24. Luca
Luca
Gunfire rips through Renzo’s compound, sharp cracks echoing against the stone walls. The air is thick with smoke, dust, and the metallic tang of blood. I move through the chaos like a shadow, my gun steady, my focus razor-sharp.
Renzo’s men are outnumbered, but they fight like animals with nothing to lose. Desperate. Sloppy. Already dead.
I put two of them down before they even see me coming. One drops to the floor with a hole between his eyes, the other clutches at his throat, blood spilling between his fingers. I don’t stop to watch him die.
I step over the body and keep moving.
“North wing clear.” Nico’s voice crackles through my earpiece. “No sign of the kid.”
Rage coils in my gut, cold and controlled.
He has to be here.
I push forward, sweeping the next hallway. The once-grand compound is a battlefield now—walls pockmarked with bullet holes, chandeliers shattered on the floor, blood streaking across marble.
A dying man groans nearby, struggling to crawl toward his gun.
I fire once. The groan cuts off.
Then I hear it.
A scream.
Sharp. Frantic.
Gilly.
My body reacts before my brain catches up.
I break into a sprint, my boots pounding against the floor. My pulse slams against my ribs, my grip tightening on my gun.
Rafa.
I reach the door at the end of the hall, my breath burning in my throat. It’s cracked open, a dim light spilling into the corridor. I slam my shoulder into it and burst inside, gun raised—
And my world stops.
Gilly is on the floor, her body curled protectively around Rafa, shielding him with everything she has. Her chest rises and falls too fast, her face pale, her hands gripping our son so tightly her knuckles turn white.
She’s shaking.
Rafa is pressed against her, his small fingers twisted into her shirt, his shoulders trembling with silent sobs.
And standing just feet away—
Matteo.
Gun raised.
For a second, everything in me turns lethal.
My gun shifts, my aim locking on his chest.
Then I see the body on the ground.
Renzo’s top lieutenant.
Dead. A bullet clean through his skull.
I don’t lower my weapon.
I don’t move.
Matteo’s chest heaves, his shoulders tense, but his gun is already slipping from his grasp. It hits the floor with a dull clatter. His knees buckle.
He staggers.
Then he drops.
I lunge forward, catching him before he collapses completely. His body is heavier than I expect, sagging against me as he gasps through gritted teeth.
That’s when I see it.
The blood soaking his shirt.
A gunshot wound.
His breath hitches as I press my palm against it, trying to slow the bleeding.
Matteo coughs, forcing out a breathless chuckle. “Guess I finally did something right.”
I don’t respond.
I don’t know what to say.
Matteo saved my son.
But that doesn’t erase everything else.
Not yet.
I shift him carefully, my fingers digging into his jacket. His pulse is weak but steady. He’s losing too much blood.
I should let him bleed out.
But I don’t.
Gilly exhales a shaky breath, and I glance at her. She’s still holding Rafa, still cradling him like she’s afraid he’ll disappear. His little hands clutch at her, his small body curled tightly against her chest.
My throat tightens.
I should have been the one here. I should have gotten to him before it came to this.
But Matteo was.
I turn back to him, my grip tightening. His eyelids flutter, his body tilting against me, dangerously close to slipping away.
Not yet.
I shake him, forcing his eyes to stay open. “Stay with me.”
His lips twitch. “Didn’t think you cared.”
I stare at him for a long second.
Then I say it.
“You live by your own rules, Matteo.” My voice is quiet, rough. “But today? You saved my son.”
His smirk falters. His breathing stutters.
For the first time in years, I see the brother I used to know.
The moment doesn’t last. His head lolls, his body going slack.
Gilly lets out a sharp breath. “Luca—”
I press my fingers to his pulse.
Still there. Weak, but there.
I exhale slowly, my muscles coiled tight with something I don’t have time to name.
Not now.
I glance at Gilly again. “Can you walk?”
She nods, adjusting Rafa in her arms. He won’t let go of her, his little face still buried in her shoulder.
My chest aches.
I look down at Matteo one last time, his blood soaking into my hands.
Then I haul him up, throwing his arm over my shoulder. He groans but doesn’t fight me.
I tighten my grip.
Because Renzo is still out there.
And this isn’t over yet.
Matteo’s weight drags against me, heavier with every step. His breath is ragged, his body slack, but he’s still conscious—barely. Blood soaks through his jacket, warm and sticky against my arm. He’s losing too much, too fast.
I should be thinking about that.
But all I can see is Rafa, still curled against Gilly, still shaking.
My grip tightens around Matteo as I drag him toward the hallway. Gilly follows close, her arms wrapped securely around Rafa, her expression set. She’s pale, rattled, but she keeps moving.
We don’t speak.
There’s nothing to say.
The compound is still a warzone. Gunfire echoes from the other side of the estate—sporadic now, dying down. My men are finishing the job. But I don’t let my guard drop. Not yet.
We step into the hallway, and Nico is already there, gun in hand, his sharp gaze sweeping the area before locking onto us. His brows knit together when he sees Matteo’s state, but he doesn’t comment.
“South exit is clear,” he says instead. “Renzo’s men are either dead or running.”
Good.
I nod. “Take Gilly and Rafa. Get them out.”
Gilly stiffens beside me. “Luca—”
I cut her a look. “Now.”
Her lips part like she wants to argue, but she swallows it down, her hold on Rafa tightening. I can see it in her eyes—the same thing I feel in my chest. This isn’t over. Not yet.
