Chapter Seventeen
Caterina
The door swung open and the smell hit me first -- sweat and blood and fear concentrated in a concrete box.
The single bulb hanging from a wire cast sickly yellow light that flickered like it was dying, throwing shadows that made the chamber look bigger than it was.
And there, slumped against the far wall like a broken doll someone had thrown away, was my brother.
“Luca.” His name tore from my throat before I could stop it.
His face was a mess of purple bruising, one eye swollen completely shut, the tissue around it so puffy it didn’t look real.
Blood had dried in rust-colored tracks from his temple down his cheek, more of it caked around his split lip.
His designer hoodie -- the gray one I’d teased him about spending too much money on -- was torn at the shoulder and filthy with what looked like oil stains and dried blood.
His wrists were raw meat where rope had bitten into them, the skin abraded down to weeping flesh in places.
Dante had assured me Marco wanted Luca alive. I had to wonder what had transpired to make them beat my brother like this. He’d looked whole and unmarked in the video. Had he tried to escape? Or had they merely wanted to beat on someone who couldn’t fight back, like the cowards they were?
But Luca was alive. He was breathing. I watched his chest rise and fall with each labored breath and felt something in my chest unlock.
His good eye widened when he focused on me. Relief flooded his battered face, followed immediately by terror. “Cat. You shouldn’t be here. You need to --”
I was already moving, holstering my gun as I crossed the space between us. My entire world had narrowed to my little brother slumped against this filthy wall.
“Shh, tesoro, I’m here now.” I dropped to my knees beside him, my hands hovering over his face because I didn’t know where to touch that wouldn’t hurt. “Dio, what did he do to you?”
“I’m okay,” Luca lied, trying to straighten up and failing. “I’m --”
“You’re not okay.” My hands were shaking as I cupped his face, gentle as I could manage, tilting it toward the flickering light to see the damage better.
The split in his lip was deep enough that it probably needed stitches.
The swelling around his eye looked like it extended to the orbital bone beneath.
“Did he break anything? Your ribs? Your arms?”
“Don’t think so.” He winced as I probed his ribs through his torn hoodie. “Cat, you need to get out of here. Marco --”
“Marco’s going to die tonight.” The words came out flat and certain. I moved to the ropes binding his wrists, my fingers fumbling with knots that had been tied tight enough to cut off circulation. “Just breathe, okay? We’re getting you out.”
The rope was rough against my palms, the knots swollen from Luca’s struggling.
I picked at the first one, my nails breaking against the hemp fibers, my hands shaking so badly I kept losing my grip.
This was my fault. All of it. Marco had taken Luca because of me, had beaten him because I’d rejected the wrong psychopath’s proposal, had tied him up in this concrete hell because I’d thought I was being clever marrying Dante instead.
“Stop.” Luca’s good eye fixed on me with intensity that cut through his pain. “This isn’t your fault.”
“How can you say that?” I got the first knot loose, started working on the second. “He took you because of me. Because I --”
“Because he’s a sick fuck who would have found an excuse anyway.” Luca’s voice was getting stronger, anger overriding his fear. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for what that bastard chose to do.”
I opened my mouth to argue, to tell him he was wrong, that I should have protected him better.
But then I heard it. Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.
Coming from the shadows where the flickering light didn’t reach.
Had he been there and we’d missed him? Or was there another entrance we’d missed?
The room appeared an average size, but with the dark creeping in from all sides, I couldn’t be sure.
My hands froze on the rope. My heart stopped. Every cell in my body screamed danger in the split second before Marco Vitale stepped into the light.
He moved with unhurried confidence, like he was walking into a board meeting instead of emerging from the darkness of his own kidnapping operation.
His suit was still immaculate, not a wrinkle visible despite the warehouse’s filthy surroundings.
His hair was slicked back with the same precision as always. Even his shoes were polished.
The only thing disrupting his carefully cultivated image was the gun in his hand. And the fact that he pressed it directly against Luca’s temple with enough force that my brother’s head tilted sideways from the pressure.
“How touching.” Marco’s voice was smooth, conversational, like we were discussing wine selections over dinner. “The princess comes to save her little brother.”
