Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
RAFAEL
I’m going to lose my fucking mind.
The silence in the house isn’t quiet; it’s a goddamn physical weight, pressing against my chest every time I pass Gia in the hall. It’s been three weeks since I took her in the bedroom, since I found out she was a virgin and then she turned that revelation into a cold, hard business transaction.
Attraction. Nothing more. The words are a goddamn splinter in my brain.
I look at her and I see the way she clenches her jaw, the way her eyes avoid mine, and I want to shake her until the Ghost Heiress cracks and the girl who moaned my name comes back.
But I don't. I keep my distance because if I don't, I’m going to do something stupid. Like care. Like forget that she’s a De Luca and I’m a man who doesn't get second chances at love.
I’m standing in the gardens just outside my estate, the sun mocking me with its brightness. I’ve been out here for ten minutes, watching the gate, waiting for a delivery that was supposed to be here an hour ago. It’s a low-level annoyance, but it’s an excuse to be out of the house.
Gia is by the fountain, her fingers trailing in the water. She looks up, her expression guarded. Since that night, she’s been like a shadow—present, but unreachable.
My phone buzzes. It’s Matteo.
"Rafe, the shipment at the north warehouse. The Irish are sniffing around the perimeter. We need you there. Now."
"Shit," I mutter, shoving the phone into my pocket. "I'm ten minutes out. Have Dante secure the loading bays?"
I turn to look at Gia. The delivery can wait, but the warehouse can’t. And I’m not leaving her here. Not after the chatter we’ve been hearing about O’Rourke retaliation.
"I have to go," I say, my voice rougher than I intended. "Get in the car."
She blinks, startled. "What? Why? I can stay here with Luca."
"Luca is coming with me. I’m not leaving you here with a skeleton crew when the O’Rourkes are moving. Move your ass, Gia. You can wait in the SUV. I won’t be long."
"I’m not a suitcase, Rafael," she snaps, her stubbornness flaring. "I don't just get packed for trips."
"Today you do. Get in the car before I put you there myself."
She glares at me—that beautiful, defiant heat I’ve started to crave—but she climbs into the back of the armored Cadillac. I slide into the driver's seat, my knuckles white on the wheel. The drive to the industrial district is a blurred streak of grey asphalt and unspoken tension.
I can feel her watching the back of my head. I can taste her scent—that jasmine and amber that now smells like a regret.
Don't look at her. Don't think about the way her skin felt. Focus on the job.
We pull into the warehouse yard. It’s a fortress of corrugated steel and concrete. Brotherhood soldiers are everywhere, rifles slung low, eyes scanning the surrounding rooftops. It’s heavy security, routine for a high-value hand-off, but the air feels... thin. Electric.
"Stay in the car," I command, checking my sidearm. "The doors are reinforced. Don't open them for anyone but me or Luca. Do you understand?"
Gia rolls her eyes, leaning back against the leather. "Yes, jailer. I understand. Go do your 'Butcher' things."
I huff a breath that might have been a laugh in a different life and climb out. I’m halfway to the loading dock, heading toward the foreman, when I realize my pocket feels light.
Damn it. I left my phone on the center console. In this business, being unreachable for five minutes is a goddamn suicide mission. I growl a curse and pivot, heading back toward the black SUV.
I see her before I reach it.
Gia has opened the door. She’s stepping out, my phone in her hand, her hair catching the oily light of the industrial yard. She sees me and starts to walk forward, a small, frustrated frown on her face.
"You forgot this, it’s ringing," she calls out.
"Gia, get back in the—"
The world shatters.
A high-pitched crack echoes from the roof of the cold-storage building three hundred yards away. It’s the distinct, whip-like snap of a high-velocity rifle.
Sniper.
"Get down!" I roar, but the yard is already erupting into chaos.
More gunfire follows—rapid, staccato bursts from the treeline. M24s. The O'Rourkes. They didn't just sniff the perimeter; they dug a goddamn hole and waited.
Gia freezes. It’s only for a heartbeat, but in a firefight, a heartbeat is an eternity. She stands there in the middle of the open concrete, the phone still clutched in her hand, her eyes wide as a Brotherhood soldier ten feet away is spun around by a round to the shoulder.
"Gia! Move!"
I’m sprinting. My boots are slamming into the gravel, my heart a hammer against my ribs. I don't think about cover. I don't think about drawing my own weapon. All I see is the girl in the white dress standing in a hail of lead.
I reach her just as a bullet pings off the concrete at her heels, sending sparks flying. I wrap my arm around her waist and tackle her, our bodies slamming into the side of the SUV.
