Chapter 6 LUCA
LUCA
Two hours ago in the vineyard, she stood by the olive trees and stared at the sweat tracking down my chest. She thought she was hiding it.
She was not. I watched her pulse flutter in the hollow of her throat from fifty yards away, her fingers digging into the rough bark, refusing to take a single step back even while Enzo loaded magazines beside me.
Most hostages shrink back or look for corners.
Instead, she tracks the three guards rotating along the terrace rail, counting their paces like she's timing an elevator ride in an office block.
Her heels stay planted into the stone, her jaw set at the exact angle of someone waiting out an audit she intends to win.
Now the sun sinks behind the hills, painting the terrace marble the color of fresh blood. She stands near the balustrade holding a glass of Barolo she refuses to drink, eyeing the vines below like they might sprout an exit route back to London if she glares at them long enough.
Without turning around, she tilts her chin toward the sunset. "Do you always stand around looking like a statue, or is this just for show?"
I stay by the stone table, watching the tight line of her shoulders. "I am watching the perimeter."
She snorts, swirling the dark wine in her glass. "Right. Watching. You look like you want to murder that cypress tree down there. It's very charming."
I step closer so our eyes stay locked. "I don't ask for permission. I take what I want, Nora. That's how this works."
She crosses her arms over her chest. "Explains why you picked kidnapping instead of dating. Much less conversation that way."
"Dating doesn't keep people alive." The muscle ticks in her jaw, and I hold her eyes. "Fear does."
"Very poetic." She turns around, resting her hips against the marble rail. "Matteo warned me dinner is in twenty minutes. He said your grandmother cooked enough garlic to kill an army. Do you actually sit down and eat with your family, or do you just lurk in corners looking miserable?"
"I sit in chairs like everyone else," I reply, holding her gaze.
"With a napkin on your lap and everything?" She arches an eyebrow, looking genuinely skeptical.
"When required."
"Amazing. Next thing you know, you might crack a smile and scare the entire household." She sets the wine glass down on the stone rail. "Though I guess that would ruin your scary reputation."
I almost answer that when the first shot cracks the air.
Stone chips explode two feet from her hip.
Training takes over before thought does.
I close the distance, shove her down behind the low wall, and cover her body with mine as the second and third rounds punch into the railing where her head had been.
"What the hell..." Nora gasps, coughing as stone dust rains down over us.
I bark into her ear, pinning her flat against the cold stone floor. "Stay down and shut up."
She shoves against my chest with both fists. "Get off me, you weigh a ton!"
"Don't move," I snap, drawing my weapon.
Boots scrape stone. Three men drop over the wall, Bellini tattoos flashing inside their dark jackets.
My weapon comes up before the first one sets his balance.
Two quick rounds take him in the chest, dropping him straight back into the thorns.
As the second pivots toward Nora, a lead shot catches him cleanly beneath the collarbone.
He slams into the balustrade and slides down the white marble in a thick smear of red.
The third shooter freezes in place. Closing the distance before he plants his boots, my palm strikes his wrist to snap the joint back.
His gun clatters across the flagstones. A knee driven straight into his ribs knocks the breath out of him, leaving just enough room to jam the muzzle hard beneath his jaw.
One trigger pull. Muzzle flash tears through the shadows, his dead weight buckles, and the body hits the gravel with a dull thud.
The smell of burnt powder hangs thick in the warm night air.
Inside the villa, shouts echo down the corridors and heavy security boots hammer across tile as the secondary alarms kick in.
I keep my gun up, sweeping the dark tree line and the stone parapet.
Nothing moves. The breach is dead. I drop the muzzle toward the floor and look down.
Nora lies pinned beneath my weight against the cold marble, her knuckles jammed hard into my ribs.
White stone dust covers her hair, her throat, and the front of her dark dress.
She chokes once on the drifting grit, but her jaw stays set.
She glares straight up into my eyes with fierce, unvarnished fury, her chest heaving hard against mine.
She plants both hands flat against my chest and shoves with everything she has. "Get off me right now!"
