Chapter 8

Fiorella

The moment Rocco lunged, I followed.

Bullets cut through the air like deadly whispers, slicing too close, but I didn’t flinch. Fear had no place in moments like this. It was just instinct, precision, and blood.

I fired three shots in quick succession, each bullet finding its target. A masked man dropped with a choked gasp, his gun slipping from his fingers. Another staggered back, clutching his side where my bullet had torn through flesh.

Rocco was a shadow beside me, moving like a predator, his gun spitting fire. Two men collapsed before they even saw him coming.

Another enemy rushed toward me, his knife flashing in the dim streetlights. Idiot. I sidestepped at the last second, grabbing his wrist and twisting. A sickening pop echoed as the blade clattered to the ground.

I drove my knee into his gut, then slammed the butt of my gun against his skull. He crumpled at my feet.

“Five down,” I called out, my breath steady despite the chaos.

“Six,” Rocco corrected, snapping a man’s neck with one brutal motion.

The last two attackers hesitated, realising too late that they had made a mistake.

I smirked. “Run or die.”

One turned, bolting into the shadows.

Rocco raised his gun, aiming.

“Leave him.” I grabbed his wrist, lowering his weapon. “We need someone alive.”

He frowned but relented. The other bastard wasn’t as smart. He lunged at me, a desperate attempt to take me down with him.

I shot him between the eyes before he got close.

Silence settled around us, heavy with the scent of gunpowder and blood.

Rocco exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Well, that was fun.”

I glanced at the bodies littering the ground, my pulse still steady. “Depends on your definition.”

The distant wail of sirens broke the quiet. Not our problem. By the time the cops arrived, we’d be long gone.

I wiped the blood off my sleeve and pulled out my phone. My father needed to know about this.

The call rang twice before his voice came through, calm but edged with steel. “Fiorella.”

“There was an attack.” I didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “We handled it.”

A pause. Then, “Are you hurt?”

“No.” I glanced at my shoulder. The old wound throbbed, but it wasn’t fresh. “Not this time.”

“Good.” A slow inhale. “Who?”

I looked at the bodies again, my mind working. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”

Because someone was making moves.

Someone wanted me dead.

And I had no idea who.

My father was silent for a long moment. Then, “Come home. We talk now.”

“On my way.” I ended the call and turned to Rocco. “This isn’t over.”

He smirked, wiping blood off his knuckles. “It never is.”

I stepped over a corpse and walked toward my car, already running through the list in my head.

Who had I pissed off enough to send this kind of message?

And more importantly

How many more were coming?

My father was waiting when I stepped inside our estate.

Alessandro D’Angelo wasn’t a man who wore his emotions on his sleeve, but tonight, his fury simmered just beneath the surface.

“You’re injured.” His sharp gaze flicked to my shoulder, where the bandage peeked from beneath my shirt.

“It’s nothing.” I tossed my gun onto the table and shrugged out of my jacket.

“It’s something.” He folded his arms. “And it wouldn’t have happened if you had more men watching your back.”

Here we go.

“I don’t need more guards.”

“You need protection.”

“I am my protection.”

He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Stubborn like your mother.”

“And alive because of it.”

Silence stretched between us. He knew this argument. We’d had it before. But this time, something was different.

This time, someone had crossed a line.

“It’s not a request, Fiorella,” he said quietly. “I’m doubling your security.”

I clenched my jaw.

“Father—”

“This is final.” His voice was steel. “If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me.”

Damn it.

I could fight him on business, on strategy, on almost anything. But this?

This was different.

I looked away first.

“Fine,” I muttered.

His nod was small but victorious.

“Now,” he said, stepping toward the table, where a map of our territories lay sprawled out. “We need to talk.”

I exhaled slowly, dragging my fingers through my hair. “About?”

“Who put a target on your back.”

We went through every possibility. Every enemy. Every deal that had soured in the past year.

Nothing fit.

Whoever was behind this wasn’t following the usual patterns.

That meant one thing.

This wasn’t business.

It was personal.

And if it was personal, that meant...

A sudden knock on the door had both of us reaching for our guns.

A guard stepped inside, face pale.

“We have a problem.”

I stiffened. “What kind of problem?”

He swallowed.

“The body of one of the men who attacked you tonight…” His voice was tight. “He’s gone.”

I went still.

My father’s expression darkened. “What do you mean, gone?”

“I mean someone took him.”

A cold weight settled in my stomach.

Someone was cleaning up the evidence.

Covering their tracks.

Which meant whoever had sent those men after me…

They weren’t done yet.

I didn’t react. Not at first.

The guard’s words settled in the room like a death sentence, heavy and suffocating. My father was the first to move, straightening to his full height, his expression carved from granite.

“Who took him?” His voice was calm. Too calm.

The guard hesitated. “We don’t know.”

I tilted my head. “You don’t know?”

He swallowed hard. “The body was secured. Our men were watching it. But somehow, between the time we left and the time we returned… he was gone.”

Gone.

Dead men didn’t just get up and walk away.

Which meant someone had come back for him. Someone careful. Someone fast.

Someone who didn’t want us digging any deeper.

I exhaled slowly, running my fingers over the edge of the table. “Tell me something, Luca.” My voice was quiet, smooth like the edge of a knife. “Are you incompetent, or just unlucky?”

The guard stiffened. “It wasn’t incompetence, Miss D’Angelo. I swear—”

“Swearing does nothing for me.” I looked up, my gaze sharp enough to draw blood. “Finding out who took him? That does something.”

He bowed his head. “We’re already looking into it.”

“Not hard enough.”

My father remained silent, watching. Letting me take control.

“I want names,” I continued. “I want every security feed from that alley, every car that passed through, every shadow that so much as blinked in the wrong direction.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I turned away, dismissing him with a flick of my wrist. The door shut behind him a moment later.

Silence.

Then

“Fiorella.” My father’s voice was thoughtful. “You know what this means.”

I did.

Whoever had sent those men after me wasn’t just a rival looking to make a statement. If they were, they would have left the bodies as a warning. A show of force.

This?

This was someone who wanted no trace left behind.

Someone who didn’t want me to know they were coming.

And that made them dangerous.

My father reached for a cigar, lighting it with steady hands. “I don’t like this.”

“Neither do I.”

He exhaled smoke, eyes narrowing. “Whoever did this isn’t finished.”

“I know.” I met his gaze.

A slow smirk curled on my lips.

“And when I find them?” I stepped toward the table, pressing my palms against the cool surface.

“I’m going to make them pay.”