Chapter 54

Chapter 54
LUCA'S POV

EYES LOCKED.

"Don't get the misconception that I'm actually scared of you, Luca." Sandro's voice broke the tension, but it only made the air feel thicker, heavier. "I am not—in any way—scared of you. I have no hand in the death of Martinez, okay?"

The words hung in the air, almost too calm for the moment we were in. Yet, despite the defiance in his tone, I could hear the faint tremor, the pulse of panic that tried to mask itself beneath his cool exterior. Sandro always wore confidence like a badge, his bravado an armor for the cracks beneath, but this time it was different. His attempt at reassurance wasn’t for me, it was for his men, standing close behind him, the wolves who were eyeing me like I was a potential meal.

I could practically feel the strain in his attempt to keep it together. It was obvious to me, but the question was, did they know? Did his men see the cracks? Was he trying to keep up his position as their leader? The one in control?

I couldn’t help but think that there was more to this than just a straightforward denial.

I locked eyes with him, my gaze like a vice, daring him to flinch, waiting for something, anything at all that would expose him. And then, just like that, it happened. A fleeting flicker in his eyes. A momentary hesitation that only someone who knew him as well as I did could spot.

Vulnerability. Guilt. Maybe even regret. It wasn’t much, just a crack in the mask, but it was enough to make my heart skip for a moment.

For a second, doubt crept in. Maybe Sandro had nothing to do with Martinez’s death. Could he really be telling the truth?

I stood there, frozen in the moment, caught between what I saw and what I felt. The usual Sandro, the one who talked too much and laughed too loudly…was gone. In his place stood someone far more measured, far more cautious. Almost like he wasn’t just trying to avoid me but something much bigger.

I let out a breath, my hand still gripping the cold metal of my gun, the weight of the decision pressing down on me. Maybe there was a chance, just a sliver, that he wasn’t involved. Maybe it wasn’t his fault.

But then, in a heartbeat, it hit me like a sledgehammer.

The name. Martinez.

I hadn’t said it. Not once. I never gave a damn who my man was or how they died. I never spoke his name. So how did Sandro know it? How did he know Martinez’s name without me saying a word?

The realization dropped into my gut like a stone, and suddenly everything changed. Every shred of doubt vanished, replaced by cold certainty.

I snapped into action.

Without even thinking, my body moved on instinct. The gun was already in my hand, before I consciously registered what was happening. Sandro’s face twisted in shock as I spun around, and just as quickly, my men were on their feet, weapons drawn.

"You liar!" I snarled, stepping forward with a dangerous precision, keeping the barrel of my gun trained on him. "How the hell do you know his name? I never said it! I never even mentioned which of my men went down, but you knew Martinez’s name like you were the one who had a hand in it!" My voice rose with every word, anger lacing every syllable.

Sandro’s eyes flickered briefly, almost apologetic, but it was too quick, too fleeting to catch. His lips parted, like he was about to speak, but nothing came. He just stood there, silent for the moment, as if weighing his options.

And that silence, it did nothing but feed the fire in me.

"Well…" He finally muttered, his voice strained as he looked down at the ground for a second, like he was trying to gather his thoughts. "I can’t explain that to you. But it is what it is. I’ve got no hand in whatever happened to your man, so… kindly leave."

His voice was softer now, almost resigned, as if he were offering an olive branch. But I wasn’t having it. His words were as hollow as the threats I’d heard in the streets a thousand times. Nothing about this situation was over, not while he was still standing there acting like he wasn’t part of something bigger than this.

His body shifted slightly. It was subtle at first, but I noticed it, his muscles tense, his stance widening. He was trying to assert himself, sending me a signal: Back off, or I’ll make you regret it. The way he cracked his neck afterward, like some warning sign, was enough to make my blood run cold.

But I didn’t flinch, not this time.

His body language may have screamed intimidation, but I wasn’t going to step back. He crossed a line, and it was my turn to return the favor. This wasn’t just about Martinez. It wasn’t just about the men who were dying. No, this was personal.

I came for an explanation, and if he wasn’t going to give me one, he was going to pay the price.

I raised my hand, the barrel of my gun steady, pointed directly at him. My finger twitched, itching to pull the trigger. I felt the tension in the air build, stretching between us like a taut wire. I could practically hear the echo of the shot in my head.

"Well," I muttered under my breath, the words tasting bitter as I stared him down. "I came here for an explanation. And if you aren't willing to give me that... you might as well kiss the earth goodbye."

"Fuck… you," Sandro muttered, but his words were barely a whisper in the chaos that followed.

I didn’t wait. My finger was on the trigger. My hand tightened, ready to make it final. I was done talking.

BAMM!

The sudden noise rang through the warehouse, sharp and deafening. But it wasn’t me who fired.

A scream broke through the air, cutting across the moment like a knife. My heart stopped.

"Arrhhh...!!" The scream was guttural, filled with agony. I turned, instinctively, my eyes flashing toward the sound. A figure in the distance, one of my men was clutching his arm, blood pouring from the wound. His body crumpled, a momentary weakness before the rush of pain took him over.

Everything shifted. The calm, the tension, the threats, all of it fell away in an instant. My instincts kicked into overdrive. The gunfire had come from somewhere behind me. I tracked it, every muscle screaming for action.

The shooter.

I spotted him, a figure darting for cover, trying to slip away through the shadows.

Bastard!

I didn’t hesitate. Without thinking, I fired off a shot, aimed at the man who dared to hurt one of mine.

The shot hit its mark, his body crumpled to the floor with a sickening thud, but it wasn’t enough to stop the chaos. Sandro’s men rushed forward, guns raised, furious at the disruption.

I cursed under my breath, turning in a frantic search for Sandro. He was nowhere to be seen. He was gone.

Disappeared.

I scanned the warehouse, searching every corner, but there was no trace of him. Nothing.

He was already out of sight, vanished into the night like a coward.

Coward!