SEVENTEEN

SEVENTEEN
LUCA

“You’re done,” I say flatly, grabbing him by the collar as I drag him out from the brush. He tries to yell, but I clap a hand over his mouth and haul him away from the hotel windows. We don’t stop until we’re swallowed by shadows, hidden from anyone who might be watching.

“I—I didn’t mean—” he stammers, but the words wither when he meets my eyes.

“I gave you a choice,” I say, voice like a blade. My fist stays tight around his shirt. “Walk away or get buried. Which part didn’t land?”

“It’s Briarwood,” he blurts, panic thick in his voice. “He needs that file decrypted. I swore I’d figure it out. If I go back empty, I’m dead.”

“No. You had a choice. You just wasted it. You think I’d just casually mention how to crack something like that? In passing?”

“He just wants the deal to go through. That’s all. Please—help me. I’m screwed if I go back like this.”

I reach into his jacket and pull out the pistol he thought I wouldn’t notice.

“What’s this for, then?” I ask quietly. “Were you planning to force it out of me?”

“No. God, no. It’s just for protection. That’s it.”

Then it clicks—so obvious, I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner.

“You were going to take her,” I say, the words thick with rage. “Hold her hostage. Use her against me.”

His eyes widen, and he chokes on the grip I tighten around his neck. He starts to turn red. “No—no, I swear—”

“I should’ve ended you the second I laid eyes on you,” I growl.

She’s the reason I didn’t. And that hesitation nearly cost her. Again.

“Please,” he gasps, voice breaking. “I won’t say anything. I swear on my life.”

That’s the problem—his life nearly took hers.

“You’re right. You won’t say a damn thing.”

I shove him hard. One brutal motion. He stumbles back—and goes over the cliff.

His scream barely rises above the crash of the waves before the ocean eats him whole. No trace. No sound. No guilt.

The sea doesn’t care what just happened. I stand there, staring down into its black heart, thinking maybe this is what I should’ve done to Emma’s father too. No warnings. No mercy. Just silence. My father’s rule: no second chances.

“Is everything okay?” Her voice comes from behind me, softer than I expect.

I turn. Emma’s standing there, arms crossed, a confused crease in her brow. “Did I do something?” she asks. “You just walked off in the middle of a sentence.”

“Why do you care so much about your dad?” I ask, more blunt than I mean to. “He abandoned you. Drowned himself in booze. Left you behind when you needed him most. Why would you care if he lives or dies?”

She looks at me like I’m a stranger.

“Because he’s broken,” she says simply. “Just like I was. Like you are. Like everyone. He fell apart after Mom died. But he’s still my father.”

She’s not angry—just tired. Like she’s had to explain this a hundred times before. Like she’ll keep explaining it for as long as it takes.

“He loved my mom. Losing her wrecked him. He’s not who he used to be—and really, who would be after something like that? Were you the same when your parents died?”

The memory punches through me before I can block it—the drinking, the isolation, the rage turned inward. I shake my head, silent.

“He’s messed up. He’s made bad choices,” she says, a bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. “But would you kill me if I did the same?”

That hits harder than she knows. I freeze. The idea of ever hurting her—not even a real threat, just a question—makes my chest clench.

“No,” I say, voice low but firm. “Never.”

“Then why should I abandon him?” she asks softly. Her eyes don’t waver—they just search mine, quietly asking me to understand. “That’s what scares me about falling for you. If something happened to you…I’d come apart.”

“I don’t plan on dying.”

“Yeah, well, we don’t always get to choose that. Trust me. My mom didn’t. It was slow and awful, watching her fade. She fought, but it broke something in all of us. My sister, Tessa, took it the worst. She was closest to her.”

Her eyes go distant, voice thickening with memory. “After Mom died, Tessa would take these long walks at night. Said it helped her think. One night, she didn’t come home.”

“What happened?”

“She was attacked. A man tried to shove her into a car. Told her he was taking her somewhere—said it was a brothel. His name was Russian. Michail something…”

I tense. “Say it again.”

“Michail Baranov. You know him?”

My fists clench. “Briarwood’s right hand. Greasy bastard’s got judges and cops in his pocket. That brothel I pulled you from? His idea. He’s the one who split Briarwood and my father down the middle. I’ve tried to take him out for years. But he’s always out in public, surrounded by protection. Never alone. What did he do to your sister?”

“She managed to get away before he could… before he did anything. But it went to trial. There was even surveillance footage. Didn’t matter. He walked.”

I exhale slowly, my jaw tight. “And your sister?”

“She hasn’t stepped outside since.”

“Can’t blame her,” I say quietly. “Something like that… breaks a person.”

“Yeah,” she whispers. “Losing someone—or almost losing them—rips you open. Every bit of love and grief just pours out, and nothing goes back the way it was. You felt that when your parents died, didn’t you?”

“I buried it. Everything. It was the only way I knew how to survive. Everything I’ve done since has been to make sure I never feel that powerless again.”

She nods, understanding deeper than words.

“And now,” I continue, “Briarwood wants that land. If he gets it, he’ll have enough leverage to turn this city into his own personal war zone. He’ll be untouchable. And I’ll lose the last shot I have at avenging my family.”

There’s a beat of silence before she speaks. “So is it revenge you’re after? Or justice?”

“To me, they’re the same.” I meet her gaze. “Power like his—unchecked, poisonous—it spreads. I’ve seen what it destroys. I won’t let that happen. If I come out of this with money, fine. But that’s not the goal. And if Briarwood dies? I won’t grieve for him.”

She steps toward me, closing the space between us. Her eyes don’t flicker. “Funny, isn’t it? We’re both so good at staying in control. Just not so great at letting go.”

Her quiet grin warms something cold in me. “Yeah,” I say. “Sounds about right.”

Her fingers slide into mine, her touch grounding me in the moment. I glance back at the hotel—no one can see us here.

My lips twitch into a smirk. “You remember the safe word?”

She smiles. “Red.”

“Good girl,” I murmur, voice dipping with dark promise. “Now… on your hands and knees.”