Chapter 4 - Blood in the Water
"Drop the piece, Moretti," Marcus Veretti sneered, stepping forward into the sickly yellow beam of an overhead maintenance light. "You're a long way from the Gold Coast, and nobody is coming to fish you out of this drain."
Luca didn't flinch. His stance was wide, balanced, and utterly lethal. Every muscle in his body coiled like a spring. "Marcus. I hear your uncle’s health has been failing. Perhaps I should send flowers to the funeral before or after I put you in the ground?"
"Save the tough-guy routine," Marcus spat, his finger twitching nervously against the trigger of his submachine gun. "Hand over the girl and the ledger, and maybe—just maybe—I’ll let you crawl back to your penthouse with your skin intact."
Elena clutched the black ledger tighter against her tactical vest, her mind racing. She knew Luca was outmatched. Even for a man with his reputation, three armed men in close quarters with automatic fire superiority meant fatal odds.
"Don't do it," Elena whispered fiercely behind Luca's shoulder. "Take the ledger and run."
"I don't run, Elena," Luca replied in a voice so cold it sent a shiver through the damp air. "Not when someone is threatening what's mine."
The word mine echoed off the concrete walls, settling into Elena’s chest with terrifying permanence.
"Last chance!" Marcus barked, raising his weapon higher. "Shoot Moretti in the legs, boys. Let's see how fast the great king of Chicago crawls."
Before the Veretti thugs could pull their triggers, Luca moved.
It wasn't a tactical retreat; it was an explosive assault. With blinding speed, Luca fired two suppressed rounds into the overhead electrical junction box. A shower of sparks exploded into the tunnel, plunging the corridor into pitch blackness save for the strobe-like flash of severed wiring.
Shouts of panic echoed down the brick walls. Automatic gunfire erupted, chewing chunks out of the concrete ceiling and sending ricochets whining through the dark like angry hornets.
"Down!" Luca roared, grabbing Elena by the tactical vest and physically shoving her behind a thick concrete support pillar as a wall of lead tore through the space they had occupied a second earlier.
Elena huddled on the wet floor, her hands clamped over her ears as the deafening roar of gunfire shook the foundation of the boathouse above.
A muffled groan echoed from the darkness, followed by the wet thud of a heavy body hitting the concrete. Flashlight beams cut wildly through the smoke and haze.
"Moretti!" Marcus screamed, his voice cracking with sudden panic. "You think you won? My men are sealing the exits right now! The whole lakefront is locked down!"
"Tell your uncle I said hello," Luca’s voice barked from the shadows across the corridor.
Crack. Crack.
Two precise, synchronized shots silenced the shouting instantly.
Silence descended upon the drainage tunnel, broken only by the steady rush of rainwater and the heavy, ragged breathing of the two people hiding behind the concrete pillar.
A moment later, a pair of heavy tactical boots stepped into Elena’s field of vision.
"Elena," Luca’s voice called out, steady, calm, and utterly unshakeable. "It's over. Come out."
She scrambled out from behind the pillar, her legs shaking so hard she nearly stumbled. Luca stood waiting for her, his weapon re-holstered, his coat speckled with soot and water. He didn't look like a wounded man; he looked like a god of war who had just reclaimed his domain.
When she reached him, Luca didn't care about the blood, the smoke, or the dead men twenty feet away. He dropped to one knee, pulled her into his arms, and buried his face in her neck, holding her so tightly she could feel the violent, racing thrum of his heart against her ribs.
"You're shaking," he murmured against her skin.
May you like
"I'm alive," she whispered back, gripping his shoulders. "Because of you."
"Always," Luca swore fiercely, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes. "Now let's get this book home. The real war is just beginning."
