Chapter 37 LUCA
LUCA
The audit in Palermo gave us the names we needed: Salvatore Barone had sold out the routes, playing both sides while taking meetings with Bellini.
He didn't survive the hour after we got the proof.
We tracked the rest of the rot straight here to the Bellini stronghold, carving through every compromised traitor until only the head remained.
Now, thick gray smoke hangs over the courtyard fountain, and Don Vincenzo Bellini slumps against the marble basin with two men left, his ruined suit soaked in red, still clutching a pistol like it can save him.
I level the barrel straight at his chest, finger steady on the trigger. "Drop the fucking gun."
He spits blood onto the flagstones and keeps the gun raised. "Moretti. Always so tidy. Your father was the same. Look where that got him."
Matteo flanks left, breathing hard, cut still bleeding above his eye. Enzo covers the archway behind us.
Gravel crunches beneath my boots as I take a slow step forward. "Gun on the stone. I'm not saying it again, Bellini."
He laughs, wet and mean, and coughs up crimson onto his ruined collar. "Or what? You think you frighten me, boy? Your uncle was a coward, and you're just like him."
Matteo wipes blood from his brow with the back of his sleeve. "I vote we just shoot this bastard and save the conversation."
Enzo shifts his grip on his rifle with a grimace. "Seconded. My fucking feet are killing me."
Bellini's eyes flick to the blood pooling on the stones. "Go on. Finish it. Your father was weak, and you're just a boy playing boss."
I take one step closer. "You had twenty years. You used them poorly."
He raises the pistol another inch. I shoot him in the hand.
Bone and metal go in different directions.
He howls and drops to one knee. The two remaining men start to move.
Enzo drops the left one clean. Matteo takes the right with a shot that makes him swear about the recoil and his shoulder at the same time.
Bellini clutches the ruined hand and bares his teeth. "Do it then. Make it ugly. Your parents screamed. I want you to remember you can still enjoy it."
My boots step across the gravel toward the fountain. I press the cold iron of the muzzle straight between his eyes, holding his gaze without a word or a blink.
The steel stays perfectly steady against his skull. "I used to think I owed you pain. I do not. I owe my family a clean end."
He opens his mouth for another insult. I fire once. He falls backward into the broken fountain. Water turns red around his shoulders and stops meaning anything.
Matteo lets out a shuddering breath. He lowers his pistol with a visibly shaking hand. "God in heaven. It's actually over."
Enzo doesn't move for several seconds, staring down at the crimson pool spreading across the stones. "Twenty years," he whispers, his knuckles white against the metal of his rifle.
Enzo lets out a ragged exhale, running a palm over his tired face. "We made it through. Everyone is alive back home."
Matteo looks up at the clearing smoke, his chest heaving with quiet relief. "Let's get back to the estate. Nonna, Sofia, Nora... they need to know we're walking out of here alive."
Enzo secures the strap of his rifle across his broad chest with a slow nod. "Let's go home, Luca. It's finally done."
I holster my weapon and roll my shoulders, letting out a breath. The courtyard is silent now, save for the fountain water spilling over the rim.
I turn toward the gravel drive where the trucks idle. "We're moving out. Call Adrian. Tell him the estate can stand down."
We move out through the ruined archway while the last of Bellini's men either run or surrender to the sweep teams outside. The war ends the way I should have ended it years ago. Clean. No extra cruelty. Just done.
The drive back to the estate takes forty minutes that feel like ten hours. Matteo and Enzo argue in the front seat about who took out the machine gun nest on the stairs, but I barely hear them. All I can focus on is getting back through our gates. Knowing everyone is safe in the main villa.
At the estate, the heavy iron gates grind open.
Nonna is already in the mansion with clean towels, her face tight until she counts our heads.
Sofia stands right behind her, flanked by Adrian.
And right beside Sofia, crossing her arms against the chill, stands Nora.
Still wearing one of my shirts and dark jeans, pale, alive, and glaring like she wants to murder me for taking so long.
Nonna points a wooden spoon directly at my chest. "Shower. All of you. Then eat. Adrian, make sure Matteo doesn't bleed on my rug."
Nora marches straight toward me, ignoring the blood smeared across my tactical gear. "You took your sweet time, Moretti. I was about to negotiate Bellini's surrender over speakerphone just to speed things up."
Matteo wheezes, then stumbles toward Sofia. "She's not joking, Luca."
Enzo mutters, "Terrifying is our brand. Pass the ice packs."
