled like they’re coming from another world.
I barely hear him. My hands tremble as I stroke Nica’s cheek, desperate to feel some sign of life.
“Don’t fucking leave me,” I whisper, my voice breaking as the salt of the words taste bitter on my tongue. “You’re the only fucking light in my life.”
Her eyelids flutter—a slight tremor, but enough to send a desperate hope surging through me. Her black lashes rest heavily against her cheek.
“Yes, Nica, stay with me,” I rasp.
She tries to speak, her lips forming words, but nothing comes out – just a faint stirring of air.
I shake my head, the world starting to spin. “You’re gonna stay, just stay. Save your strength.”
Her lashes flutter.
A single tear slips from the corner of her mouth, tracking down her cheek.
“It’s… too late,” she breathes, voice barely more than a ghost. “Elio… I—”
Then her body goes still. Too still.
Her breath hitches, then falters. Her heartbeat, once faint, begins to vanish beneath my hands.
I snap.
A scream tears from my throat, raw and primal, shattering whatever control I had left. My fist slams into the concrete, pain ricocheting up my arm, igniting the fire already burning in my shoulder—but I don’t care. I want it to hurt. I need it to hurt.
Cement crumbles beneath my knuckles.
I throw my head back and roar—to the ceiling, to the universe, to whatever cruel fucking force decided this was justice.
“Noooooo!”
The sirens are deafening now, crashing into the moment like a wave of false hope. They’re close. But not close enough.
Gio kneels beside me, his voice hushed, apologetic. “Celeste and Maria… they’re safe. Elio, listen—Nica will be okay. Let the paramedics help her. You need to let her go—”
I don’t hear him.
Can’t.
My world is unraveling.
My whole soul crumbling into ash in my chest.
I hold her tighter. Her skin is so cold.
I press my forehead to hers, whispering broken curses, desperate promises, memories bleeding out of me like open wounds.
Her laugh.
The heat of her body beside mine.
The fire in her eyes when she looked at me like I was worth saving.
“Don’t leave me,” I whisper. “Please. Please, Nica. Don’t. The De Lucas and the Gallis always stay… remember?”
A twitch.
Her fingers, barely moving—just enough to make the world spin sideways.
I squeeze her closer, shaking. “I swear to God, if you die, I’ll follow you to whatever place comes next. I’ll find you, even if it’s hell. That’s a promise you don’t want me to make.”
Gio’s hand comes down firm on my shoulder.
But it only makes me shake harder.
“Elio. The medics are here. They need to get to her.”
I lift my head slowly. My jaw is tight. My voice grinds out like gravel.
“If she dies, Gio—”
But the rest sticks in my throat.
Because I can’t say it.
Because it might make it real.
Vinny kneels beside me, his face unreadable.
“She’s not dying today,” he mutters, voice low and oddly gentle. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”
Who the fuck is this Vinny?
The paramedics rush in. I don’t let go. Not until they pry her from my arms.
My hands are soaked in her blood. Her warmth still clings to my skin like a haunting.
The moment they load her onto the stretcher, I stagger forward, ready to follow.
Vinny blocks me, grabbing my arm. “You’re bleeding like a stuck pig, Elio. You’ll be next if you don’t sit the fuck down.”
“I don’t care,” I grit out.
The world tilts sideways.
My vision goes fuzzy at the edges.
I’ve lost too much blood. But I push forward anyway—because I need to be wherever she is.
Vinny shoves me down, hard. His hand clamps between my shoulder blades like steel.
“Sit the fuck down,” he hisses. “I can’t lose you.”
Gio motions to the medics. I catch a blur of white and red as they close in. The ambulance doors slam shut, the sound sharp and final. Like a coffin lid sealing.
And then—
Darkness swallows everything.