I shift back to let her sit up, but keep a grip on her shoulder while I check the dark yard. "Are you hit?"
"No. Take your hand off me before I bite it off." She smacks my wrist away with a hard glare.
I pull back. She scrambles to her feet, wine glass shattered somewhere nearby, dress smeared with dust and a streak of someone else's blood from when I shoved her down. She looks at the bodies, then at me, and the anger on her face sharpens into something personal.
She brushes white dust off her dress with furious slaps. "You threw me onto the ground."
I walk right past the dead man on the tiles. "Someone was trying to put a bullet through your skull, Nora. I keep you alive. That's the deal."
"You tackled me like a sack of dirt without a word of warning. I'm not a rag doll, Moretti." She points an angry finger at me, shaking with pure temper.
"You were in the open."
"I have two working legs and eyes. I can duck on my own without you crushing my ribs."
I slide my gun back into my holster. "You're in my house, Blake. Nobody shoots you while you're under my watch."
She steps right into my space. "You don't get to grab me whenever you feel like throwing your weight around. I don't care if people are shooting. You don't put your hands on me without warning."
Adrian skids onto the terrace with two men, weapons up. I hold up a hand. "Clear the grounds. Two more possible on the east wall. Live if you can. Questions if not."
He nods once and peels off. The bodies stay where they fell. Blood crawls across the marble in thin red rivers toward the drain.
Nora marches across the tiles, turns around, and walks right back toward me. "I deal with crazy people with guns for a living. I don't need a bodyguard diving on top of me. All you had to do was yell duck."
I flick a speck of stone dust off my lapel. "You would've stood there asking questions and ended up dead."
"Then that would've been my problem." She taps a rigid finger against my chest. "Don't treat me like glass. I know how to fight dirty. Ask Matteo what happened with the fork this morning."
"Matteo deserved that fork," I admit, watching her chest heave.
"You'll get worse than a fork if you keep slamming me into stone floors."
I close the space between us, smelling her perfume over the stink of hot gunpowder. "Are you done yelling at me?"
She folds her arms tight over her chest and glares up into my face. "I'm just getting started. The next time bullets fly, you shout jump and get out of my way. You don't throw me like a piece of luggage."
I tilt my head down at her. "You're not a soldier. You were standing right in the open while three men had guns on you."
"Then maybe your goons shouldn't have shoved me into a car in London and brought me to a shooting range." She rolls her eyes with utter disgust.
I laugh once, short and dark. "Noted."
She glances down at the assassin lying motionless near the rose trellis, her shoulders locking rigid. "You did not hesitate at all. Not for a fraction of a second."
"No," I answer without looking down at the corpse.
"Do you always do that? Just shoot three men before dinner like you're taking out the trash?"
"I kill anyone who breaks into my house," I say quietly. I look down into her wide eyes. "Especially when they aim a gun at you."
"You didn't even blink," she whispers, her throat working as she stares up at me.
I take a slow step forward until the tips of our boots touch. "I don't need to blink. You're alive, Blake. That's the only thing that matters right now."
"What matters is you grabbed me without asking. Dead hitmen are your problem. Putting your hands on me is mine." She pushes a stray strand of hair behind her ear, leaving a smudge of white stone dust on her cheek. "And your aim made a complete mess of the floor."
Color rushes back into her pale cheeks. "I'll send the bill to Vincenzo Bellini."
Her lips press together in a sharp line. "Make sure you charge him for my ruined dress while you're at it." She lets out a slow breath and glances toward the dark yard. "Are more coming?"
"Yes," I say simply.
"Great. Just wonderful. Am I supposed to run from bullets in these heels all week, or will you give me a gun?"
I step right into her space and close the distance. "You stay behind my back."
"I just told you not to tell me what to do." She squares her shoulders and refuses to back away.
"Then prepare to stay angry."
"I've been angry since your thugs grabbed me off the street, Luca."
I close the last bit of distance until we're sharing air. The rage coming off her is hot and clean and better than fear. Better than anything I've felt in months. Her pulse jumps at the base of her throat. I can see it.
