Chapter 275

Reyna POV

The gunfire outside dies down faster than it started and Luca already has his phone to his ear, barking for Dante before I can ask what the hell just happened.

The line clicks and Dante's voice comes sharp and impatient. "Where are you?"

"Still in the hotel," Luca answers, eyes flicking to me like he's making sure I'm breathing. "What the hell is going on?"

There's a pause on the other end, too long, too heavy. "That's what I'd like to know. There's been no hit. No firefight. None of my men are in play."

Luca straightens, tension cutting through his shoulders. "We just heard shots."

"Could be a setup, could be noise to flush you out," Dante says flatly. "But listen to me, there is no Dock 27."

I freeze. "What do you mean?"

"We are right here at the docks, there is no dock registered under that number in Vegas," Dante continues, his tone clipped. "There never has been. Which means someone's feeding you ghost coordinates, and they want you chasing shadows."

Luca curses under his breath.

Dante doesn't let him get a word in. "You stay put until I get confirmation on who's moving against us. No heroics. You keep Reyna safe, you hear me?"

The call cuts before Luca can argue. He stares down at the phone for a long moment, his jaw tight, then slides it back into his pocket.

"So... no Dock 27," I say, crossing my arms.

His eyes flick to me, sharp. "It was bait. And you almost swallowed it whole."

"I wasn't the one hiding things," I fire back, heat rising in my chest.

The muscle in his jaw jumps but he doesn't answer, just grabs his jacket and nods toward the door. "We're not staying here."

The safe house is nothing like the hotel. No neon lights, no polished marble floors. Just four walls, a creaking wooden floor, and a kitchen that looks like it hasn't been used in years. Dante's men sweep it before leaving us, posting up outside in case anyone followed.

When the silence settles, it feels heavier than the blackout.

Luca paces the living room once, then twice, before finally pulling the curtains shut and checking the locks again. I drop my bag onto the couch and fold my arms, watching him like I might finally catch him slipping.

"Do you ever stop?" I ask.

His eyes cut to me. "When it's safe."

"Then I guess that's never?." I reply

He doesn't answer and I don't expect him to, so I head into the kitchen and open cabinets until I find pasta and a can of tomatoes. It's something to do with my hands because sitting still right now will drive me insane.

I hear him come up behind me before I see him. "What are you doing?"

"Cooking," I mutter, slamming the cabinet shut a little harder than I mean to.

"We're not here for dinner."

"We're here waiting," I snap, spinning to face him. "So unless you have a better idea of how to spend the next however many hours, I'm cooking."

For a moment, it looks like he's going to argue, then he exhales and leans back against the counter, watching as I grab a pot and fill it with water.

The silence stretches, broken only by the sound of the burner clicking on.

His eyes are on me the entire time. He doesn't judge or mock me, he only stares at me, deliberately.

It's infuriating and distracting.

"You gonna stand there the whole time?" I ask.

"Making sure you don't burn the place down."

I roll my eyes and stir the pot, but I can't hide the small twitch of a smile tugging at my mouth.

By the time the pasta boils, Luca has given up pacing and dropped into the chair across the table, gun still on the surface like it's part of his body. I set the plates down between us and his brow furrows like he doesn't remember the last time someone put food in front of him.

"Don't look so suspicious," I say, sliding a fork toward him. "It's just pasta."

His lips twitch but he doesn't smile. He eats fast and efficient, like even a meal is part of the job. I sit back, twirling my fork slower, watching him.

"This is weird," I mutter.

"What is?"

"This. Sharing a kitchen table with you like we're normal."

He looks up at me, eyes sharp but softer at the edges. "Nothing about this is normal."

For a second the words hang there and the air between us feels tighter. I drop my gaze to the plate before it shows too much.

We finish in silence and I stack the plates into the sink, turning on the tap. Luca appears behind me, too close, taking the fork out of my hand. "I'll do it."

I glance back at him, annoyed. "I can wash a dish."

"You've done enough." His voice is low, almost steady but not quiet, and when I meet his eyes, there's something there that wasn't there before.

The sound of water running fills the space and I realize just how close we're standing. My breath catches but I don't move away. He doesn't either.

The moment stretches, heavy and charged, until my laptop chimes from the table.

I spin fast, grateful for the excuse, and pull it open. Luca is right behind me again, leaning over my shoulder as the screen loads. I type fast, tracing the trail from the flash drive into the encrypted accounts. The numbers flicker by, patterns in the chaos, and then-

A window opens on its own, and this time it'snot numbers or files but a video feed.

My heart stops. The camera angle is low and wide, pointed at the very room we're standing in.

The screen shows the table. The plates in the sink. Luca's gun resting on the counter.

And us.

I slam the laptop shut but it's too late. We're already on camera.

Luca snatches the computer from my hands, his face like stone as he yanks the battery free in one hard motion, cutting the power. The silence afterward is suffocating.

"They're not just watching the hotel," he says, voice rough. "They're watching here."

The safe house.

The one place we thought was clean.