Chapter 6 – A Deal with the Devil

The room smelled like power.

That particular mix of whiskey, gunmetal, and smoke that always clung to war plans. The map stretched across the table looked more like a body we were about to dissect.

Luca stood at the head, sleeves rolled up, his quiet authority filling the space. Sofia lounged beside him with a cigarette dangling from her lips, her eyes sharp, amused, like she was already picturing Dante bleeding.

And me? I was trying not to think about how much of my soul I was about to trade for revenge.

Luca’s voice cut through the low hum of conversation. “We move on the North docks first. Matteo Rinaldi has debts with half the city. You can use that.”

“Already planned to,” I said, tracing my finger along the map. “He’s desperate. Desperate men are predictable.”

Sofia smirked. “Predictable men are easy to break.”

“Good,” I replied, glancing up. “Because I’m done playing gentle.”

Luca’s eyes flicked toward me. For a second, something unreadable passed between us. Admiration, maybe. Or warning. I couldn’t tell anymore.

He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the table. “Amara, this move—it’s not just business. Once we hit his docks, Dante will know this isn’t coincidence. He’ll know it’s you.”

I met his gaze, steady. “Good.”

“Good?”

“He’s been sleeping peacefully for five years,” I said. “It’s time he learns nightmares don’t stay buried.”

Sofia laughed softly, the kind of laugh that made men nervous. “I love it when you talk like that.”

Luca didn’t laugh. He watched me like he was measuring the edge of my resolve. “Just remember—once you start this, there’s no going back.”

“There’s nothing left to go back to,” I said simply.

The room went quiet.

Even the fire crackling in the corner seemed to pause.

---

An hour later, I stood on the balcony outside the strategy room, letting the cold air hit my skin. The night smelled like rain and iron. Below, Luca’s men loaded vehicles with crates and weapons, their voices low, their movements efficient.

Sofia joined me, blowing smoke into the dark. “You’re quiet,” she said.

“Just thinking.”

“Dangerous habit.”

“Necessary one.”

She studied me for a long moment. “You really want him to know it’s you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

I looked out at the horizon, where the city lights blurred into gold and shadow. “Because he made me invisible once. I want him to see me now. I want him to choke on it.”

Sofia’s grin was small but approving. “Then make him.”

“I will.”

The door behind us opened. I didn’t have to turn to know it was Luca. His presence carried weight, calm and cold.

“Amara,” he said. “A word.”

Sofia stubbed out her cigarette and winked. “Play nice, kids.” Then she disappeared inside.

Luca walked to the railing, close enough that his shoulder almost brushed mine. “The men are ready. We move at dawn.”

“Good.”

He was quiet for a beat before speaking again. “You’ve changed.”

I turned to him, arching a brow. “Is that a compliment or a warning?”

“Both.”

My lips twitched. “Careful, Luca. You almost sound like you care.”

He met my eyes. “I do.”

For a second, I forgot how to breathe. There was nothing romantic in his tone—it wasn’t softness. It was something deeper, heavier. The kind of care that came from respect and shared ruin.

“Don’t,” I said quietly. “Don’t start caring. You’ll only get burned.”

He looked out toward the dark skyline. “Maybe I like the fire.”

Before I could answer, a voice crackled through his radio. “Boss, we’ve got movement near the South gate.”

Luca’s entire body stilled. “Define movement.”

“Two cars. No markings. No ID. They’re watching the property.”

My pulse spiked. “Dante’s men?”

He didn’t answer right away. “Could be. Or someone testing our security. Either way, they’re about to regret it.”

He started toward the door, but I grabbed his arm. “Let me come.”

He shook his head. “You stay here.”

“Luca—”

“No.” His voice softened. “You’re the storm, Amara. But even storms need to wait for the right strike.”

His hand brushed mine before he turned and disappeared into the hall.

I stood there, heart racing, the night swallowing the last of his words.

---

I couldn’t stay still.

Minutes crawled by like hours. My mind spun with possibilities, each one darker than the last. If Dante had already found me—if he’d already found Alessio—then everything I’d built was about to collapse.

I slipped back inside, heading down the stairs toward the command room. Sofia was already there, watching the surveillance feed. The screens flickered with images of the outer perimeter—trees, shadows, headlights.

“Report?” I asked.

She didn’t look up. “Two black sedans. Been parked for fifteen minutes. Not moving, not leaving. Luca’s men are on it.”

