Chapter 26 The Breaking Point

Chapter 26 The Breaking Point

Lorenzo's POV

I woke to the sound of Marcella's breathing, soft and even against my chest.

Sometime during the night, she'd shifted completely on top of me. Her head rested in the curve of my neck, one leg thrown over my thighs, her hand splayed across my heart.

She fit against me perfectly. Like she was made for this. For me.

I stayed still, not wanting to wake her. Not wanting to break whatever spell had allowed her to surrender like this in sleep.

The morning light filtered through the gauzy curtains, painting her skin gold. She looked younger like this. Peaceful. Not the woman who'd tried to destroy me, but the girl she must have been before grief and rage consumed her.

My hand moved of its own accord, stroking down her spine. She made a soft sound and pressed closer, her lips brushing my collarbone.

Cristo. I was hard as stone, had been since the moment she'd climbed into bed last night. Feeling her soft body against mine, knowing I couldn't have her yet, was its own special torture.

But I'd meant what I said. When I finally had her, it would be because she was desperate for it. Because she chose me, not because she felt trapped or obligated.

She stirred, her eyes fluttering open.

For a moment, she looked confused. Then awareness hit, and she realized where she was. How she was draped across me like she belonged there.

She started to pull away.

My arms tightened, holding her in place. "Don't."

"Lorenzo, I..."

"You slept well."

It wasn't a question. I'd felt the moment she'd finally relaxed, somewhere around three in the morning. Felt her body go soft and trusting against mine.

"Yes," she admitted quietly.

"Good." I pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Today you talk to Claudia. Find out where Giovanni is."

She nodded against my chest, not moving away yet.

"And Marcella? Be careful. If she's as scared as she seemed last night, she might do something stupid."

"Like what?"

"Like spill everything she knows about Giovanni."

\---

I spent the morning with the vineyard manager, playing the role of interested investor. Asking questions about harvest yields and profit margins. All while watching Marcella through the window as she and Claudia sat on the terrace, sharing coffee and pastries.

From here, they looked like friends. Two women laughing, talking, completely at ease.

But I knew better. I knew Marcella was working, extracting information with the same precision she'd used to plan my downfall.

The thought should have made me angry. Instead, it made me proud.

She was good at this. At reading people, at making them trust her. It was a gift, and one day soon, she'd use it for us, not against me, but alongside me.

If we survived the next few days.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Vito.

Movement near the perimeter. Two vehicles. Could be nothing.

I texted back: Stay hidden. Watch them. If they approach the villa, notify me immediately.

I looked back at the terrace. Marcella was leaning forward, her hand on Claudia's arm. Comforting her about something.

Then Claudia pulled out her phone and showed Marcella something on the screen.

Marcella's face went very still.

Whatever she was seeing, it was important.

\---

An hour later, Marcella found me in the wine cellar, where the manager was showing me the aging process.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice perfectly polite. "Darling, could I steal you for a moment?"

The manager smiled knowingly and waved us off.

As soon as we were alone, Marcella grabbed my arm. "Morocco. He's in Morocco."

"You're certain?"

"Claudia showed me messages. He's been sending her photos of the beaches, the markets. He wants her to join him next week." Her eyes were bright with fury. "He thinks he's safe there."

"Did she say where exactly?"

"Marrakech. A private villa in the old city. She has the address."

Pride and desire warred in my chest. "Did she give it to you?"

"Not yet. But she will. She's tired, Lorenzo. Tired of being afraid, of being alone while he hides." Marcella's jaw clenched. "She still loves him. But she's ready to betray him."

"Good. Get the address. We leave tonight."

A crash from above made us both freeze.

Then shouting. Gunfire.

"Cristo," I hissed, pulling my gun from the holster at my back. "Stay behind me."

"Like hell."

"Marcella"

"We're partners, remember? I'm not hiding while you walk into whatever's up there."

There was no time to argue.

We moved up the stairs together, my body shielding hers as much as possible.

The main floor was chaos.

Three men in black, carrying semi-automatic weapons. The other guests huddled in corners, terrified. Claudia was on the ground, blood on her face.

And standing over her, holding a gun to her head, was a man I recognized from Giovanni's file.

Marco. One of Cesare's soldiers.

"Well," Marco said, his eyes finding mine. "Lorenzo De Luca. Giovanni said you might show up here eventually."

"Let her go. She has nothing to do with this."

"She has everything to do with this. She's his whore. And you're here because of him." Marco's smile was cruel. "He's going to be so pleased when I bring him your head."

I felt Marcella tense beside me.

"Run," I told her quietly.

"No."

"Marcella"

Marco's gun shifted from Claudia to Marcella. "Ah, and you brought your little bride. The one who tried to frame you. Giovanni told us all about her."

"She's not part of this," I said, my voice hard.

"Isn't she? She's the whole reason we're here. The weapon Giovanni spent months preparing." Marco's eyes gleamed. "Too bad she failed. But maybe we can still use her. Cesare would love to meet the girl who almost brought down the great Lorenzo De Luca."

Everything happened at once.

Claudia lunged for Marco's legs, screaming.

I fired, hitting one of the other men in the chest.

Marcella moved before I could stop her, running not away but toward the kitchen.

"Marcella!" I roared.

The remaining man fired at me. I dove behind the heavy wooden table, returning fire. The villa erupted in violence bullets splintering wood, glass shattering, guests screaming.

