Chapter 11: Retaliation Hit

 Chapter 11: Retaliation Hit (Luca’s POV)

The rain started as we rolled out of the warehouse hard sheets slamming the SUV roof like gunfire. Enzo drove, I rode shotgun, Alessio in the back with two of my best men. No one spoke. The plan was simple: hit one of the Irish crew’s stash houses in Queens. In and out. Message sent. No survivors to talk.

Alessio hadn’t said a word since the warehouse. He sat quietly, staring out the window, fingers drumming on his knee. I kept glancing back in the rearview. His face was calm too calm. Like he’d already decided something.

“You sure about this?” I asked low, when the others were focused on the road.

He met my eyes in the mirror. “You asked if I was in it. I said yes.”

“This isn’t painting or club openings. It’s blood.”

“I know.” His voice was steady. “I’ve seen blood before. Just not… yours.”

The words landed heavier than I expected.

We parked two blocks away, hoods up against the rain. The target was a rundown auto shop front looked legit, back was where they stored guns and product. Four Irish inside, maybe five. We had surprise.

I signaled the team. We moved silent, splitting at the alley. Enzo and one guy took the rear door. I led the front with Alessio behind me close, like I’d ordered.

“Stay low,” I whispered. “No heroics.”

He nodded, but his hand brushed my back brief, reassuring.

We breached quiet. The front office was empty. Voices drifted from the garage laughing, Irish accents thick. I raised my hand: hold.

Then chaos.

A shout—someone spotted Enzo’s team at the back. Gunfire erupted.

I moved on instinct kicked the inner door open, pistol up. Two guys spun toward me. I dropped the first with a double tap to the chest. The second got a round in the shoulder before he could fire.

Alessio was right behind me gun in hand (the one I’d given him weeks ago, the one he’d practiced with). He didn’t hesitate. When a third guy came from the side, Alessio fired clean shot to the leg, dropping him without killing.

I glanced at him impressed, pissed, proud all at once.

The fight ended fast. Five bodies down. Enzo’s team cleared the back. We grabbed the product crates of guns and cash as proof.

As we exfilled, sirens wailed in the distance.

Back in the SUV, adrenaline still buzzing, I turned to Alessio. Rain streaked the windows, blurring the city lights.

“You shot him,” I said.

“In the leg,” he replied. “Non-lethal. He’ll live to tell the story.”

I studied him. No shake in his hands. No panic in his eyes. Just… resolve.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.” He leaned closer, voice dropping. “I’m not just your husband on paper anymore. I’m in this with you.”

Something cracked in my chest hard, painful, good.

I reached back, cupping his jaw. “You did good tonight.”

Alessio’s breath hitched. His eyes fluttered. “Say it again.”

“You did good,” I repeated, thumb stroking his cheek. “So fucking good for me.”

He shivered l visibly leaning into my touch like it was oxygen.

Enzo cleared his throat from the driver’s seat. “We’re clear. Heading home.”

I didn’t let go of Alessio’s face.

Back at the penthouse, the door barely closed before I had him against it kissing him like I was starving. Rain-soaked clothes hit the floor. My hands everywhere. His moans muffled against my mouth.

We didn’t make it to the bedroom.

On the living room rug, under the city lights, I took him apart slowly praise on every kiss, every touch.

“You’re perfect,” I whispered against his throat. “So strong. So mine.”

Alessio arched, gasping my name like a prayer.

Tonight, the war outside felt far away.

But I knew it wasn’t.

It was just beginning.