I steer Nora upstairs before Nonna can start inventorying bruises out loud. My room. Our room now, if she wants it that way. The door shuts. Silence hits us.
She turns on me the second the lock clicks. "Is it done? Don't give me the mafia boss filter. Is Bellini dead?"
I set my gun on the dresser and strip the tactical vest, letting it hit the floor with a heavy thud. "One clean shot. It's finished, Nora. The whole thing."
She lets out a shaky breath that sounds half like a laugh and half like a sob, closing the distance between us. "Good. Because I'm exhausted, you smell like smoke, and I need you to touch me right now."
Her fists knot in my tactical shirt, yanking me down until her mouth crashes into mine.
She tastes like salt, iron, and cordite.
When her teeth catch my lower lip, I shove her back against the door and wedge my knee between her thighs.
My palms slide under the hem of her shirt, gripping the bare, heated curve of her waist.
She tugs at the collar of my torn black shirt, lips touching mine. "Shower. Wash the blood off first. I want you clean."
My thumb traces the line of her jaw. "Incredibly romantic."
She drags me by the collar directly toward the steaming bathroom. "Highly practical."
The shower knobs turn under my hand, and boiling water hits the stone floor in a roaring hiss.
White fog rolls over the glass in seconds.
Nora pulls the my shirt over her head and drops it by the bench.
My holster and muddy boots follow, clattering against the tiles.
When I catch her wrists under the spray, her skin is warm and damp, marked only by the faint yellow rings left by plastic ties.
I draw her flush against my bare chest, the hot water soaking through her hair and washing down our backs.
Her palms smooth over my wet chest. "Stop staring at me like that."
I lean down to catch her mouth with mine. "I'm making sure you're still here."
She tilts her head back into the rush of warm water. "I'm here. Now finish washing so we can get into that bed."
I soap my hands and wash the blood off her shoulders, her throat, the split lip carefully. She washes me the same way. When the water runs clear she presses me back against the tile and kisses me like she is collecting on a debt.
I shut off the faucet with a sharp twist. "We're going to the bed. Now."
She steps out onto the bathmat and leans in. "Demanding."
We kick the towels aside. Nora drops onto the mattress with damp skin, dragging me down by the back of my neck.
I lean over her, pressing my mouth against the hollow of her collarbone while my fingers trace the dark purple rings on her wrists.
She arches her back against the sheets, swearing softly under her breath.
Her fingers knot in my damp hair. "Luca."
I slide down the sheets, parting her thighs and pressing my lips to the inside of her knee. Nora grips the cotton duvet in white-knuckled fists. I work lower, tasting her heat, tongue and fingers moving together until her hips jerk off the bed and she shudders around me with a cracked gasp.
I pull myself back up the bed. Her legs wrap tight around my waist, guiding me straight against her. I push in slow, feeling the heat clamp around me, and rest my forehead against hers while her breath hits my chin.
Her blunt nails dig hard into my shoulders. "Move faster."
I nip the tender spot beneath her ear with a low growl. "Let me feel you, little bird, or I'll lose my mind."
Her ankles cross behind my back. "Then lose it. I dare you."
I drive forward, catching her lips as the headboard knocks rhythmically against the wall. Nora meets every thrust with a sharp breath, her heels hooking tighter. I reach between our bodies, finding her clit with my thumb, and she shatters against me, sobbing my name into my neck.
My chest heaves, every muscle locking as I spill into her. The room falls dead quiet except for the rasp of our breathing, our sweat cooling against the tangled linen.
Her fingertip trails across the jagged scar beneath my ribs. "You chose peace."
I bury my mouth in the crook of her shoulder. "I chose you. Killing him quick was the fastest way back."
A tired smirk tugs at her lips. "Good plan. Stick with it. Next time give me warning before you finish a war, though. I prefer dressing for the occasion."
I roll onto my back, pulling her against my ribs until her cheek rests flat over my heart. My fingers thread into her damp hair and stay there.
I tug the comforter up over her bare back. "Go to sleep. Nonna will batter down the wood if we skip dinner."
"Let her," Nora mutters against my chest, her voice thick with exhaustion as her eyelids flutter shut. "I'm too tired to care, and she likes me better than you anyway."
The bedroom settles into deep quiet. Out past the gates, the courtyard is quiet gravel and cooling stone.
Nora's pulse beats steady against my chest, slow and even.
For the first time in twenty years, the noise in my head stops.
My shoulders drop against the sheets, and I finally close my eyes and let myself rest without fearing for a gunshot sound.