Matteo.
“I hate you. Do you hear me? I HATE YOU.”
My hands had lingered on the cold steel of the door handle when she screamed those words, the echo of the lock sliding into place still ringing in my ears.
It wasn’t a decision I had taken lightly.
Locking Valentina up in a room with her psycho of a mother to keep her safe was probably the dumbest thing I had ever done, but it was worth it. If it gave her an opportunity to leave here safely, then I had to believe that.
My boots scraped against the concrete as I forced myself to move, step by step, away from that door. Each step felt heavier than the last, weighed down by a mix of guilt and resolve.
Fuck.
Had I done the right thing?
No. I couldn’t afford to think about that now, so I pushed the thought aside, my jaw tightening as I straightened my posture. There was no time for doubt.
Luca was out there, and every second spent questioning my decision was just a second wasted.
When this was over, I would fall to her feet, kiss it, even lick it clean with my tongue if that was what she wanted.
If she desired me crying every night to pay for my crimes against her, then I would do just that.
I just needed her to remain safe.
Luca would not kill her today. Or tomorrow. Or ever.
Behind me, the faint sound of boots scuffing the ground reached my ears. I didn’t look back. I didn’t need to. Lorenzo had another team shadowing me, their presence barely noticeable but undeniably there.
It was a precaution he had insisted on, though I had scoffed at the idea of needing any protection.
Still, knowing they were there was both a comfort and a reminder. This wasn’t just about me.
Another sharp voice cut through the silence ahead. “He’s in here. Luca is here!”
Fool.
The sentence “Luca is here” sent a jolt through me, my body reacting instinctively as I dove for cover behind a stack of crates.
Gunfire erupted, sharp and relentless, the echoes bouncing off the walls. I pressed my back against the crate, gripping my pistol tightly. My heart pounded in my chest, but my mind stayed razor sharp.
Valentina would not die today.
I would not die today.
“Move!” one of Lorenzo’s men barked, gesturing toward a nearby corridor.
I hesitated. Valentina was still locked away, defenceless.
Bad decision. Bad decision.
But there was no time to turn back.
A man next to me dropped, a bullet tearing through his throat. Blood sprayed across the floor, the gurgling sound of his last breath lost in the chaos.
I kept my jaw clenched as I fired blindly around the corner, my shots a desperate attempt to buy time.
“Keep moving!” another voice shouted, urgency lacing the command.
The corridor loomed ahead, a narrow escape route that promised at least temporary safety. I broke into a sprint, his boots pounding against the floor.
Behind me, I could tell more men fell, their bodies hitting the ground with sickening thuds. Though I could barely hear over the roar of gunfire.
That didn’t stop the constant admidst the chaos.
My tesoro.
I could still see her face, the way those grey eyes had locked onto mine as I’d closed the door. There had been no anger in her eyes… not really. Just betrayal.
She’d known why I had to do it. She chose not to understand it.
Another explosion of gunfire yanked me back to the present. I slid into the corridor, my breath coming in short, ragged bursts. The walls were narrow, lined with flickering lights that cast eerie shadows.
Two of Lorenzo’s men flanked me, their faces grim as they reloaded their weapons.
“Luca’s playing with us,” one of them muttered.
“Not for long,” I growled, his grip tightening on his gun.
I knew my brother. He would come out soon.
We pressed forward, the corridor stretching endlessly ahead. Every
They pressed forward, the corridor stretching endlessly ahead. Every step felt like an eternity, the air thick with tension.
And then, just as we rounded a corner, I heard his voice.
Calm. Deliberate. Cutting through the chaos like a knife.
“Pedro Nevarro is dead.”
The words froze me in place. It turned my blood to ice, my breath catching in my throat.
He wouldn’t do… he wouldn’t do that.
Pedro Nevarro. Their father. The man who had built an empire and ruled it with an iron fist.
Dead?
Luca wasn’t so psychotic that he would kill our father, right?
The voice had come from a room just ahead, the door slightly ajar. I exchanged a glance with the men beside me, their expressions mirroring my own shock and confusion.
We advanced with caution.
The gunfire outside had grown distant, muffled as though the battle had moved elsewhere. But the silence here was more suffocating than the chaos.
I kept my gun raised as I pushed the door open.
The room was dimly lit, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood.
And there, in the centre of it all, sat Luca.
He was reclined in a chair, his posture relaxed as though he hadn’t a care in the world. Around him stood a dozen men, their guns trained on me and my companions.
But it wasn’t the sight of the men that held my attention.
It was the microphone in Luca’s hand, the way his lips curved into a sinister smile as he repeated the words that had stopped me in my tracks.
“Pedro Nevarro is dead. And I am the new Don of the Nevarro Mafia gang.”
My heart pounded so fast in my chest, a mixture of fury and disbelief surging through me.
“What have you done?”
Luca’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming with something dark and unhinged. He looked even worse than the last time I laid eyes on him.
“What had to be done,” he said simply.
My grip on my gun tightened, my knuckles white.
I had hated him. The man. My father. He was one of the reasons why my mother had died… yet I couldn’t fathom how my little brother could…
Damn.
“You killed him.”
Luca shrugged as if the accusation was trivial. “Father was… an obstacle. And obstacles need to be removed.”
“You’re insane,” I hissed.
“Maybe,” Luca admitted, his tone almost playful. “But now? Now, I’m in charge. And you, brother, have a choice to make.”
“I’ll kill you with my own hands, Luca.”