Luca #2
“Well,” a voice echoed from the shadows. “If it isn’t the great Luca Camorra.” Luca didn’t turn toward the voice, and he didn’t react. “I have to admit, I’m a bit disappointed,” the man continued. “I expected you to bring your army.”
“I did,” Luca said calmly. There was a pause, followed by a chuckle.
“Don’t see them,” he drawled.
“You’re not supposed to,” Luca growled. Silence stretched between them, and then a man stepped forward. He was tall and had a scar across his right jaw. If he had to guess, he was Russian—of course, he was a fucking Russian.
“I was hoping you’d come alone,” the man said.
Luca’s expression didn’t change. “I’d say that I was sorry for dashing your hopes, but I’m not.”
The man smiled, sharp and mean. “You came for him?” he asked, gesturing lazily toward Romano.
Luca’s gaze finally shifted—just slightly. “He’s a temporary asset.” Romano stirred weakly, a low groan slipping from him. The old man being alive complicated things, but that worked for him because Luca liked complications. They made things interesting.
“You don’t sound very attached to the old guy,” the Russian said.
“I’m not.” He took another step closer, and the tension in the room tightened.
Weapons shifted, and safeties on guns clicked.
They weren’t very subtle, but Luca heard every one of them.
He was able to count them and measure the distance of each man.
He thought about angles and timing to assess his next move.
“Are you saying that we took him for nothing?” the man asked.
“I think you took him,” Luca said evenly, “because you wanted my attention.”
The man’s smile widened. “You are as smart as they say.”
Luca tilted his head slightly. “You underestimating me was your mistake.” The man’s expression flickered—just briefly. And Luca knew that he had found it—the small crack that could get him out of that place alive.
“You’re in my city,” Luca continued, his voice dropping. “You grab a man tied to my deal, and threaten something that belongs to me—” His gaze hardened. “And you thought I wouldn’t respond?”
The Russian laughed, loud and confident. “You’re outnumbered.” He had a feeling that he was from the start. Luca didn’t move—he didn’t even blink.
“No,” he said. “You are.” It was a lie, but he still got his desired effect.
The man’s smile faltered, just a little, and then, gunfire rang out.
It was explosive, violent, and precise. The windows shattered from the outside as Luca’s snipers opened fire.
Chaos erupted around them instantly, as men dropped to the concrete floor and screams and shouts were heard.
The Russians returned fire, and Luca moved—fast, with his gun in hand.
The first shot he made was clean. It was a headshot that took down the guy instantly. The second guy he hit in the chest, and he went down as a third one tried to jump him. He didn’t hesitate and didn’t think. Luca just acted. Because this was where he thrived.
Dante’s team breached from the side entrances, flooding the warehouse like a controlled storm.
Bullets tore through the air, echoing off concrete and steel.
The Russians scrambled. They were too slow and unprepared.
Luca advanced straight through the chaos, toward Romano.
A man lunged at him from the left, and Luca turned and fired, dropping him.
Another ran at him, and he shoved his knife into his chest, his bone cracking under his grip as he pulled it out of the guy, letting him drop to the ground.
He reached Romano just as another wave of men pushed forward. “Cut him loose!” Luca barked. One of his men moved in immediately, slicing the restraints, and Romano slumped forward, barely conscious. “Move him!” Luca ordered.
A shot rang out closer to where he stood.
Luca turned to find the Russian still standing, his gun raised and aimed at Romano.
Luca moved without thinking and grabbed Romano, yanking him sideways.
The bullet hit Luca’s shoulder as pain exploded through Luca’s body, sharp and burning.
But he didn’t stop, and didn’t slow down.
He shoved Romano behind cover, turning back toward the threat. The Russian had the nerve to smile. “Not so untouchable,” he drawled.
Luca’s grip tightened on his gun as blood soaked through his sleeve, but that didn’t matter, and it didn’t change a damn thing. “You should’ve stayed quiet,” Luca said, as he fired one clean, final shot. The Russian dropped, and Luca was sure that he was dead before he hit the ground.
Silence followed. The fight was over, and bodies littered the floor. Smoke hung heavily in the air, and Luca stood there, breathing steady despite the blood running down his arm. Dante approached him quickly. “Boss—”
“I’m fine,” Luca cut him off. That was a lie, but not one that mattered.
“Romano?” Luca asked.
“Alive,” one of his men confirmed. “But just barely.” Good. That was all he needed. Luca rolled his shoulder, ignoring the flare of pain.
“Get him out,” he ordered. “Now.” His men moved fast. They were efficient and clean, just the way he liked it. Luca glanced around the warehouse one last time, and at the bodies and blood on the concrete floor. He was leaving behind a message for the Russians—one that they wouldn’t be able to miss.
Then he turned and walked out. Because anyone who had been left alive could spread the word. Luca Camorra had been threatened, and Luca Camorra had answered that threat with war. And now, there would be consequences—for everyone.