Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Luca
Ifire through the door the moment it opens. Wood splinters. A man screams, high and sharp, cut off when he hits the floor.
Return fire punches through the wall above my head. Plaster rains down. I count the shots—three, four—different caliber than the first gun. At least two shooters, maybe more in the hallway.
Another burst. Glass scatters across the floor like teeth.
I stay low, breathing through my mouth.
Footsteps in the corridor. Heavy. Running.
I shift my grip on the gun and wait.
A shadow moves across the gap where the door used to hang on its hinges. I fire twice. The shadow drops.
Silence.
Then a voice, loud and clear: "Luca! Fucking hell, Luca, it's Dante!"
The tension drains out of my arms so fast my hands shake. I know that voice. I've known it for fifteen years.
"Dante," I call back. My throat is raw. "Clear?"
"Clear now, you paranoid bastard. Come out before you shoot me too."
I rise from behind the counter, gun still up. Dante appears in the doorway, stepping over a body slumped against the frame. Blood pools beneath it, spreading slow and dark across the threshold.
Dante's got a gun in his right hand, held loose at his side. His left hand is pressed to his ribs.
"You hit?" I ask.
"Grazed. Nothing." He jerks his chin toward the bedroom. "Move. Liam's holding the stairs but we need to go."
I'm already turning. The bedroom door is still mostly closed, the gap I left to listen through now showing only darkness beyond.
I push it open.
Gemma is on the floor between the bed and the wall, her body curved over Nina like a shell. Nina's face is buried in Gemma's chest, and Gemma's hand covers the back of her daughter's head, fingers spread wide, holding her close.
Neither of them is moving.
For one terrible second I think they've been hit. That a round came through the wall and found them anyway, the way rounds always find the people you're supposed to protect.
My knees nearly buckle.
I brace one hand on the doorframe. The other still holds the gun, pointed at the floor now.
Was Elena like this? At the end? Did she curl around her belly and try to shield what she couldn't save?
I don't know. I wasn't there. By the time I reached the house there was nothing left but the smell of—
"Luca." Dante's voice behind me, urgent. "We need to fucking move."
I cross the room in three steps and drop to one knee beside the bed.
"Gemma." My hand finds her shoulder. The muscle beneath my palm is rigid, locked tight. "Gemma, it's me."
She lifts her head.
I won't forget that look. Pure fear, raw and animal, the whites of her eyes showing like a horse that's heard the barn catch fire.
Her face is pale, her lips pressed together so hard they've gone bloodless.
She doesn't see me at first. She sees a shape, a threat, a man with a gun crouching over her daughter.
Then recognition floods in. Her shoulders drop half an inch. Her breath comes out in a single hard exhale.
"Luca." My name in her mouth, rough and cracked.
Nina's face appears from behind Gemma's arm. The child's eyes are enormous, dark and wet, fixed on me with the same stillness I've seen in her mother. She doesn't cry. She doesn't make a sound. Four years old and she already knows that noise brings danger.
My chest hurts. A physical ache, deep behind my sternum, like something's pressing on my heart from the inside.
"We need to move," I tell Gemma. "Now. There's a car downstairs."
Dante steps into the bedroom behind me. I hear his shoes crunch on broken glass.
"Luca," he says. "Sixty seconds."
I look at Nina. Her small hands are wrapped around the bear, knuckles white, the fur crushed flat where she's squeezing.
"Nina." I keep my voice low. Steady. "I need you to go with my friend Dante. He's going to take you downstairs to a car."
Nina's eyes flick to Dante, then back to me. She doesn't move.
Dante crouches beside me, putting himself at the child's eye level.
"Hey there," he says. His voice is different than I've ever heard it.
Softer. Almost gentle. "I've got a really important job for you.
Can you keep your eyes closed for me while we walk?
Like a game. Keep them closed until I tell you it's safe to open them. "
Nina looks at her mother.
Gemma's hand is still on Nina's back, fingers spread wide. She nods once, a small jerky motion. "It's okay, baby. Go with the nice man. Mama's right behind you."
"I'll take her," I say to Dante. The words come out before I think them through. "You lead. I'll carry her."
Dante's eyebrows lift a fraction. He doesn't argue. Just nods and rises, moving toward the door.
Gemma stands. Her legs are unsteady, but she locks her knees and stays upright. She looks at me, waiting.
I look at Nina.
Her face is so small. Her chin trembling just slightly, her dark hair cut short now and sticking up on one side where she pressed it against her mother's chest.
I wonder how my life could’ve been if things were different.
My daughter would have been six in March. Six years old, probably with Elena's dark eyes or maybe my jaw. I used to imagine her running through the garden at the house in Sicily, chasing the cat, laughing.
I never got to hold her. She died before she was born.
I open my arms.
"Nina." My voice doesn't sound like mine. Too rough. Too raw. "Do you want me to carry you? I'll keep you safe, I promise. Just close your eyes and hold on."
Nina looks at me for a long moment. Her lower lip trembles.
Then she reaches for me.
"Yes, Mr. Luca."
Her little hands wrap around my neck. Her arms are so small. Her face presses into my shoulder. Her breath is warm against my throat and her heart beats fast against my chest, a frightened bird trapped between us.
I stand.
Gemma is watching me.
"Stay behind me," I tell her. "Don't look down. Don't look at anything. Just follow."
She nods.
Dante is already at the apartment door, checking the corridor.
"Clear to the stairs," he says. "Liam's holding the ground floor. Move."
