Chapter 55

Chapter 55
LUCA'S PIC

HE RAN AWAY LIKE A COWARD.

I spat harshly on the cracked concrete floor, frustration boiling inside me like lava threatening to erupt. My glare was locked on the blurry silhouettes of Sandro’s men as they charged forward.

My breath came out ragged, laced with fury. My heart pounded, not just from the adrenaline of the standoff, but from the pure disgust I felt at the thought of Sandro refusing to fight like a man.

Another shot rang out, louder, closer, heavier.

But this one... this one was different.

It didn’t just echo through the battlefield, it cut through me.

A sudden sharp, slicing pain struck my left side, so real, so raw that for a split second, I couldn’t even register what had happened. My mind was still catching up when instinctively, I tried to raise my left arm, and that’s when the searing agony exploded through my nerves, nearly knocking the breath out of my lungs.

My vision dipped.

I looked down, and there it was.

Blood. So much blood.

My entire left shoulder was drenched in it. My suit, once clean, was now torn and rapidly soaking with crimson.

“Shit...” I groaned through clenched teeth, my voice low and full of grit. My right hand flew up, pressing hard on the wound, trying to compress it, trying to stop the relentless stream. Every pulse of blood was a reminder that I’d been hit... that I’d been shot.

The pain radiated like fire, but it wasn't the pain that gutted me, it was the humiliation.

I’d let my guard down.

I had walked right into it.

And worse... Martinez was watching.

My men spotted me seconds later. Their faces twisted with horror, panic, and fury. They rushed to me like a shield of trained wolves, guns raised, blocking any further shot from Sandro’s camp. But even as they protected me, even as they barked commands and secured the perimeter, I felt my chest cave in with shame.

I looked like a goddamn loser.

A bullet in my body, my pride shredded, and nothing to show for this confrontation but failure.

I let myself down.

I let him down.

As my men tightened around me, I forced myself to look up, straight across the battlefield, toward the far end where an old container sat slightly raised. My eyes found him.

Sandro.

Standing on top of the container like a king on his throne. That smug, devilish smile spreading across his face as he held his gun like a prize. His eyes locked onto mine, and then... he winked.

That bastard shot me.

“You son of a...” I growled under my breath, but my voice couldn’t rise. It was too choked by anger... and blood.

“RETREAT!!” Sandro’s voice boomed like thunder, and in a flash, he disappeared from the top of the container, his men following his command instantly. They scattered like shadows, vanishing into the dark corners of the lot as if they had never been there.

“Alessandro...!!” I growled again, louder this time, hate simmering in every syllable as my men helped me limp back toward the car.

The moment my back hit the leather seat, the door slammed shut and the convoy surged into motion.

We were gone.

But my mind was still there...

As the car raced through the streets, I held my breath hoping to somehow numb the pain. It was useless. Something buzzed nearby.

A familiar hum... but distant.

My head leaned back against the headrest, my body rocking slightly with every turn the car made, but I was nowhere near the vehicle mentally.

All I could see were flashes.

Sandro’s face.

The blood on my hand.

The bullet that now lived inside my shoulder.

I’d led my men straight into this hellhole without a proper plan. Acting on emotion. Like some half-crazed rookie trying to prove something. And what did I prove?

That I was careless.

That I was impulsive.

That I was no leader.

God, what had I done?

I bit down hard, jaw clenched, fingers twitching on my lap. I could practically hear Martinez’s voice echoing in my head: “Control the field, or don’t step on it.”

I was his boss but he knew so much.

Fuck!! I thought I had it. I was wrong.

“Sir... sir...” A faint voice cut through the fog.

But it was distant... like I was hearing it through a tunnel. I didn’t answer.

Then a hand touched my good shoulder.

Once. Twice.

“Sir?” The voice repeated, firmer now, a third tap waking me from my downward spiral.

My eyes blinked slowly back into focus. I turned my head slightly, my neck stiff.

“Yeah... yes?” I stammered, my voice low and cracked.

“Your phone’s ringing,” the man said softly.

My eyes dropped to my pocket, and that’s when the buzzing finally registered.

Of course... the familiar hum I’d been ignoring. I reached into my jacket, wincing slightly as I moved, and pulled the phone out.

The screen lit up.

My sister.

Shit. Not now. Not like this.

I stared at her name flashing across the screen, lips pressing into a tight line.

“I can’t make it for dinner tonight...” I muttered bitterly, letting the words hang in the air before I flipped the phone over and silenced it, setting it on Do Not Disturb.

“Where to now, boss?” my driver asked from the front seat, eyes flicking briefly to the rearview.

I didn’t hesitate. “To Hill Castle.”

Hill Castle…one of our other safehouses. We gave our houses names, a weird habit that had become tradition over the years.

“Aye, boss.” He gave a quick nod and turned the wheel smoothly, swerving the convoy into a new direction. The other cars behind us followed the change seamlessly.

I slumped deeper into the seat, letting my back press into the plush leather. The city’s lights bled through the tinted windows, flickering across my face like ghosts of the world outside. Neon signs. Flashing headlights. People going about their night as if the world hadn’t just imploded inside my chest.

As if I hadn’t just tasted defeat.

My gaze stayed fixed on the blur beyond the window.

How do I come back from this?

How do I regain control?

Maybe my men didn’t fully grasp the weight of what happened, but I did. They saw a wound. I felt the failure.

I didn't just fail them, I failed myself.