Chapter 30 Atlas
Atlas
I solved one problem tonight. We ended one war. But the bigger one waited outside.
Neve.
I turned away from the burning club and moved.
I found Marcello in the car park, Neve slumped in his arms. Her head rested against his shoulder, her body limp, her face bruised and dirt-streaked. She was barely breathing, exhaustion having claimed her some moments ago. Her lashes fluttered, but her eyes were closed.
My brother looked up the second I approached.
“She’s alive, but exhausted.”
A knot loosened in my chest so sharply it hurt. I nodded once.
Marcello shifted her weight, holding her securely. Gently. He was being careful with her. Too careful. It grated. I had no right to feel that way. No claim. But rage sparked anyway.
“Let’s go.”
Marcello loaded her into the back seat of the car, adjusting her so she wouldn’t slump forward.
Then he closed the door and turned to me. And his eyes were dead serious.
Here it fucking comes.
“What the fuck are you doing, Atlas?” he asked quietly.
I said nothing.
I didn’t answer. Because if I opened my mouth right now, I’d say something I couldn’t take back.
He stepped closer, invading my space, jaw tight, eyes blazing.
“Why would you risk your life like that? For a woman. You’re the Don, for fuck’s sake!”
His anger felt like he was shoving me, but I stood still. Unmoving. Unapologetic.
He pressed on.
“Who is she?”
“That’s none of your concern,” I snapped, each word clipped.
“Oh, it’s very much my concern,” he fired back. “You almost got your head blown off tonight. What the hell were you thinking?”
Before I could answer, Gianni materialized at my side, breath heavy, eyes scanning the destruction around us. There was shattered glass everywhere, toppled chairs, the fading echoes of gunfire.
“This is the last place we want to be when the police arrive,” he said, sweeping a hand at the carnage. “And I, for one, intend to be around when my son is born.”
His words snapped me out of the silent war I was waging with my brother, and I turned toward my cousin.
His wife, Mikayla. She was due any day now. And here I was dragging him into a blood-soaked disaster that could easily end with him in a cell… or a body bag.
A cold line of guilt slid down my spine.
“Go home, Gianni,” I told him quietly.
He scoffed, disbelief etched across his face. “Are you kidding me? I don’t want to go to jail, but Mikayla would skin me alive if she knew I left you alone after what just happened.”
“I’m not alone,” I reminded him, glancing toward Marcello and Alessio.
Marcello was glaring at me like I was the biggest liability in his life right now. Alessio, who was ever the loyal, steady hand, waited in silence, ready for whatever order came next.
Gianni shook his head. “I’m not leaving you to deal with this by yourself. You’re bleeding, you’re pissed off, and you’re two seconds from doing something stupid.” He jerked his chin at Marcello and Alessio. “Come on. I’ll drive. See you guys at the penthouse.”
Marcello nodded once, curt and stormy, and headed for his car. Alessio followed without a word, posture tight with worry.
And even though my veins were still pulsing with violence… even though every instinct I had was screaming at me to keep hunting, to tear this place apart brick by brick until there was nothing left… I forced myself to follow Gianni.
Because he wasn’t wrong.
We needed to get the hell out of here before the police showed up and started asking questions we didn’t have the patience—or the inclination—to answer.
Yes, we had clout in Tuscany. Influence.
Fear. Respect. But this? This looked like the aftermath of a small war.
Broken glass glittering like shrapnel, blood staining the floor, gunpowder still hanging thick in the air.
No amount of power could spin this into something neat and tidy.
And I wasn’t in the mood to justify a single second of it.
Because I knew what was coming. There would be questions.
Demands. Accusations from my own brother.
Marcello wasn’t going to let this slide.
He’d pick apart every detail until I either snapped or gave him something he could understand.
And tonight? I didn’t have the patience, nor the emotional reserves, to deal with my brother’s relentless logic.
So I swallowed the hot, acidic fury burning my throat. I shoved down the feral urge to turn back around and end whatever was left breathing inside that club. And I walked toward the car with Gianni, each step heavier than the last.
“You know he’s not going to stop,” Gianni said as he started the engine. The headlights cut across the ruined back lot, illuminating shattered glass and bodies being dragged away. He turned the car toward the road leading to my penthouse.
“I know,” I answered, voice low.
“He’ll want answers,” he pressed.
“That’s Marcello.”
I turned to look at him as he took the next corner faster than he should, jaw tight, hands steady on the wheel.
“Why did you call him?” I asked.
Gianni snorted. “Because he would’ve killed me if anything happened to you on my watch, Atlas.”
I grumbled something under my breath that sounded like half irritation, half reluctant acceptance.
He threw me a sidelong look. “Don’t ‘hmm’ me. You know I’m right. And tonight proved it. We walked straight into a shitshow with a spotlight on it.” He shook his head, incredulous. “Remind me to never listen to you again.”
Despite everything that happened tonight and all the danger we were in, I couldn’t help it. I grinned. A slow, dangerous curl of my lips.
Because he did listen. He always did. And he’d do it again. That’s the curse of being family in my world: you follow me straight into hell, and you trust I’ll drag you back out.