Chapter 7 #2
I pulled up another chair and sat facing him. Close enough to smell his sweat and blood and fear.
"Who sent you?" I asked.
He spat. Blood and defiance.
I smiled. "Wrong answer."
Twenty minutes later, I had everything.
The attack had been ordered by Marco DeLuca personally—not through intermediaries, not through careful layers of deniability. He'd called the team leader directly, offered triple their usual fee, and provided complete security protocols for my penthouse.
"When?" I asked.
"Three hours ago." The man's voice was ruined, barely recognizable. "Said you'd broken the blood debt. Said you were harboring his daughter. Said she needed to be eliminated and you with her."
"How many more are coming?"
His remaining eye widened. "What?"
I leaned closer. "Marco DeLuca doesn't hire six men for a job this important. He hires twenty and sends them in waves. So I'll ask again—how many more are coming?"
"Fourteen. One hour."
Fuck.
I stood and nodded to Domenico. "Get him medical attention, then move him to the safe house. I want every detail he knows about Marco's operation."
"Done. Give me ten minutes to coordinate the evacuation route." He glanced at my shoulder, the blood seeping through Valentina's field dressing. "You need that looked at."
"Later."
"Alessio—"
"Later." I moved toward the door, every muscle screaming protest.
"Wait." Domenico's voice stopped me. "Just… wait a second."
I turned. He stood in the doorway of my ruined study, surrounded by broken glass and bullet holes and the bodies of men who'd come to kill us. His face was grim.
"What?"
"Marco sent twenty operators. For one woman." He met my eyes. "This isn't just about the blood debt anymore. This is personal. He wants you both dead badly enough to declare war."
"I know."
"Do you?" He stepped closer, voice dropping.
"Because in twenty-three years, I've never seen you like this.
You took a bullet and didn't even notice until after.
You gave her a weapon and kept her at your side instead of locking her in the panic room.
You're about to run with a woman Marco DeLuca wants dead, which means every ally he has will be hunting you both. "
"What's your point?"
"My point is you need to be sure." His voice was quiet, serious. "Once we leave this building, there's no going back. You'll be breaking the blood oath completely. The old families won't forgive it. You'll have enemies on every side. So I need to know—is she worth it?"
The answer came without hesitation. "Yes."
"Even if it costs you everything?"
"Everything I have means nothing if she's dead."
Domenico studied me for a long moment, and I saw the exact second understanding clicked into place.
"You love her."
I wanted to deny it. Couldn't find the words.
He exhaled slowly. "Fuck. Alessio, it's been five days—"
"I know how long it's been."
"This is—" He stopped, ran a hand through his hair. "Tell her, Alessio. She deserves to hear it."
I sighed. "I know."
"Besides, this is the kind of thing that gets people killed. Both of you."
"I'm aware, Domenico."
"Are you?" His voice became firmer. "Because the last time you loved someone this much, Eva died. And you nearly destroyed yourself trying to get revenge."
The name hit like a gut punch.
I found myself back in the study, sinking into the chair behind my destroyed desk. Domenico followed and closed the door behind us. Poured two whiskeys from the bottle that had miraculously survived the firefight.
Macallan 18. The good stuff we saved for bad nights.
"Can't believe that's still intact," I said, taking the glass he offered.
"Neither can I." He settled into the chair across from me. "Eva's birthday would've been next week."
"Thirty-one." I took a long drink, let the burn ground me. "She should be here. Should've met Valentina, should've been planning to be an aunt."
Domenico set down his glass and gave me his full attention. We didn't talk about Eva often—the wound was too deep, even fourteen years later. But when we did, he was the only person who understood. The only one who'd been there.
"She would've loved Valentina," he said quietly. "Would've dragged her shopping within the first week, made her laugh, taught her all the family dirt you're too stoic to share."
Despite the ache in my chest, I smiled. "Eva never met a secret she didn't immediately spill."
"She would've been furious with you for the blood debt, though. For putting Valentina in danger in the first place."
"She was furious with me about everything. That's how she showed love." The memory was bittersweet—Eva screaming at me in rapid Italian, throwing things, making a scene. Always passionate, always fierce, always protecting me even when I didn't deserve it.
"Remember when she found out you'd officially joined the family business?" Domenico's mouth quirked. "Threw a lamp at your head."
"Antique Murano glass. Worth five thousand dollars. Mother was livid."
"Eva didn't give a shit about the lamp. She just wanted you out. Wanted you safe." His voice went softer. "Like I did. Like I still do."
The unspoken truth hung between us: Domenico had been there that night.
Had held me back while I screamed Eva's name, while I tried to run into the burning building where the Suarez soldiers had trapped her.
He'd helped me hunt down every single person responsible over the next two years and make them pay in blood.
And he'd never once questioned my rage or tried to stop my revenge.
He'd just stayed. Through the darkness, through the brutality, through the nights, I couldn't tell where justice ended, and madness began.
My best friend. My brother. The only family I had left after Eva died.
"I can't lose Valentina the way I lost Eva," I said, the admission scraping my throat raw. "I can't survive that twice, Dom. I won't."
"You won't have to." His voice was absolute certainty.
"Because this time, you're not a nineteen-year-old kid with more rage than sense.
This time, you have resources, power, and an entire organization behind you.
