Olivia pov The guard crumpled to the ground, groaning and clutching his throat, but there was no time to pause. The radio crackled again—Luciano’s voice cutting through the chaos like a lifeline. “Olivia, fall back to the perimeter! We need you holding the east wing.” The urgency in his tone sent a sharp jolt through my chest. Holding the east wing wasn’t just a position; it was the thin line between us and getting overrun. I swallowed hard, the adrenaline turning my mouth dry but my body wired. “No backing down,” I muttered, more to myself than anyone else. I sprinted toward the east wing, the sound of gunfire snapping like thunder all around me. Every step was a battle against the sting in my lungs, the weight of the vest, the sharp pulse in my head from the fight earlier. I rounded the corner and slid behind a stack of crates, heart hammering so loud I was sure it could be heard over the bullets. Then he appeared. A broad-shouldered man, his face a harsh map of scars, eyes
Matteo povThe air in my room was still, quiet, laced with the scent of imported Cuban cigars and polished leather. I was lounging on the velvet-lined couch, one leg thrown over the armrest, the glow of my phone screen casting a cold light across my features. Notifications were pouring in—deals confirmed, debts paid, territories secured. Everything was smooth. Until it wasn’t.The door slammed open without warning.Andrew didn’t knock. Bad sign.I didn’t look up immediately. My thumb continued scrolling, casual, uninterested. Because if I snapped at every little hiccup, I wouldn’t be Matteo Ricci, the man they whispered about in ten cities across three countries.“Boss,” Andrew panted, voice sharp with urgency, “the trucks—some of them—many of them—have been seized. Unknown security force. Armed. Military precision. Not police.”My hand froze mid-scroll.“Trucks?” I asked, calm, too calm. My tone always got lower when I was about to get violent. “Which trucks?”Andrew swallowed. “The
Olivia POV Later, back at the mansion, Luciano and I stood on the balcony, the city lights stretching out before us. “We did it,” I said, the reality slowly sinking in. “This is just the beginning,” he replied. “There’s still much to do.” I turned to him, our eyes meeting. “Then let’s do it together.” He nodded, a rare smile gracing his lips. “Together.” And in that moment, amidst the chaos and uncertainty, I felt a flicker of hope. We were no longer pawns in someone else’s game. We were the players now, and it was our move. The morning sun bled through the curtains like a spotlight I never asked for. My head pounded—not from alcohol or lack of sleep—but from the weight of what had just happened. We’d stood in front of the most dangerous men in the country and told them their empire was crumbling. And they didn’t shoot us. So... that’s progress, right? I rolled out of bed, ignoring the dull ache in my shoulders, and pulled on one of Luciano’s black button-downs—still ha
Olivia POV Home. If you could even call this fortified mansion with hidden weapons and security cameras tucked into every goddamn corner a home. I still called it that, though. Because he was here. I didn’t say it out loud. Not because it wasn’t true. But because the truth—especially that one—was sharp. And I was already bleeding from a hundred other places he couldn’t see. As soon as we walked in, I muttered something about needing a shower and disappeared down the hall. I didn’t wait for his reply. I couldn’t. I was holding myself together with gum and stubbornness, and one more glance at Luciano’s storm-dark eyes would’ve been the end of me. My hands were still shaking when I turned the faucet. Warm water hit my skin, tracing the ghost of every bruise, every scratch from last night’s disaster. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, letting the steam blur the edges of everything. The gun. The blood. The way he looked at me after I pulled the trigger. Like I wasn’t the s
Luciano pov She didn’t know it, but she wrecked me. Olivia stood in front of the target, holding that gun like it was something foreign—like she could reject this life by pretending it didn’t fit in her hands. But her grip was steady. Her breath was shallow. And when she finally pulled the trigger, there was no hesitation. Click. Empty. Still. “Again,” I said, loading the magazine this time and watching her flinch at the sound. “You need to be faster.” She turned to glare at me, strands of hair falling into her eyes. “You want to do this the morning after I was nearly killed?” “I want to do this because you were nearly killed.” She opened her mouth to argue, but closed it again. Smart girl. She was beginning to understand there were some wars you didn’t win with words. She took the stance again. I moved behind her, correcting the position of her arms, the angle of her shoulders. She stiffened under my touch. “I’m not going to hurt you,” I said, quietly, firmly. “That’s not
Olivia POV I saw the man who looked like he’d burn the world down if someone touched me. And that thought scared me more than the bullets. The car rolled to a stop outside the house—no, mansion—and I stepped out before Luciano could open the door for me. I didn’t want the gesture. I didn’t want his protective silence or that low-key storm brewing behind his eyes. I wanted distance. Space. Oxygen. But the moment I slammed the car door and stormed up the steps, he was behind me like a shadow that refused to stay in the dark. “Olivia,” he called, voice too calm for the chaos still clanging in my chest. I spun around. “What? What could you possibly say to make this okay? ‘Sorry about the gunfire, but hey, the cocktails were great’?” His mouth pressed into a thin line. “You need to calm down.” Wrong answer. “Calm down?” I laughed—sharp, wild. “Did you see that place? Blood on the walls, glass in my hair, a guy tried to stab me, Luciano. You think a few deep breaths are going to fi