Chapter 27 " Haunt"
Luca carried her through the villa doors as if she were the most fragile treasure in his empire, her body pressed against his chest like a second skin, her breath warm and shallow against his neck.
The marble foyer echoed with the hurried footsteps of servants who scattered at the sight of their boss shirt torn, hands bloodied, eyes wild with a fury that could level cities.
Viktor waited in the shadows, face ashen, heart thundering with the certainty that today would be the day his boss ended him.
The doctor stood ready, bag in hand, expression calm but eyes wary.
Luca didn’t stop.
He climbed the grand staircase two steps at a time, Elena cradled close, her fingers twisted in his shirt as though letting go would mean falling again.
In their bedroom, he laid her on the silk sheets with infinite care, the mattress dipping softly under her weight.
The doctor approached, voice gentle.
“Sir, I’ll need space to bandage the cuts and check for internal injuries.”
Luca’s eyes flashed like storm clouds.
“I’m not leaving,” he growled, voice raw, sitting on the bed’s edge and pulling Elena into his lap.
“I let her out of my sight once. Look what happened.”
He took her hand, lacing their fingers, knuckles white.
“You check her right here. In front of me.”
Elena squeezed his hand weakly, trying to soothe.
“I’m alright…”
He glared at her love and anger tangled so tightly it hurt to look at.
“Quiet.”
The doctor worked in silence cleaning deep gashes along her arms and ribs, the sting making her hiss; setting the fractures in her forearm and ankle with careful precision.
Bruises bloomed purple across her pale skin, cuts sealed with stitches that looked too harsh against her softness.
No internal bleeding.
Painkillers administered.
Instructions given in a low murmur.
When the doctor left, the room fell into heavy quiet, broken only by the distant crash of waves against the cliffs.
Six hours passed
.
Luca never left her side.
He fed her soup spoon by spoon, blowing on each bite until it cooled, watching her swallow like it was the only thing keeping him sane.
He held the glass of water to her lips, wiped her mouth with his thumb.
Changed the ice packs on her ankle, adjusted pillows behind her back, brushed damp hair from her forehead with fingers that trembled only when he thought she wasn’t looking.
Every task was done with the devotion of a man who had almost lost his entire world.
Elena watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, heart aching more than her injuries.
His knuckles were split and crusted, fresh from the search, from rage, from carrying her through thorns.
He hadn’t treated them once.
“You always work so hard for me,” she whispered, voice thick with tears and wonder.
“Don’t you ever get tired?”
Luca paused, setting the empty bowl aside.
He looked at her really looked eyes raw, exhausted, endlessly in love.
“Tired of what?” he asked, voice rough with emotion, leaning close.
“Making love to you? Loving you? Caring for you? Trusting you? Protecting you? Listening to you? Fulfilling every single dream and wish you’ve ever had?”
He hugged her gently, careful of every bandage, every bruise, his arms a fortress around her fragile frame.
“Sweetheart, I could never get tired of those things. They’re the only reason I breathe.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks, hot and grateful.
He wiped them away with his thumb, the same thumb that had pulled triggers and broken bones for her safety.
“But let your brain rest,” he added, voice turning stern, though his eyes stayed soft.
“Don’t talk unnecessarily. I’m angry at you for not taking care of yourself.”
Elena bit her lip, then spoke softly, voice trembling.
“Luca… please don’t punish Viktor. I sent him to get water. In that moment… Natasha pushed me. Thank God I caught a branch on the way down, or I’d be…”
She swallowed hard.
“Dead.”
Luca went still.
The temperature in the room dropped.
“She pushed you,” he repeated, each word carved from ice.
“And you didn’t think to tell me until now?”
Elena flinched, shrinking slightly into the pillows.
He saw it cupped her cheek instantly, thumb stroking gently.
“I’m not angry at you,” he said, voice breaking with the weight of it.
“I’m angry at the world for daring to touch you. For making you fall.”
He kissed her forehead, lingering, breathing her in like she was his only oxygen.
“Sleep, butterfly,” he whispered.
“Tomorrow, we hunt.”
She nodded, eyes fluttering shut, safe in the circle of his arms.
Luca stayed awake.
Watching.
Planning.
Natasha Volkov had signed her death warrant.
And the Romeo Empire never forgave.
Soft morning light filtered through the half-drawn curtains, painting the room in gentle gold and rose.
Elena stirred slowly, the ache in her bandaged arm and ankle pulling her from sleep like a dull reminder of yesterday’s terror.
But the pain felt distant, wrapped in the warmth of Luca’s arms.
She opened her eyes and found him already watching her propped on one elbow, dark hair tousled, scar softened in the dawn.
His eyes, usually storm-gray and fierce, were tender now, tracing her face as if memorising every breath.
“Baby, you woke up,” he murmured, voice low and rough with sleeplessness, a small, relieved smile curving his lips.
“Good morning,” she whispered back, reaching up to touch his cheek.
“Haven’t you slept the whole night?”
Luca shook his head, thumb brushing her lower lip.
“I couldn’t. How could I sleep knowing my wife was in pain?”
His voice cracked slightly.
“You tossed and turned… every time you winced, it felt like a knife in me.”
Elena’s heart swelled, eyes glistening.
She smiled soft, radiant, full of quiet wonder and crooked her finger.
“Come here.”
He bent down immediately, obedient in a way only she ever saw.
She pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, lingering, breathing him in.
“I am in peace,” she whispered against his skin.
“As long as I’m in your arms.”
Luca closed his eyes, exhaling like a man who’d been holding his breath for days.
He kissed her forehead in return slow, reverent then her eyelids, the tip of her nose, finally her lips, soft and lingering.
A small blush warmed her cheeks.
“I… need the bathroom,” she said, voice shy.
Without a word, Luca slid from the bed, scooped her into his arms as if she weighed nothing, careful of every bandage and bruise.
He carried her across the cool marble, into the sunlit bathroom, setting her down gently on the edge of the vanity.
His hands lingered on her waist, steadying her, eyes never leaving hers.
“I’ve got you,” he said simply.
Elena looked up at him, tears of gratitude pricking again.
“I know,” she whispered.
And in that moment, with the morning light wrapping them both,the world outside could wait.
The bedroom was bathed in the soft, forgiving light of a new day, the sea beyond the balcony sparkling like scattered diamonds under the rising sun.
Elena lay propped against a mountain of pillows, bandaged arm resting carefully on a cushion, her ankle elevated and wrapped.
The painkillers had dulled the sharp edges of her injuries, leaving only a heavy ache that reminded her she was alive.
Luca sat beside her on the bed’s edge, freshly showered, wearing loose black sweatpants that hung low on his hips, hair still damp and curling at the ends.
His knuckles were cleaned now, but the splits remained silent evidence of the night he’d spent searching hell for her.
He leaned in, brushing a gentle kiss to her temple, eyes soft with the kind of love that could burn empires.
“I have a surprise for you,” he murmured, voice low and velvet-rough, a dangerous smile playing on his lips.
Elena’s eyes widened, curiosity cutting through the fog of medication.
“A surprise?”
She tilted her head, searching his face.
The smile didn’t reach his eyes there was something darker there, something lethal.
“Today,” he said, tracing a finger along her jaw, “someone is going to hell.”
The words hung in the air like smoke.
To be continued