"Stay low! Stay behind the wheel!" I yell over the cacophony of returning fire.
My men are barking orders, the Brotherhood line holding, but the vantage point is shit. We’re fish in a fucking barrel.
"Rafael, your arm—" Gia gasps, her hands clutching my shirt. She’s hyperventilating, her face a mask of pure, unadulterated terror.
"I’m fine. Just stay down."
I peek over the hood, trying to spot the muzzle flash. There. Second floor of the warehouse across the street. A shooter is repositioning, the long barrel of a Remington 700 poking through a broken pane of glass. He’s looking for a leader. He’s looking for me.
But he sees her.
I see the moment the barrel shifts. It’s not aiming for my head; it’s aiming for the gap between the door and the frame where Gia is huddled. He’s going for the heart. Her heart.
No. Not fucking her.
I don't think. There’s no time for tactical maneuvers or calculated risks. There is only the girl.
As the shooter pulls the trigger, I throw myself over her. I wrap my body around hers, pinning her against the tire, making myself a shield of meat and bone.
Thwack.
It feels like being hit by a sledgehammer made of white-hot iron. The impact slams into my left shoulder, the force of it jerking my entire body. A guttural growl rips out of my throat, my teeth grinding together so hard I think they might shatter.
"Rafael!"
Gia’s scream is muffled against my chest. I can feel the warmth of my own blood immediately soaking through my shirt, spilling onto her skin, staining the white fabric of her dress.
Fucking hell. That bites.
"Stay... stay down," I wheeze. The pain is a blinding, jagged white light behind my eyes. I don't let go. I tighten my grip, shielding her head with my good arm.
"You’re hit! Oh my god, you’re bleeding, Rafael!" Her voice is high, panicked, her hands fluttering against my chest.
"I’m fine, Gia. I need you to breathe."
I look up, my vision blurring at the edges, but the adrenaline is a goddamn tidal wave. I see Luca and the driver charging the warehouse, laying down a wall of suppressive fire.
"Vantage point, two o'clock!" I roar, the sound tearing through the smoke, though my voice cracks halfway through. "Luca! Take the motherfucker out!"
I stay over her. I don't move an inch. Another round strikes the SUV above us, showering us in glass shards, but I don't flinch. I am a goddamn wall. Nothing touches her. Not today. Not fucking ever.
A moment later, a loud explosion rocks the building across the street as my men find their mark. The heavy fire from the treeline begins to wither as the Brotherhood counter-assault gains ground.
The sound of gunfire begins to fade into the distance, replaced by the ringing in my ears.
"Boss! Boss, we’re clear!" Luca’s voice sounds like it’s coming from the bottom of a well.
I try to shift, to pull back, but my left arm feels like it’s been replaced by a block of molten lead. I stagger back, my knees hitting the gravel. The world tilts on its axis, the grey concrete swirling into the blue sky.
"Rafael!" Gia is on her knees beside me, her hands reaching out to steady me.
I look down at my shoulder. The blood is dark, thick, and moving way too fucking fast. I try to lift my hand to press against the wound, but my fingers won't cooperate.
"Luca..." I gasp, my head lolling back against the SUV. "Get... get the perimeter secured. Check the... the east gate."
"Boss, you need to sit still," Luca says, his face appearing over me, tight with worry.
"Did you hear me?" I snap, but it comes out as a wet whisper. My chest feels heavy, every breath a goddamn mountain to climb. "Secure the area. No one... no one gets in."
The adrenaline is leaving me now, taking my strength with it. I can feel the coldness creeping into my limbs, the light at the edges of my vision starting to flicker and dim.
"You’re pale, Rafael," Gia whispers. She’s crying, her hands pressing a discarded rag against my shoulder, but I can feel the warmth of her palms through the cooling blood. "You’re so pale."
"Don't... don't look at it, Gia," I mutter. I try to focus on her eyes, but they’re moving, dancing in front of me. I reach out with my right hand, fumbling until I find her wrist. "Are you... are you hurt?"
"No," she sobs. "No, I'm fine. Because of you. You idiot, why did you do that?"
I try to smirk, but I don't think my face is working anymore. I look at her—covered in my blood, her eyes full of a terror that makes my heart ache.
"You're... you're a Caruso," I breathe, the words barely catching in my throat. I want to tell her that it wasn't about the name. It wasn't about the alliance. It was about the way the air feels better when she’s breathing it.
But the darkness is closing in, thick and heavy. I can hear Luca shouting for a medic, hear the distant sirens, but they’re fading.
"Stay... stay close," I whisper, my grip on her wrist slackening as my eyes flutter shut.