Chapter 4 The blood debt

I didn't sleep after the kiss.

Not because of fear, but because of fire.

Luciano's mouth had been rough-angry, even-but there was no mistaking the hunger. A man like him didn't lose control easily.

Which meant, for just one second, he had.

But then morning came. And with it, the usual silence.

I found him in the west hall, flanked by two men in suits, murmuring something too low to hear. The moment our eyes met, he dismissed them both.

"Aurora," he said, voice unreadable.

"Luciano," I mirrored, matching his coldness.

He didn't acknowledge the kiss. Didn't bring it up.

But when I moved past him, his hand brushed mine.

A ghost of a touch.

And I hated how it lingered longer than it should.

She wanted to pretend it meant nothing.

Good.

So did I.

But I wasn't built for softness. Not anymore. And Aurora-the more she got under my skin, the more I feared what would happen when I broke.

I poured myself into work instead.

The Scarlattis weren't acting alone.

Someone had given them the gate code.

And that someone was still inside this house.

Later That Day

A gunshot cracked through the estate like thunder.

One second of silence.

Then chaos.

I ran. So did my men.

And in the marble foyer, we found him.

Dead.

Tony Russo. One of ours.

Loyal since before I could walk.

Face down. Blood pooling beneath him.

And beside him... a phone.

Unlocked.

A message still glowing.

"The girl is the weak link. Take her, and he'll follow."

My blood turned to ice.

They were coming for her.

Again.

And this time, they wouldn't leave a rose.

Luciano stormed into the room like a hurricane.

His eyes-wild. Dangerous.

He grabbed my wrist and yanked me close.

"What did you do?" he barked.

"What-"

He shoved the phone in my hand.

The message.

The blood.

The corpse.

I recoiled. "You think I had something to do with that?"

"You're the only new variable."

"You're unbelievable."

"And you're too blind to see you're a target."

I pulled free. "Then teach me. Or kill me. But stop throwing blame like I'm some pawn in your sick world."

His jaw clenched.

He was seconds from snapping-

Then he stepped closer.

His voice dropped.

"I don't want to lose you."

The words hung heavy between us.

"I never asked you to want anything," I whispered.

But even I didn't believe myself anymore.

She didn't flinch when I accused her.

Didn't even cry when she saw the body.

She was stronger than I'd thought.

But I also saw it-the flicker of pain.

The loneliness.

The fear she wouldn't admit to.

It twisted something inside me.

And for the first time in years, I wanted to protect someone for more than just strategy.

I wanted to protect her... because she was her.

Flashback - 7 Years Ago

Luciano, age 19

The first time I saw a man die was in this house.

My father had slit his throat for betrayal. Told me to look into his eyes as he bled out.

"He died because he was weak," my father said. "And weakness gets us all killed."

I'd nodded.

But I hadn't agreed.

Weakness wasn't love.

Weakness was indifference.

The kind that watched people die without blinking.

The kind I saw in my father every day.

And I swore then-I'd never be like him.

So why was I starting to see his reflection in my own eyes?

That night, I snuck out of my room.

Not because I wanted to run.

Because I couldn't sleep without facing the ghosts.

I ended up in the weapon room again. Grabbing a gun this time.

I'd never fired one before.

Luciano found me there-silent as a shadow.

"You planning to shoot me or someone else?" he asked dryly.

I looked at him.

"I want you to show me how to survive."

He watched me for a long second.

Then finally, he stepped forward.

Took the gun from my hands.

And lifted it-placing it between us.

His voice was low.

"You aim here-" he guided my fingers, "-but you kill from here."

He tapped my chest.

"The heart. That's where the shot comes from."

Luciano

She shot three times.

Hit the target twice.

Not bad for a first try.

But what struck me wasn't her aim.

It was her calm.

The way she held the gun like she'd done it in a past life.

She wasn't just willing to fight.

She was born for it.

And it terrified me.

Because I didn't want her to become like me.

That Same Night - Hours Later

A call came through.

Blocked number.

Distorted voice.

"You're slipping, Luciano," it rasped. "Your father would be disappointed."

I froze.

The phone went cold in my hand.

My father was dead.

Had been for years.

But only one man used that line.

A ghost.

My brother.

Marco.

And if he was back

Then everything was about to burn.