I lean down until my lips brush the side of her ear. "If I give you a gun, Nora, you'll try to shoot me with it. And then I'd have to take it away from you. When bullets fly, you do what I say."
"You love giving orders, don't you?" She tilts her chin up, chin steady as she meets my eyes. "You think you own everything in sight."
I step forward until our clothes brush. "I run this estate. Every stone, every gun, and everyone inside it."
"You don't run me," she snaps, her eyes flashing green fire.
"You're standing on my terrace with dead men at your feet. That makes you mine to protect."
Her eyes drop to my mouth for a second before snapping back up. "Throw me onto the ground again without warning, and I'll kick you so hard you won't walk for a week."
"Try it and see what happens," I say quietly.
"Of course. A mob boss with expensive suits and an ego problem." She glares at me, but she doesn't back away an inch.
I step in close and drag the side of my thumb along her cheekbone, wiping the dark streak of blood onto my skin. Nora stiffens, her breath hitching, but she holds her ground. My grip shifts under her jaw, fingers tightening to keep her eyes locked dead on mine.
"You're shaking," I murmur, feeling the tremor under her jawline.
"It's just adrenaline. Don't flatter yourself," she whispers back, refusing to look away.
"I don't need to flatter myself." My thumb presses hard against her bottom lip until her mouth parts. "I just killed three men in front of you, and all you want to do is pick a fight with me."
"I don't run from fights," she whispers, her voice husky. "And your hand is still on my face."
"I know it is," I say, pressing closer until her back touches the stone pillar.
She lifts her chin, daring me. "Did you ask for permission this time?"
I pin her wrist to the pillar above her head. "No."
Her pupils dilate, dark and sharp. I crowd her back until her shoulder blades hit the carved stone column.
My palm catches her right wrist, pinning it flat against the cold marble beside her ear.
Her other hand twists into the front of my shirt, knuckles whitening as she grips the cloth, caught between shoving me back and pulling me down.
"This is the part where you let me go," she whispers, her chest rising fast against mine.
"Is that what you want?" I murmur against the warm skin of her cheek.
I tilt my head down until my mouth stops a fraction of an inch from hers. Close enough to feel the quick heat of her breath, but not touching. Her pulse jumps wild under my fingers on the stone.
"Tell me to let go," I murmur against her lips. "Say it."
She doesn't pull back. Her trapped wrist twists against my grip, tendons pulling tight under my thumb, but her hips shift forward into mine.
Her chest rises and falls against my lapel, each ragged breath scraping stone and wool together.
When I tilt my jaw a fraction lower without closing the gap, her chin tilts up with me, tracking the space where my mouth should be.
She braces hard against the pillar, knuckles locking in my shirt, fighting my hold while her throat exposes itself to the scrape of my stubble.
"You're an absolute jerk." She breathes the words, pressing her weight back into mine instead of pulling free.
I whisper against her jawline, brushing her skin without letting my lips touch hers. "I know."
I drag my lips along her jawline down to the soft hollow below her ear, stopping just short of her skin. Her free hand clutches my shirt until the fabric groans. A broken breath escapes her throat. I pin her harder against the pillar, letting her chase a contact I refuse to give.
"Luca..." she gasps, her fingers knotting tight into my shirt.
Boots slam onto the terrace again. Adrian's voice cuts across the dark, clipped and urgent. "Boss. East wall. We need you."
I freeze with my mouth a whisper from hers. Nora's eyes are half-lidded, furious and wanting in equal measure. I release her wrist slowly, deliberately, letting my fingers trail down her arm as I step back.
The space between us feels colder than it should.
She straightens her dress, her hands trembling just enough to show. "Saved by the bell. How convenient."
I step toward the archway. "We're not done with this."
She dusts off her sleeves and calls after me. "We'll see about that. Next time, just tell me to duck. I don't need you tackling me, Moretti."
I turn toward Adrian, blood still tacky on my knuckles, the ghost of her pulse still living under my fingers. Behind me I hear her exhale once, sharp and unfinished.
The night is nowhere near done with us.