But she listens.
Nico steps forward, reaching for her arm, but she shakes her head, shifting Rafa higher as she follows him down the hall.
I watch them go, something sharp and unrelenting twisting in my gut.
I should be the one carrying my son.
I should have gotten to him first.
Matteo shifts against me, coughing weakly. “Didn’t realize I was so hard to get rid of.”
I don’t respond. I just tighten my grip and keep moving.
We push forward, my steps heavy, each one dragging against the weight of everything pressing down on me. Matteo stumbles again, his breath shuddering as he tries to stay upright.
“Damn,” he mutters, voice weaker now. “That guy got a good shot.”
I scoff. “You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”
He chuckles, but it’s a rough, breathless sound. “Guess I used up my luck saving your kid.”
I stop walking.
The words hang between us, thick and heavy.
Matteo doesn’t look at me, but his meaning is clear.
Whatever else he’s done, whatever happened before tonight—he chose us.
The realization digs in, uncomfortable and unwelcome. I don’t know what to do with it, don’t know what it means.
I push it aside and start moving again.
We reach the side entrance. The door is already ajar, the night air spilling in. Matteo groans as I shift his weight again, but he doesn’t complain.
The vehicles are waiting just ahead. I can see Nico already getting Gilly and Rafa inside, can see the tension in her shoulders as she glances back toward the compound.
She’s waiting for me.
I step outside, my eyes scanning the perimeter, my body still on high alert. It’s too quiet now. The gunfire has stopped. My men are out there, securing the last of Renzo’s soldiers.
But Renzo himself is still missing.
And I know him well enough to know he won’t go down without a fight.
Matteo coughs again, his head lolling slightly. “Luca…”
I glance down.
His breathing is shallower now, his skin clammy, his eyes less focused.
He needs a doctor.
Now.
I curse under my breath, dragging him the last few steps toward the waiting SUV. Nico opens the door, and I shove Matteo inside, barely managing to keep him upright.
Nico watches me carefully. “You coming?”
I hesitate.
Gilly is already inside, Rafa curled up against her. She’s staring at me, her expression unreadable.
Waiting.
Hoping.
But she knows.
She can see it in my face.
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
She exhales, pressing a hand against Rafa’s back, her shoulders tightening. But she doesn’t try to stop me.
She just nods once.
Nico curses, but he doesn’t argue either. He slams the door shut and moves to the driver’s seat. The engine roars to life, headlights cutting through the darkness.
I take a step back, watching as the SUV pulls away, the taillights disappearing into the night.
Only when they’re gone do I turn back toward the compound.
Matteo made his choice tonight.
Now it’s time to make mine.
Renzo is still breathing.
Not for long.
The roar of the SUV fades into the night, leaving only silence and the heavy weight of unfinished business. Matteo is gone—wounded but alive. Gilly and Rafa are safe.
But I’m still here.
The compound is almost cleared. My men sweep the halls, stepping over bodies, their guns raised for any stragglers dumb enough to fight. The gunfire has stopped, but the air is thick with smoke and the sharp stench of blood.
I take a slow breath, rolling the tension from my shoulders. I should feel relief.
I don’t.
My grip tightens around my gun as I move back through the ruined corridors. Renzo’s top lieutenant is dead—Matteo saw to that. But Renzo himself is nowhere to be seen.
Coward.
A scuff of movement catches my ear. I turn sharply, gun raised.
One of Renzo’s remaining men stumbles into view, clutching his stomach, his face streaked with blood. He barely has time to lift his weapon before I put a bullet between his eyes.
He drops.
A dull, final sound.
I step over the body and keep moving.
The compound is falling apart. Doors hang off their hinges, furniture is overturned, blood smears across the marble. What was once Renzo’s fortress is now nothing but wreckage.
Fitting.
A voice crackles through my earpiece. “Boss, last few rats are scattering. We’re pulling out.”
“Good,” I say. “We’re done here.”
The men acknowledge the order. Boots echo in the distance as they make their way to the exits, leaving me alone in the corridor.
Almost alone.
A pained groan reaches me from further inside the compound. It’s faint, nearly swallowed by the silence, but I hear it.
I follow the sound, stepping through a half-shattered doorway. The room inside is dimly lit, dust floating in the air. And on the floor, sprawled against the base of an overturned table, is Renzo’s consigliere.
Or what’s left of him.
His chest is a mess of blood, the gunshot wound dark and wet. His breath is ragged, his head tilted back against the wall, eyes glazed with pain.
But when he sees me, he manages a weak smirk.
I don’t lower my gun.
“You should’ve picked the winning side,” I say.
His bloody fingers twitch against his thigh. His lips part, a choked laugh escaping. “Too late for regrets now.”
I don’t waste another second.
I fire once.
His body slumps, head lolling to the side, the smirk frozen on his face.
I turn away, exhaling slowly.
It’s over.
The mission is done. Rafa is safe. Gilly is safe.
And Matteo…
I grit my teeth, pushing the thought away. I don’t know what to do with it. Don’t know how to process what just happened. Matteo saved my son. Took a bullet for him.
It doesn’t erase the past.
But it changes something.
I shake off the thought and move toward the exit. The night is thick and humid as I step outside, the compound behind me reduced to nothing but ruin.
I should feel something.
I don’t.
Not yet.
I slide my gun back into its holster, roll my shoulders, and start walking.
There’s still more to do.
Renzo is not dead yet.