I shift Nina higher on my hip. Her arms tighten around my neck.
"Close your eyes now," I whisper against her hair. "Keep them closed for me. Can you do that?"
"Yes, Mr. Luca." Her voice is muffled against my shoulder. "I'm brave."
The words hit me like a fist to the chest.
"Yeah," I manage. "You are. You're brave."
I step over the body in the doorway. The blood has spread further now, dark and thick, soaking into the carpet. The smell of copper fills my nose.
Nina's eyes stay closed. Her small hands grip my shirt.
Behind me, Gemma's footsteps follow. Steady. Trusting.
I don't deserve that trust. I don't deserve any of this.
But I hold the child tighter and keep walking.
Gemma
I don't know when I ended up sitting in a stranger's living room.
My hands are in my lap. I don't remember putting them there. There's a woman sitting across from me on a matching armchair, her mouth moving.
She's been talking.
I blink, and the words come into focus like a radio station tuning in.
"—and I know this is a lot to take in, but you're safe here.
I promise." She pauses, studying my face.
She's beautiful in a soft, approachable way—blonde hair, green eyes, curves that fill out her sweater.
Early twenties, maybe. A wedding ring catches the light on her left hand.
"My name is Antonella. Do you need me to call a doctor? You look..."
She doesn't finish the sentence. Doesn't need to.
"Nina." The name comes out hoarse. I stand too fast and the room tilts. "Where's Nina?"
Antonella rises with me, hands out like she's approaching a spooked animal. "She's okay. She's in the playroom right now with Kristen and her daughter Lily. They're playing. She's fine, I promise."
I stare at her. The words make sense individually but refuse to form a complete picture.
"Where are we?"
"Sit down," Antonella says. Not unkind, but firm. "Please. I'll tell you everything."
I sit. My legs don't give me much choice.
Antonella settles back into her chair and folds her hands in her lap.
"This is the Sartori family compound. We're in Lake Forest, about thirty miles north of the city.
I'm Antonella Sartori—I'm married to Bruno, who runs the family.
" She watches me process this. "You came here with Luca.
He brought you and your daughter so you'd be safe. "
Bruno Sartori. The name means almost nothing to me. None of it means anything except the obvious: compound, family, Luca.
"This is a mafia house," I say.
Antonella's mouth curves, not quite a smile. "That's one way to put it."
Great.
I look around the room with new eyes. The furniture is expensive but not flashy.
Crown molding along the ceiling. A fireplace with a marble mantel.
Through the window, I can see manicured grounds stretching toward what might be a lake.
It looks like a wealthy person's home, which I suppose it is.
Just a wealthy person whose money comes from places I don't want to think about.
"Where's Luca?"
"Meeting with Bruno." Antonella uncrosses and recrosses her legs. "He'll be a while. Bruno has... questions."
The way she says it makes my stomach clench.
"Is he in trouble? Because of us?"
"Luca can handle himself." She says.
The memories come in flashes. The apartment. Footsteps in the hallway. Gunfire. Blood on the floor. "There was shooting. At the apartment."
"I know." Antonella's voice gentles. "You're safe now. The compound has security. No one can get to you here."
I want to believe her. I want to believe that somewhere exists where men with guns can't find us, where Nina can sleep without learning to make herself small and quiet, where I can stop checking exits every time I walk into a room.
But I've wanted things before.
"I need to see my daughter."
Antonella nods like she expected this. "Of course. I'll take you to the playroom." She stands and waits for me to do the same. "But first—are you hungry?"
"I'm fine."
Antonella gives me a look that says she doesn't believe me but won't push. "The kitchen is always stocked. Giulia—she's the housekeeper—she makes the best food you've ever tasted. Just ask if you need anything."
She leads me through a doorway into a wide hallway.
The floors are marble, the walls lined with paintings that look old and expensive.
We pass a formal dining room with a table that could seat twenty, a living room bigger than my entire apartment in Pilsen.
Everything is beautiful, immaculate and completely foreign.
I hear Nina before I see her.
Her laugh echoes down the hallway—high and bright, the sound she makes when she's genuinely happy. My chest cracks open.
The playroom is at the end of the hall. Antonella pushes open the door, and I see Nina on the floor surrounded by stuffed animals, her new bear clutched in one hand.
A little girl sits across from her, dark-haired and chattering.
A woman kneels between them, helping arrange the toys into some kind of formation.
Nina looks up. Her face transforms.
"Mama!"
She scrambles to her feet, runs to me, and I drop to my knees to catch her. Her arms wrap around my neck so tight it almost hurts.
"I made a friend," she whispers against my ear. "Her name is Lily. She has a bear too. And bunnies."
"That's wonderful, baby." My voice cracks on the words. "I'm so glad."
The woman on the floor rises. She's thin and wiry, with light brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and blue eyes.
"I'm Kristen," she says. "Lily's mom. Nina's been great—she and Lily hit it off right away."
"Thank you." I stand, keeping Nina's hand in mine. "For watching her."
Kristen's mouth curves in something that's almost a smile. "We look out for each other here."
There's weight behind those words. History I don't know and can't ask about.
Lily tugs on her mother's sleeve. "Can Nina stay and play more? We're building a castle for the bears."
Nina looks up at me with hopeful eyes. She's still holding my hand, but her body angles toward Lily and the scattered toys. Toward normalcy. Toward something a four-year-old should have.
"Sure," I hear myself say. "For a little while."
Nina hugs my legs once, hard, then runs back to Lily. Within seconds they're deep in negotiations about castle architecture.