Chapter 38 -THE RIVAL’S STRIKE
The night smelled of salt, diesel, and something metallic brewing in the air—something sharp enough to make Isabella’s skin prickle. She hadn’t planned to follow Lorenzo to the docks. She’d only wanted fresh air, an escape from the suffocating guilt of the past few days, the lies tightening around her like a noose. But when she’d seen him leave in a rush, jaw tense, coat thrown over his shoulders as if bracing for a storm, something in her twisted. She’d grabbed her jacket, slipped past Niccolò—who had been arguing with another guard—and vanished into the darkness.
Now she crouched behind a stack of crates, hidden in the maze of cargo containers lining the De Luca shipping docks. The moon cast long, jagged shadows across the concrete, turning everything into silhouettes and silhouettes into threats.
She spotted Lorenzo first.
He stood at the docking edge with four of his men, barking orders as they inspected a shipment gone wrong. Even from this distance, she felt his frustration—his movements sharp, his voice low and controlled. A coil of tension pulled inside her at the sight of him, the familiar pull she had come to fear and crave in equal measure.
She almost stepped out to reveal herself.
That was when she heard it.
A click—the unmistakable metallic whisper of a safety being released.
Her spine stiffened.
From the catwalk above, a figure shifted—then another. Shadows converged like wolves circling prey.
Venturi.
She didn’t have time to think. She burst from hiding.
“Lorenzo!” she screamed.
His head snapped toward her—but she wasn’t looking at him. She was staring at the gunman above.
Then chaos erupted.
A hail of bullets tore through the night.
Lorenzo’s men dove for cover. Sparks exploded as lead struck metal and concrete. The echo thundered across the dockyards. Isabella’s heart hammered so violently she couldn’t hear anything else—not even her own breathing.
Lorenzo lunged toward her.
“In here!” he barked, grabbing her arm and yanking her behind a towering steel container.
But she was staring at the carnage unfolding across the open ground. One of his guards fell. Another dragged him to cover. Venturi’s men descended from the catwalk like shadows dropping from the rafters of hell.
“This is an ambush,” Isabella whispered, breathless. “They planned this.”
“Of course they did.” Lorenzo’s eyes flashed with something feral. “Venturi thinks I’m weakened. He’s wrong.”
He peeked around the corner and fired. One attacker crumpled. Another dove behind a forklift.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he hissed at her, fury laced with something else—fear. “Why the hell did you follow me?”
But Isabella didn’t answer. Her body was shaking too hard. She could barely form a coherent thought. She had been in violence before—small violence, controlled violence. Not this. Not war.
A blast shook the entire ground. Flame and smoke shot upward as a car nearby ignited.
Isabella shrieked and covered her ears.
Lorenzo grabbed her shoulders and shoved her flat against the container. “Stay behind me. Do you understand? I swear to God, Isabella—don’t move unless I tell you.”
His face was inches from hers, breath hot, jaw tight with rage. He looked like a man ready to burn the world down.
Then he stepped out again, firing with terrifying precision.
She watched him move—calculated, cold, lethal. This was the Lorenzo the world feared. The one she had tried to expose. The one she was supposed to destroy.
Yet her chest clenched painfully.
Because seeing him hunted—seeing him moments from death—made her feel like she was being carved open.
Venturi’s men were closing in.
A bullet whizzed past, splintering wood above her head. She ducked, heart in her throat.
Two of Lorenzo’s men circled to flank the attackers. Gunshots cracked from behind. A scream tore through the chaos. Someone fell from the catwalk and hit the ground with a sickening thud.
Lorenzo noticed his opening and surged forward.
“Cover me!” he ordered.
His men obeyed instantly.
He sprinted toward the forklift where the remaining gunmen were taking shelter. Three of them. Armed. Waiting.
“Lorenzo!” Isabella cried.
He didn’t stop.
He fired twice—two clean shots. Both men collapsed. The third tried to run. Lorenzo tackled him to the ground, disarmed him, and pressed a gun to the man’s throat.
“Where’s Venturi?” Lorenzo snarled.
The man only spat blood.
Isabella stepped out cautiously from her cover, unable to stay hidden, drawn toward him by instinct she no longer understood.
“Lorenzo, don’t—”
But he pressed the barrel harder. “Where. Is. Venturi?”
The gunman grinned, lips stained red. “Closer than you think.”
He laughed—then a single bullet from somewhere in the shadows pierced his skull.
Lorenzo jerked back, swearing, searching for the shooter—but the phantom attacker had already vanished into the labyrinth of containers.
Silence fell, broken only by distant waves slapping against the pier.
Isabella’s knees nearly buckled.
Lorenzo strode to her, gripping her arms so tightly she winced.
“You could have been killed,” he growled. “Do you have any idea—”
A shot rang out.
Lorenzo shoved her to the ground just as a bullet sliced past where her head had been.
“Stay down!” he roared.
Another volley. Another. Venturi still had men hidden in the shadows.
One of Lorenzo’s guards yelled, “They’re on the move! North side!”
Lorenzo didn’t wait. “Matteo, take Isabella back to the cars! Now!”
Matteo sprinted toward them.
But Isabella grabbed Lorenzo’s arm, her voice trembling.
“You can’t fight them alone—”
“I’m not alone,” he snapped. “And you’re getting out of here.”
His eyes—wild and burning—locked on hers.
“For once, Isabella. Listen to me.”
Her throat tightened. She didn’t want to leave him. The thought burned. But there was no time to argue.
Matteo pulled her away.
She let herself be dragged.
But she looked back.
Lorenzo charged into the maze of containers with three men behind him, hunting the last attackers. His silhouette disappeared into darkness, swallowed whole.
A final explosion lit up the night in orange and white.
The ground trembled. Fire roared skyward.
Isabella screamed his name—but the blast drowned everything.
Smoke cascaded across the docks. Flames devoured a shipping truck. Sparks rained like burning snow. And somewhere deep inside that inferno were Lorenzo and his men.
Alive?
Dead?
She didn’t know.
Matteo yanked her toward the exit.
Isabella twisted, fighting him.
“Let me go! Let me—”
“No!” Matteo barked. “Lorenzo’s orders!”
Her heart pounded so violently she thought it would tear out of her chest. She stared into the blaze, chest heaving, vision blurring.
The smoke swallowed everything.
And then—
Through the inferno, far in the shadows, a shape moved.
Tall. Staggering. Or maybe she imagined it.
Matteo shoved her behind a barricade as a second explosion ripped the night apart.
The docks disappeared in a blast of fire.
And Isabella realized with gut-wrenching certainty—
She had no idea if Lorenzo De Luca was still alive.