And this time, you have me watching your back with twenty years of experience instead of fumbling through it together. "
"What if it's not enough? What if—"
"Alessio. Look at me."
I met his eyes.
"We're going to keep her safe," Domenico said firmly. "Keep both of you safe. I swear it on Eva's memory. On everything we've survived together. You're not doing this alone."
The tightness in my chest eased slightly. "Promise me something."
"Anything."
"If it comes down to choosing between protecting me or protecting Valentina, you choose her. Always. No hesitation."
"Already decided that the day she walked into your life." No pause, no doubt. "That's what Eva would want. That's what you need. And that's what I'm going to do—keep her alive so you can have the family you deserve instead of the one you lost."
I nodded, throat too tight for words.
"Besides," Domenico added, voice lighter now, "someone has to survive to name a daughter after Eva. Make sure the family remembers her the right way—as the fierce, brilliant pain in the ass she was."
"If I have a daughter one day, I'm naming her Eva. Already decided." I paused, met his eyes. "And I want you to be her godfather—padrino. The old way, with witnesses and everything."
Silence. Domenico's throat worked, emotion flickering across his face.
"Alessio—"
"There's no one else I'd trust," I said quietly. "You're my brother. Not by blood, but by choice. And when that baby comes, I want you standing beside me, swearing to protect her the way you've protected me."
His eyes were suspiciously bright. "You're really doing this. Building a family with her."
"If we survive, yeah. I am."
"Then we'd better make damn sure you survive." His voice roughened. "I'd be honored, fratello. Truly honored."
"Good." I nodded.
He raised his glass. "Besides, your sister would haunt both of us if you didn't."
We drank in comfortable silence—the kind that only comes from two people who've seen each other's darkest moments and never looked away.
Brothers, not by blood, but by choice.
The kind that mattered more.
"Thank you," I said quietly. "For staying. For everything."
"Always, fratello. Always."
He gripped my shoulder—the uninjured one—and squeezed once.
"Now go get your woman and let's get the hell out of here before the next wave arrives. We'll figure the rest out later."
"Domenico—"
"I know. I've got your back. Same as always." He managed a grim smile. "Besides, someone has to keep you from doing something stupid like proposing to her mid-firefight."
Despite everything, I almost laughed.
I found her exactly where I'd left her, standing guard with the gun still raised. The bandage on my shoulder had held—her field dressing was better than half my team could manage.
When she saw me, relief flooded her face. "You're okay."
"We're okay." I crossed to her and pulled her into my arms carefully. "Domenico secured the perimeter. We have time."
She sagged against me, and I felt the trembling start—delayed shock finally hitting now that the immediate danger had passed.
"I've got you," I murmured into her hair. "You're safe. I've got you."
But as I held her, Domenico's words echoed: You love her. She deserves to know it.
Soon, I promised myself. When we're truly safe. When I can give her the future she deserves instead of just survival.
Soon.
"We need to move," I said. "Bigger team incoming. Fourteen operators, full tactical gear."
She didn't hesitate. "Where?"
"Safe house outside the city. Three backup locations after that." I grabbed the go-bag from my closet and tossed her a jacket. "Stay close, follow my lead, don't stop moving no matter what happens."
She reached for the jacket, and I saw her hand tremble slightly. Just a small shake, barely noticeable.
"You okay?" I asked, already moving toward the door.
"Fine. Adrenaline wearing off, I think." She pulled on the jacket, and I caught the way she swayed slightly before steadying herself. "I'm good. Let's go."
We took the private elevator down to the underground garage. My security team had already swept it twice and positioned two guards at each entrance. The bodies from upstairs were being removed, blood cleaned, and evidence secured.
By morning, there would be no trace of what happened here. Just another expensive penthouse in the city.
My backup vehicle waited in the far corner—an armored Mercedes, bulletproof glass, run-flat tires. Keys already in the ignition courtesy of Domenico's efficiency.
"In," I said.
Valentina moved around to the passenger side, but her steps were slightly uneven. I noticed immediately—the careful precision she'd shown all week was gone, replaced by something looser, less controlled.
"Valentina?" I crossed to her side of the car.
"I'm fine." She reached for the door handle, missed it by an inch. Tried again, her movements sluggish. "Just tired. It's been a long night."
But her pupils were dilated. Too dilated for the ambient lighting. And her skin had gone pale, almost gray.
"Valentina, look at me," I ordered, tilting her chin up.
Her eyes struggled to focus, kept sliding away from mine. "Alessio, I don't feel—"
Her knees buckled.
I caught her before she hit the concrete, her weight collapsing against me in a way that sent ice through my veins.
"Valentina. Valentina, stay with me."
She tried. Her mouth moved, but words wouldn't form properly. Just slurred sounds that might have been my name.
That's when I saw it. Small dart embedded in her neck, barely visible beneath her hair. Hidden by the high collar of the jacket I'd tossed her.
Professional-grade tranquilizer. The kind designed with a delayed absorption—built-in safety mechanism so the operative has time to extract before the target drops.
"No, no, no." I pulled the dart free and checked her pulse. Still strong but slowing with each beat. "Stay with me. Don't you dare—"
"Sorry," she managed, voice barely a whisper. "Should've… told you… something felt wrong…"
Her eyes rolled back.
She went limp in my arms.