FRACTURED ALLIANCES

Luca’s POV

The penthouse had become a war room in minutes. SWAT agents fanned out like black shadows, securing corners, checking windows, their radios crackling with clipped commands. Detective Chen stood in the center of it all, arms crossed, her sharp eyes darting between me, Dante, Teresa, Dmitri, and the handcuffed Father Pietro kneeling on the marble floor like a fallen saint.

“Marino,” Chen said, voice cutting through the noise. “You’re coming with us. Right now. Federal custody, witness protection, the whole deal. No negotiation.”

Dante stepped forward, his body language screaming possession. The gun in his hand wasn’t raised, but the threat was clear. “Over my dead body.”

Chen’s lips curled. “That can be arranged.”

I moved between them before blood could spill. My heart was still racing from the way Dante had just fucked me senseless in his bedroom—wrists bound, body trembling, his cum still drying on my skin under the borrowed shirt. The memory made my thighs clench involuntarily. But this wasn’t the time for that heat. Not yet.

“Everyone calm down,” I said, surprised at how steady I sounded. “There’s more going on here than you know, Chen. Pietro’s the key. His ‘old sins’ aren’t just personal—they’re the linchpin of the whole operation.”

Pietro lifted his head, face ashen. “Luca… please…”

“Shut up,” Teresa snapped. She looked wrecked—hair falling from its usual perfect knot, mascara streaked from earlier tears. “You’ve been playing us for years, Father. Confessing our sins to Viktor while you laundered his money through your precious community center. I covered for you. I embezzled to plug the holes you left. All to protect this family.”

Dante’s voice was dangerously quiet. “You… what?”

Teresa met his gaze without flinching. “Marco would have wanted the family to survive. Even if it meant dirty hands. Alessio found out about the embezzlement, used it to blackmail Pietro into feeding him intel. Then he sold everything to Viktor. I was trying to fix it quietly. I never wanted you to know.”

The betrayal layered on betrayal like wet cement. Dmitri, still shaky from his half-assed detox, whistled low. “Uncle Viktor always plays the long game. He owns half the diocese already. Pietro was just the easiest piece.”

Chen’s expression shifted—curiosity warring with suspicion. “Explain. All of it.”

I laid it out, voice clinical like I was presenting audit findings instead of the collapse of my entire world. “Pietro covered up child abuse allegations years ago—diocesan hush money, paid through Vitale shell companies. Viktor discovered the records, used them to flip Pietro. The community center became the perfect front: donations in, Bratva cash out, clean on paper. Alessio found the discrepancies, threatened exposure unless Pietro fed him information about Dante’s movements. Teresa discovered the embezzlement trail and started skimming to cover the losses—keeping it in-house instead of letting the feds catch wind.”

Pietro’s shoulders shook. “I had no choice. They would have destroyed the church. Destroyed me.”

“You destroyed yourself,” Dante said coldly.

Chen rubbed her temple. “And the judge? Morrison?”

“Blackmailed separately,” I continued. “Same dirt, different leverage. Viktor’s meeting him tonight at the docks—final payoff to bury the evidence forever. If we want to end this, we hit them there.”

Chen studied me for a long moment. Then, surprisingly, she waved a hand at her team. “Stand down. Secure the perimeter, but no arrests yet.”

The agents hesitated, then complied. Pietro sagged in relief.

Dante exhaled. “You’re willing to work with us?”

“I want Viktor and Rossi,” Chen said. “I want the corruption ring. If that means temporary alliance with the devil, so be it. But after this op, Marino testifies. Full cooperation. No exceptions.”

“Agreed,” Dante said, though his eyes on me burned with something possessive and furious.

The planning took twenty minutes—quick, brutal, efficient. Dmitri gave layouts of the docks. Teresa offered access codes to old Vitale storage containers nearby. Nico was already en route with additional men. Chen coordinated her tac team for backup.

Adrenaline thrummed through me like electricity. When the group dispersed to gear up, I grabbed Dante’s wrist and pulled him down the hallway into his bedroom. The door slammed shut.

“Luca—” he started.

I shoved him against the wall, mouth on his in a bruising kiss. “Shut up. We might die tonight. I want you first.”

His eyes darkened to black. “Greedy little slut.”

He stripped me in seconds—shirt ripped, pants yanked down, underwear torn. Naked, I dropped to my knees, freeing his cock and taking him deep without preamble. He groaned, fingers knotting in my hair, fucking my throat with controlled violence. Spit ran down my chin; I gagged, moaned around him, loving the stretch, the burn.

“Fuck… look at you. So perfect on your knees for me.”

He pulled me up, spun me, bent me over the bed. No prep this time—just lube slicked over his fingers, then three plunging in, stretching me roughly while his other hand stroked my cock in punishing rhythm.

“You’re dripping for it,” he growled. “Say it.”

“I need you inside me. Now. Hard.”

He slammed home in one brutal thrust. I cried out, fists clenching the sheets. He fucked me like he was trying to imprint himself permanently—deep, relentless, hips snapping so hard the headboard banged against the wall. One hand wrapped around my throat from behind, squeezing just enough to make stars burst behind my eyes.

“Mine,” he snarled with every thrust. “No one takes you. Not Viktor. Not Rossi. Not the fucking FBI.”

I came first—shattering, untouched, cum splattering the comforter. He followed seconds later, burying himself to the hilt and flooding me, hot and claiming.

We collapsed, panting. He kissed the back of my neck, surprisingly tender. “Stay close tonight. I won’t lose you.”

We dressed in silence, the afterglow bittersweet.

The docks were shrouded in thick fog when we arrived. Containers loomed like silent giants. We moved in formation—Dante and I with Dmitri, Chen’s team flanking, Teresa coordinating from a nearby van.

Viktor appeared first, massive silhouette under a sodium lamp. Judge Morrison cowered behind him, briefcase clutched like a shield.

“You’re late, nephew,” Viktor called. “I expected you sooner.”

Dmitri stepped forward. “I’m done, Uncle. I’m out.”

Viktor laughed—cold, mirthless. “You think betrayal comes without cost?”

Then a sniper shot cracked through the night. Chen jerked, blood blooming on her shoulder. She dropped.

Ambush.

Viktor’s men poured from the shadows. Gunfire erupted—sharp, deafening. Dante shoved me behind a container, returning fire. Dmitri covered us, screaming Russian curses.

And then—impossibly—Sofia stepped out from behind a stack of crates, gun trembling in her hands, eyes wide with fury and terror.

“Luca?” Her voice cracked. “What the hell is this?”

My world tilted. My sister—my innocent, brilliant sister—was here, in the middle of a mafia shootout, pointing a gun at Viktor Kuznetsov.

How had she found us? Who had dragged her into this nightmare?

And why was the gun in her hand shaking like she already knew how to use it?

(Word count: 1187)