“Could be scouts.”

“Could be suicide.”

I stepped closer to the screens, narrowing my eyes. The cars were tinted, silent, almost too still. A memory hit me then—the night Dante’s men followed me before Luca found me. That same stillness. That same suffocating patience.

“He’s watching,” I murmured.

Sofia glanced at me. “You really think he’d come himself?”

“No,” I said. “He doesn’t need to. He just needs me to feel it.”

A voice came through the radio again, tense this time. “We’ve got one moving, boss. Someone’s getting out.”

Sofia straightened. I felt my breath catch. The figure stepped out of the first car—tall, broad, face hidden beneath a hood.

“Zoom in,” I said.

The guard obeyed. The camera focused on the man’s face just as he lifted his head toward the lens.

And for a heartbeat, everything inside me stopped.

It wasn’t Dante.

It was Marco.

My stomach dropped.

Sofia frowned. “Who the hell is that?”

“His right hand,” I whispered. “The man who drove me home the night Dante threw me away.”

“Lovely reunion, then,” she said dryly.

But my mind was spinning. Marco wouldn’t be here unless Dante sent him. Which meant Dante already knew where I was.

Sofia turned to the men. “Tell Luca he’s not coming alone. The other car—who’s in it?”

The guard hesitated. “We can’t get a visual. But the second car hasn’t moved. It’s just sitting there.”

My heart pounded harder. “He’s here,” I breathed.

Sofia looked at me sharply. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.” My hands clenched. “That’s how he operates. He watches before he moves. He always did.”

The radio crackled again—gunfire in the distance, shouting.

Sofia grabbed her weapon. “Stay here.”

“Not a chance.”

“Amara—”

I was already moving.

---

The night outside bit through my skin, sharp and cold. The air smelled like gasoline and danger. I ran across the courtyard, ignoring Sofia’s curses behind me, my heart slamming against my ribs.

The headlights from the black sedans cut through the dark. Luca’s men had already surrounded them, guns raised. Marco stood with his hands lifted halfway, calm as ever.

Luca was there too, gun in hand, his expression carved from stone. He didn’t flinch when I approached, but his jaw tightened. “I told you to stay inside.”

“I don’t take orders,” I said. “Not anymore.”

Marco’s gaze flicked toward me. A faint, almost sad smile curved his mouth. “You shouldn’t have come out here, Miss Russo.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He nodded slightly. “Then what should I call you? Mrs. Romano?”

Luca’s gun lifted a fraction. “Watch your mouth.”

Marco didn’t move. His voice was calm, steady. “I’m not here to start a war. My boss sent me with a message.”

I laughed once, cold and sharp. “A message from the man who threw me away? How poetic.”

Marco’s gaze didn’t waver. “He didn’t know about the boy.”

My blood turned to ice.

“Careful,” Luca warned.

Marco ignored him. “He knows now.”

The world tilted. “What did you just say?”

Marco looked right at me. “He knows about Alessio. And he’s coming.”

The air left my lungs. The courtyard blurred for a second, my pulse roaring in my ears.

Luca’s gun was steady, his tone flat. “Tell your boss if he sets foot on my territory, I’ll bury him before sunrise.”

Marco’s eyes flicked toward him. “He’s already here.”

Every muscle in my body went rigid.

And then, from the shadows beyond the second car, a door opened.

Boots hit the gravel.

Slow. Measured. Familiar.

I didn’t have to see his face to know.

The air itself shifted around him.

Dante Moretti stepped out of the darkness like a ghost that refused to stay buried. His gray eyes found mine instantly, burning, alive, furious.

He didn’t look at Luca. Didn’t look at the men pointing guns at him.

Just me.

“Hello, Amara,” he said, his voice low enough to shatter something inside me. “You’ve been busy.”

The silence that followed was electric.

My throat went dry, but my voice came out steady. “You shouldn’t have come.”

He smiled, slow and cruel. “You made it impossible not to.”

Luca moved before I could. “You’re trespassing, Moretti.”

Dante didn’t even glance at him. “I’m reclaiming what’s mine.”

Luca’s jaw tightened. “She isn’t yours.”

Dante’s eyes never left me. “We’ll see about that.”

The world held its breath.

And then—someone’s gun cocked.

I didn’t know whose finger would pull the trigger first.

But I knew one thing for sure.

The war had just begun.