Luca's POV
The steady rise and fall of Cara's chest was the only thing that convinced me that this wasn't a dream and that she was right here, with me.
I was cocooned in her scent. She lay curled against me, her body fitting perfectly into mine, her warmth seeping into my skin like a balm. My hand rested lightly against her back, my thumb tracing soft circles over her soft milky skin.
She stirred slightly, snuggling closer, and my chest tightened with a rush of emotions I rarely allowed myself to feel.
I had come so close to losing her. Too close. Again.
I needed to find a permanent solution to this. To keep her by my side forever. So that she's aware of her position by my side. So that she never thinks that leaving will ever be a plausible idea when it comes to us.
The very thought made my chest tighten with worry. I'd always known that my world was no place for softness, no place for vulnerability. I'd spent my life carefully constructing walls around my heart, allowing nothing and no one to breach them.
Until her.
Cara.
I had never been the kind of man to care about much. It was a luxury men like me couldn't afford. My world was built on control, power, and fear-there was no room for sentiment in a life like mine. Over the years, I had hardened myself, detached from everything that could make me vulnerable. Friends, family, even my own life-none of it had ever truly mattered.
But Cara?
She was different.
She had slipped past the armor I had spent a lifetime forging, found the cracks I hadn't even known existed, and embedded herself so deeply within me that I couldn't imagine a world without her. I didn't just want her-I needed her in a way that terrified me.
She was my light in the darkness, the reason I remembered there was more to life than blood and violence. Her laughter, her stubborn defiance, the way she looked at me like I was more than the monster I had become-it was maddening, and I craved it like a drowning man craved air.
"You're the entire world to me, tesoro mio." I had told her. "Without you in it, I'd find a way to take myself out of it. That's how much you mean to me."
She probably didn't believe me. She still didn't understand the power she holds over me even though it's clear as day… And I knew what that meant.
Cara was my weakness. She was the one thing in this world I couldn't bear to lose, and in my world, weakness was fatal. As the Don, I had built my power on being untouchable, unshakable. But with her, I was anything but. She made me vulnerable, and that vulnerability was a target painted on both of our backs.
I should have let her go the instant I knew just how obsessed I was becoming. God knew I had tried convincing myself to do it. Tried to tell myself it was for her safety, for mine. But the truth was, I couldn't. I wouldn't.
She was mine.
It was dangerous, I knew that. Loving her made me a fool in a world that punished fools, but I would rather face every enemy, every betrayal, and every bullet than let her slip away.
Cara wasn't just at the top of the things I couldn't live without-she was the list.
She was everything.
My hand moved to cup her cheek, my fingers brushing a stray strand of blonde hair away from her face. She was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. And she was mine.
A faint smile tugged at my lips, but it quickly faded, replaced by a cold, simmering rage as my thoughts darkened.
Diego.
That bastard had dared to touch her. To hurt her.
He was still alive, chained in the basement beneath my home. A small mercy, one that wouldn't last much longer. My men had already tried to get him to talk, to admit who he was working with, if there was even anyone or if this was an isolated event. But it didn't matter to me. Whether or not there was a grander scheme at play was irrelevant to me. Diego had made the gravest mistake of his miserable life. He had laid hands on my woman.
Carefully, I disentangled myself from Cara, making sure not to disturb her. She sighed softly in her sleep, and I paused for a moment, my hand cupping her face one more time before I pulled away completely.
I had work to do.
The corridors of my home were silent as I made my way downstairs, the soft hum of activity barely audible in the distance. The air grew colder as I descended into the basement, the familiar scent of damp stone and iron filling my nostrils. Novio and Paulo stood guard outside the heavy steel door, their postures rigid as I approached.
"Don Salvatore," one of them greeted, his voice low.
I inclined my head towards our little guest rotting inside and the soldiers nodded in response.
"He keeps insisting it was an isolated incident. We're inclined to believe him-"
Dark mirth creeped up my chest at the delightful thought of tearing him to pieces. "It doesn't matter. He's already signed his death warrant."
The men stepped aside, and I pushed the door open, the heavy creak echoing through the dimly lit room. Diego was upright, spread eagled on the metal contraption, his wrists and ankles bound with thick chains. Blood stained what was left of his ripped off shirt, garish bruises punctuated his entire body. He was mumbling hysterically under his breath, flinching every time cold water from the leaking faucet above him dropped on his freshly shaved scalp. His body hung limp like a man who knew his days were numbered.
But I wasn't done with him.
Not even close.
My soldiers had done well, making sure he stayed alive but leaving him broken enough to understand the gravity of his mistake.
The marks on his body-scars from the whip, bruises from fists, broken glass embedded in his roughly shaven scalp and dried blood streaking his face-were evidence of what he'd already endured. But this? This was my part to play.
I approached the table where an impressive collection of instruments were displayed and inspected my weapon of choice.
Roused by the noise, he raised his head slowly, his swollen eyes struggling to focus. When his gaze finally made out my identity, he sprang alive.
"Luca… brother is that you?"
"In the flesh," I answered, nonchalance conveying the exact opposite of what I felt for the motherfucker.
"I already told you– I told them everything I know. It's just a big misunderstanding! I have nothing to do with the bratva!" He scrambled, shaking wildly from where he was hanging on the chains. "Let me go! Please let me go."
Disdain curled like a writhing snake in my veins, shooting poison into my bloodstream. "You seem to be under the impression that you're in a position to make demands."
My gaze flicked to him from sharpening the blunt knives. "You're not."
"Then just finish me off." he begged. "I can't take this anymore!"
"You're still making demands, Torello."
The blubbering fool cried out something incomprehensible.
I didn't bother to hide my disdain as I dragged a chair closer, its legs screeching loudly against the floor. I sat down, resting my elbows on my knees, and stared at him like the insect he was.
"You see, I've been pissed for a while now." I said, my voice calm, almost conversational. "This war with the Russians is starting to really irritate me. They currently have bragging rights for getting my father killed and I'm pissed just thinking of those idiots celebrating this victory. You, my dear stepbrother, may have nothing to do with them, but you managed to catch my irritation at a very bad time."
Diego coughed, his lips twisting into a sneer despite the fear in his eyes. "Y- you're wasting so much of your time and energy on that girl. She'll leave. She'll-"
The words had barely left his mouth before my free hand struck him across the face with enough force to snap his head to the side. Blood dripped from his split lip, and he let out a groan, his voice filled with agony that made my blood come alive.
I leaned forward, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "What makes you think you can talk about her?" I said, each word measured and deliberate. "I want her gone from your mind, memory and consciousness." I shook my head slowly. "Cara doesn't exist to you anymore. Because now, all that's left for you is this."
I gestured to the cold, dark room around us, the tools laid out on a nearby table, each one shining under the dim light.
Fear seized his features, reality settling on his face.
"Have you heard of the Scandinavian Blood Eagle?" I asked, walking back toward the table. "It happens to be one of my favourite torture methods."
His reply was a heaving, strangled cry.
My fingers hovered over the instruments, brushing the edge of a blade, the sharp point of a scythe. My hand settled on a thin, wicked-looking knife. "Allow me to introduce you."
The hours that followed after my declaration were excruciating for Diego. Each scream, each groan was music to my ears.