Chapter 291: 35

Reyna POV

The message from this morning is still burned into my head. There's a public hit on Dante.

We should've stayed behind, we should've done anything but this, yet here we are in the middle of a warehouse on the edge of the city. Dante refused to cancel an important meeting and Luca can't leave my side. He said pulling out would make him look weak, and weakness in this world is a death sentence.

So instead of avoiding the trap, he walked straight into it.

Luca didn't like it. I saw it in his eyes the second we pulled up  the way his jaw clenched, his hand never straying far from his gun. He argued with Dante in the car, told him the deal wasn't worth it, but Dante only said, "If they want to try me, let them. I'll be ready."

Now I'm standing near the back, every sense in me screams that this is a mistake.

The men across from us slide a briefcase across the table, but nobody's looking at the money. It's all tension, sharp and heavy in the air. Dante speaks low and controlled, his voice carrying across the echo of the warehouse, while Luca stands close at his side like a wall.

I try to stay still, to keep my breathing even, but I can feel it building, that pressure in the air right before something breaks.

And then it does.

The side door slams open.

Gunfire rips through the warehouse, loud and blazing, sparks fly as bullets tear into the steel walls. Dante's men shout, returning fire, while Luca moves fast, shoving Dante down and shooting in the same motion.

The hit isn't a rumor anymore. It's happening.

I duck low behind a stack of crates, my heart hammering so loud I can barely hear anything else.

The acrid smell of gunpowder fills the air, shouts and bullets ricocheting around me. I want to shut my eyes but I don't, I watch Luca in his element.

He's a storm in motion, precise and merciless. Every time he fires, someone goes down. He moves with Dante like they've done this a hundred times before, covering angles, shouting orders, never once flinching.

Then it happens.

A sharp crack, louder than the others, and Luca jerks back. His gun drops slightly before he steadies it again, but I see it,  the bloom of red spreading across his shirt near his shoulder.

"No!" The word rips out of me before I can stop it.

He glances back, just once, his eyes locking on mine. And then he forces himself forward, firing through the pain, shielding Dante even as blood seeps down his arm.

Time slows and I feel like I can't breathe. The fight blurs into flashes of light and darkness until Dante's men overwhelm the attackers and the last of them scatter, disappearing into the night.

Silence follows, broken only by the ringing in my ears.

And Luca? He's swaying on his feet.

I run to him, grabbing his arm before he falls, my hands already slick with his blood.

"Don't-" he starts, his voice rough, but I cut him off.

"Shut up, Luca, you're bleeding."

Dante shouts orders in the background, his men dragging bodies and weapons out of sight, but all I can see is Luca. All I can feel is the panic clawing up my throat.

He winces when I press my hand against the wound. "It's nothing, Reyna."

"It's not nothing," I snap, my voice cracking. "You almost..." The word dies in my throat. I can't say it.

He leans closer, his good hand catching my wrist, his grip firm even as his body trembles. His eyes are steady, calm, like I'm the one who needs saving. "I told you, I'm not leaving you."

But all I can see is the blood.

The gunfire finally stops, the smell of smoke still burning the air as Dante's men clear the last of them. My chest heaves, my ears ring, but Luca's hand is steady on my back as he guides me through the chaos.

Dante snaps quick, sharp orders to his men, his expression unreadable as always. Then his gaze flicks to Luca. "Get her out of here."

Luca gives a curt nod. He doesn't argue, doesn't explain. He just pulls me toward a waiting car.

We don't ride with Dante, he takes another SUV with his men, probably heading to Ana. Luca doesn't say much, his jaw tight, his shoulder bleeding through his shirt as he drives us away from the mess.

"Luca-" I start, but he cuts me a focused look that shuts me up.

By the time we reach his apartment, I'm still shaking from adrenaline. He unlocks the door with one hand, pushes me inside with the other, and only then do I see how bad the blood is. His shirt is soaked through.

"Sit down," I order.

He actually laughs - short, low. "You giving me orders now?"

"Yes," I snap, dragging him toward the couch. "You saved Dante, you saved me, and now you're bleeding all over your damn floor. Sit."

For once, he doesn't argue. He sinks onto the couch, leaning back, watching me with that infuriating smirk while I grab supplies from the bathroom.

When I come back, I climb onto his lap to get close enough to the wound, pressing gauze against his shoulder. He hisses, jaw clenching.

"Better?" I ask sweetly, not hiding the smirk tugging at my lips.

His eyes narrow. "You're enjoying this."

"Maybe."

The tension shifts, heavy and hot, his hand suddenly gripping my thigh. I freeze, realizing how close I am, how fast my pulse is racing. The line between patching him up and something else blurs fast.

"You don't get it," he mutters, voice low, eyes locked on mine. "Every second you're with me, you're in deeper. You should hate me for it."

"Then give me a reason," I shoot back. "Because right now, I don't."

Before either of us can think, my mouth is on his.

He growls into the kiss, his hand sliding higher on my thigh, and when he tries to move me off, I shake my head.

"You're hurt," I whisper.

"And you're reckless," he says, but he doesn't stop me.

"I'll be careful."

I push him back against the couch, taking control, and this time he lets me.

What starts as tending his wound turns into something else entirely, heat spilling into every kiss, every touch. Our clothes hit the floor, the air is thick with want, and for once I don't care about being careful. He tries, but I shut him up with another kiss and smirk, "Let me."

And I do.

By the time we collapse together, his breathing ragged against my neck, my body still trembling, there's no going back. Not for either of us.

Later, his wound is bandaged and he finally drifts off with his arm around me, I slip out of bed. His shirt hangs loose on my shoulders as I sit at his desk, opening the laptop. The flash drive from the Vegas hotel waits, mocking me with its secrets.

I type and crack, pushing through the last layer of encryption, and this time it works. The folder opens, file names scrolling across the screen.

My stomach tightens as I click through them, the accounts, the transfers, the coded instructions. Every breadcrumb leads to one name.

Alessandro Romano.

I sit back in the chair, staring at the screen, the weight of it pressing down on me. I was right, It isn't just suspicions anymore, It isn't even guesswork. This is real proof.

He's behind all of it. Francesca. The kidnappings. The chaos in Vegas. My engagement.

Alessandro Romano is the one still pulling every string.