Chapter 49 -THE FIRST BULLET
Gunfire doesn’t sound like in the movies.
It’s sharper, crueler—like metal tearing the air apart.
The shot cracked through the courtyard just as Isabella stepped out of the villa beside Lorenzo. For a single heartbeat, she didn’t understand what had happened. The night was humid, heavy with tension, men rushing between vehicles as orders barked across the grounds.
Then Lorenzo grabbed her—violently—and slammed her behind him.
Another shot split the darkness.
Stone exploded next to her cheek.
Shouts erupted. Chaos. Men scrambling for cover, guns drawn, eyes scanning rooftops.
Isabella felt the world tilt. Someone had shot at her. Not at Lorenzo. Not at the guards.
Her.
Her knees buckled. Lorenzo’s arm snapped around her waist before she hit the ground.
“Isabella!” His voice was harsh, animalistic. “Stay behind me.”
Her heart hammered against her ribs with such force she couldn’t breathe. Lorenzo dragged her across the courtyard, shielding her with his body as bullets ricocheted around them.
“Sniper!” Niccolò shouted. “North roof!”
Lorenzo shoved Isabella behind a stone pillar and pressed her down, his breath coming hard. “Don’t move.”
She couldn’t have moved even if she tried.
Her fingers shook uncontrollably. Her throat felt too tight to swallow.
Why her? Who wanted her dead badly enough to attempt it on De Luca grounds?
Lorenzo barked orders with a voice she barely recognized—cold, lethal. “Niccolò! Matteo! Flank north. I want that shooter alive. Alive.”
The last word dripped with threat.
Lorenzo crouched beside her, one hand braced against the pillar, the other gripping her arm with a force meant to ground her.
“Are you hit?” he demanded.
She shook her head. “I—I don’t think so.”
He ran his hands quickly down her shoulders, her arms, her ribs, her sides. Not gentle. Desperate.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
She did. His eyes were furious—not at her, but at the very idea of her being harmed. They burned like wildfire, unstable, frightening.
Then—
Another shot rang out.
Lorenzo threw his body over hers completely, pinning her to the ground as debris rained from the side of the villa. She could feel his heart pounding against her spine, could feel the way he positioned himself to take the bullet for her if necessary.
“Lorenzo—” she whispered.
“Don’t.” His voice was a growl in her ear. “Don’t say anything. Just stay down.”
She trembled under him, adrenaline buzzing through her veins. He felt like a wall of heat and fury, his breath ragged against her neck.
This wasn’t protection.
It was possession.
It was instinct sharpened into something darker.
Finally, shouts rose from beyond the stone wall. Matteo’s voice: “We have him! We have him pinned!”
Lorenzo’s muscles rippled, tension shifting. He lifted himself off her just enough to look into her face.
“Can you stand?”
She nodded, though her legs wobbled violently.
He pulled her up, one arm firmly around her waist, practically carrying her toward the inner courtyard. His hold was too tight—borderline bruising—but she clung to him anyway, because she might collapse without him.
Niccolò sprinted toward them, gun drawn. “Boss, shooter’s still alive. Matteo’s interrogating him.”
Lorenzo’s face changed. Not relief. Something colder.
“Isabella goes inside,” he said. “With me.”
Niccolò hesitated. “Boss, shouldn’t we—”
“With me,” Lorenzo repeated, voice like a blade.
Niccolò stepped back.
Inside, Lorenzo practically shoved her into his private sitting room and locked the door behind them. She heard the heavy click of the deadbolt.
He turned to her.
His chest rose and fell with violent breaths. His eyes were wild, fevered. A man who had nearly lost something he didn’t realize he needed until the moment death reached for it.
“What the hell were you doing out there?” he snapped.
She flinched. “I—I was just following you.”
“That courtyard is exposed.” He raked a hand through his hair, pacing like a caged predator. “Damn it, Isabella, if I had been two seconds behind—”
He broke off, fists clenching.
She wrapped her arms around herself. “Why would someone shoot at me?”
Lorenzo stopped pacing. Slowly, he approached her again—this time quieter, more dangerous.
“I intend to find out,” he said. “Tonight.”
Her voice trembled. “Was it Venturi?”
“Maybe.” Lorenzo’s jaw tightened. “Or maybe it was someone else.”
He didn’t elaborate, but she understood.
The Asset.
The file.
The insider.
There were too many reasons someone might want her dead… and too many reasons Lorenzo might suspect her.
He reached out suddenly and cupped her face, tilting her chin up. “Isabella, look at me.”
Her breath hitched.
“I need you to understand something,” he said lowly. “Whoever fired that shot didn’t miss.”
Her stomach dropped. “What?”
He stroked his thumb along her cheek, almost tenderly. “A professional sniper doesn’t miss by accident. Someone wanted to send a message.”
She whispered, “To you?”
His gaze darkened. “To me. Or to you. Or both.”
A tremor ran through her.
His hand tightened on her jaw. “But hear me clearly. No one touches you.” He leaned in, his breath brushing her lips. “No one.”
Her heart pounded.
It was protection.
It was obsession.
It was a warning—to her as much as to the enemy.
A knock slammed into the door.
Lorenzo didn’t remove his hand from her face. “What?”
Matteo’s voice filtered through. “We got something.”
Lorenzo’s face hardened. “Come in.”
Matteo entered, eyes darting to Isabella, then back to Lorenzo. He held a crumpled piece of fabric—a patch torn from the shooter’s jacket, stained with dirt and blood.
A symbol was stitched into it.
Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not Venturi’s.”
“No,” Matteo said grimly. “It’s another faction.”
Lorenzo’s grip on Isabella tightened.
“Who?” she whispered.
Matteo exchanged a look with Lorenzo. “Someone unexpected.”
“Say the name,” Lorenzo ordered.
Matteo inhaled. “The Serpente.”
Isabella felt cold.
Lorenzo’s expression turned lethal. “I wiped them out years ago.”
“Well,” Matteo said, “they’re back. And they’re targeting her.”
She stumbled backward. Lorenzo caught her instantly.
“Isabella,” he murmured, voice dark, heavy, and terrifyingly calm, “the man who shot at you said something before he died.”
Her breath froze.
“What?” she whispered.
Matteo hesitated.
Lorenzo’s hand slid to the small of her back, holding her in place.
“He said,” Lorenzo repeated slowly, “‘The girl dies first.’”
The room tilted. Isabella grabbed the nearest armrest.
Lorenzo stepped in front of her, cupping her face again—this time with absolute possession burning in his eyes.
“Isabella,” he whispered, “I will tear this city apart. I will turn every stone, torture every man, burn every alliance if I have to.”
His thumb brushed her trembling lip.
“No one,” he vowed, voice low and feral, “will ever take you from me.”
She wasn’t sure if his words were a promise—
or a threat.
Because in that moment, Isabella realized something chilling:
Lorenzo De Luca wasn’t just protecting her.
He was claiming her.
And if she ever truly betrayed him—
he wouldn’t save her.
He’d destroy the world to bury the truth.