I didn’t breathe. Couldn’t. The world had narrowed to the barrel of that gun pressing into Luca’s bruised skin, to the way Marco’s finger rested on the trigger with casual readiness, to the cold smile spreading across his face as he watched my expression.
“Don’t.” The word came out strangled. “Marco, please --”
“Please?” He laughed, a harsh sound that echoed off the concrete walls. “Now you say please? After you threw my proposal back in my face? After you chose this -- this thug --” he spat the word in Dante’s direction “-- over someone who could have given you everything?”
Behind me, I heard Dante moving. Not rushing -- he was too controlled for that -- but repositioning, looking for an angle. I didn’t turn around. Couldn’t take my focus off Marco’s face, off the gun, off my brother’s terrified expression.
“Let him go.” I forced my voice to steady, forced myself to stand slowly with my hands visible and empty. “This is between you and me. He has nothing to do with --”
“He has everything to do with it.” Marco’s grip tightened on the gun, his knuckles going white.
“Your family rejected me. Your father chose the De Luca alliance over my perfectly reasonable offer. You humiliated me at that dinner, made me look weak in front of Giuseppe. Someone had to pay the price.”
Luca made a sound -- half whimper, half rage -- and tried to pull away from the gun. Marco pressed harder, making him gasp.
“Stop moving,” Marco ordered. Then to me: “Tell him to stop moving, Caterina. Or I’ll show you exactly what his brain looks like spread across this concrete.”
“Don’t move, Luca.” I kept my voice calm, kept my hands up, kept my eyes locked on Marco’s face. “Just stay still. It’s going to be okay.”
“No, it’s not.” Marco’s cold smile widened.
“It’s really not. See, I had this whole plan worked out.
You were going to choose. Your brother or your husband.
Your family or your forced alliance. Simple choice, really.
But then you had to come here yourself. Had to play hero.
Now I get to watch you watch him die. That seems more poetic, don’t you think? ”
He shifted his stance, adjusting his grip on the gun, and I saw my opportunity. Saw the angle Dante needed. Saw how Marco’s attention was focused entirely on me, on savoring this moment, on the revenge he’d been planning.
I took a small step to the left. Drew his eyes away from where Dante had positioned himself in Marco’s blind spot. “You want me to beg?” I asked, putting everything I had into holding his attention. “Is that what this is about?”
“I want you to understand what you threw away.” His voice went tight with emotion -- rage and obsession twisted together into something ugly.
“I would have made you magnificent, Caterina. Would have given you power and position. Instead, you chose a man who is nothing but a killing machine, who has no polish.”
“You’re right.” I took another step, maintaining eye contact. “I made a choice. And I’m making another one now.”
I saw Dante move in my peripheral vision. Saw him closing the distance with the kind of speed that came from years of enforcement work.
Then everything happened at once.
I forced my feet to move again, another small step that pulled me farther from Luca and drew Marco’s eyes with me.
His gun was still pressed to my brother’s temple, his finger on the trigger, but his attention had fractured.
He was looking at me instead of tracking the room.
Instead of noticing Dante moving closer from the angle he couldn’t see.
“You’ve lost, Marco.” I kept my voice level, almost conversational, like I was stating a fact we both already knew. “My father knows everything. The Vitale name is finished in this city.”
It was the right thing to say. I watched his face transform, watched rage override the cold calculation he’d been maintaining. His grip on the gun tightened, knuckles going white with the pressure. A vein pulsed at his temple.
“Your father is a fool. Couldn’t see your potential. Couldn’t see what you could become with the right man guiding you.”
“Guiding?” I let contempt color my voice, took another half-step to the left. Drawing him. Distracting him. “Is that what you call kidnapping my brother? Beating him? Threatening to kill him unless I abandoned my husband?”
“I call it teaching you consequences.” His gaze was locked on mine now, burning with obsession that had clearly been festering for months.
Years, maybe. “You rejected me at that gala. Looked at me like I was nothing. Then at the dinner announcing our engagement, you made it clear my offer meant nothing. Then you threw yourself at De Luca instead.”
My heart was hammering against my ribs, but I kept my breathing steady. Kept my face composed. Behind Marco, I saw Dante shift his weight forward infinitesimally. Almost in position. I just needed to hold Marco’s attention for five more seconds.