I took down the second man, then turned my gun on Marco.

But he was already moving, dragging Claudia with him toward the back door.

I started after them, but movement in my peripheral vision made me spin.

The first man I'd shot wasn't dead. He was raising his weapon, aiming at my back.

A blur of motion, and then Marcella was there.

She had a knife, the small, wicked blade she'd carried at our wedding, and she drove it into the man's throat without hesitation.

Blood sprayed across her white blouse. The man fell, choking, dying.

She stood over him, shaking, the bloody knife still in her hand.

"Marcella," I said quietly.

She looked at me, her eyes wild.

Outside, an engine roared to life. Marco was getting away.

"Vito!" I shouted into my phone. "Two in the black sedan. Stop them!"

Gunfire erupted outside. Vito was engaging.

I grabbed Marcella's wrist, pulling her toward the door. "We need to move. Now."

We ran through the villa and out into the vineyard. Vito had Marco's car pinned behind one of the SUVs, but Marco was shooting back, using Claudia as a shield.

"I can't get a clean shot," Vito called.

I raised my weapon, trying to find an angle.

Marco saw me and smiled. Then he shoved Claudia out of the car and hit the gas, ramming through Vito's vehicle and speeding down the dirt road.

Vito fired after him, but the car disappeared in a cloud of dust.

"Fuck," I snarled.

Claudia was on the ground, sobbing. Marcella ran to her, kneeling beside her.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"He knew," Claudia gasped. "He knew you were coming. He sent them to kill you."

"How did he know?"

"I don't know. I swear I didn't tell him. I wouldn't" She broke down, shaking violently.

I scanned the perimeter, my gun still raised. "Vito. Sweep the area. Make sure there aren't more."

"On it."

I walked back to where Marcella knelt beside Claudia. Blood was splattered across Marcella's face, her hands, her clothes. She looked like a woman who'd walked through hell.

She'd just killed a man.

And from the look in her eyes, she was barely holding it together.

"Inside," I said quietly. "Now. Both of you."

\---

Back in our room, Marcella stood in the middle of the floor, staring at her bloody hands.

She was shaking. Small tremors started in her fingers and radiated outward.

I locked the door and moved toward her.

"Marcella."

She didn't respond.

I reached out and took the knife from her hand, setting it aside. Then I cupped her face, forcing her to look at me.

"You did what you had to do."

"I killed him." Her voice was hollow. "I killed him and I didn't even think about it. I just... moved."

"You saved my life."

"I've never" Her breathing was coming faster now, panic setting in. "There was so much blood. And his eyes"

"Look at me." I held her face firmly. "Breathe. In and out. You're safe."

"I'm not safe. None of us is. Giovanni knew. Somehow he knew"

"We'll figure out how. But right now, you need to breathe."

She was spiraling, shock and adrenaline crashing through her system.

I did the only thing I could think of.

I kissed her.

Hard and demanding, my mouth claiming hers with bruising force. She made a sound of surprise, maybe protest, but then she was kissing me back with desperate hunger.

Her bloody hands fisted in my shirt, pulling me closer. She was shaking still, but now for a different reason.

I backed her toward the wall, my body pinning hers. She gasped against my mouth, and I swallowed the sound.

"Lorenzo," she breathed when I moved to her throat, kissing, biting, marking her.

"I'm here. I've got you."

My hands found the hem of her bloody blouse and pulled it over her head. She stood before me in just her bra and jeans, pale and trembling.

"You're alive," I told her, my hands framing her face. "You're here. You're with me."

She nodded, her eyes locked on mine.

I kissed her again, slower this time. Gentler. Trying to ground her in the moment, in me.

Her hands slid up my chest, around my neck. She pressed closer, and I felt the exact moment the fear transformed into need.

"Lorenzo," she whispered. "Please."

"Please what?"

"Make me forget. Make me feel something other than this."

I wanted to. Cristo, I wanted to strip her bare and take her right here against the wall, erase the horror of the last hour with pleasure so intense she couldn't think.

But I couldn't.

Not like this. Not when she was running from something instead of running toward me.

I pressed my forehead against hers, breathing hard. "No."

"What?"

"Not like this, Marcella. Not when you're trying to escape what just happened."

"I'm not"

"You are." I kissed her softly. "And I understand. But when I finally have you, it's going to be because you want me. Not because you're afraid or in shock or trying to forget."

Tears spilled down her cheeks. "I hate you."

"I know." I wiped her tears with my thumbs. "But you need me anyway."

I pulled her against my chest, holding her while she cried. While the shock and fear and adrenaline finally broke through her walls.

She sobbed against me, her hands clutching my shirt like I was the only solid thing in a collapsing world.

And maybe I was.

"I've got you," I murmured into her hair. "I'm not letting go."

She cried for a long time. When she finally quieted, exhausted, I carried her to the bed.

"Sleep," I ordered. "We leave in two hours."

"Where are we going?"

"Home. Where I can protect you properly." I lay down beside her, pulling her into my arms. "And then we're going to Morocco."

"To kill Giovanni."

"Yes."

She was quiet for a moment. Then: "Thank you. For stopping me just now. I would have hated myself after."

"I know." I kissed her forehead. "Sleep, amore. I'll keep watch."

She drifted off in minutes, exhausted by violence and grief.

I held her and stared at the ceiling, my mind racing.

Giovanni had known we were coming. Which meant someone had warned him.

Someone close.

And I was going to find out who.