THREE
LUCA
“Don’t make a sound,” I whisper, clamping my palm over her mouth.
Whatever noise was bubbling up dies instantly as her eyes land on the gun aimed at her.
The mission was straightforward—break in, take out Richard Graves, and disappear. Simple. Or it should have been. But this? This is a mess.
She stirred the moment I moved through her space, and now I have to stop her before she alerts him. I can’t afford any slip-ups.
Then I look at her properly—and something clicks. I’ve seen her before.
The girl from the bookstore window. The one who made my breath catch mid-step on a random Tuesday afternoon.
The first human being to stir even a flicker of feeling in me since the night my parents were murdered ten years ago.
What are the odds? She’s here—in the apartment of the man I’m supposed to kill.
Terror glints in her wide eyes, and still, she’s... beautiful. It hits me like a hammer to the chest. A brightness so intense, it scorches. For a heartbeat, I see myself through her eyes: a stranger with a weapon, a nightmare standing over her bed.
Maybe it’s her vulnerability. I’ve spent so long surrounded by filth and betrayal that I forgot what real innocence looks like.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” I murmur. I don’t even know why I’m saying it. She’s not the objective. She means nothing. But everything in me resists the thought of causing her fear.
“Where is Richard Graves?” I ask—but she can’t answer. My hand’s still muzzling her mouth. What the hell am I doing? Why am I still looking at her like this matters?
She’s gasping now. Her body trembles beneath me, panic thick in the air. I ease my hand away, cautiously. Maybe this is a trick, maybe not. She keeps wheezing, her hands shaking.
“Breathe,” I tell her, softer. “It’s just a panic attack. You’re okay. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”
She looks like she might pass out. Her skin’s ghostly pale. “He’s not home,” she finally says between shallow breaths.
“Where’d he go?”
“Out. Drinking. Probably.”
I narrow my eyes. “Lying doesn’t help. I hear someone breathing in the next room.”
“That’s my sister.”
Two girls. Great. I’m really doing a number on this family tonight.
“I’ve been watching this building. You’re the only one who’s left or entered. He’s here. Don’t play me.”
“She has agoraphobia,” she whispers, her voice tight with pain. “She doesn’t go outside.”
That word... it hits a nerve. “I had that once,” I admit without thinking. “Maybe I’ll get my old therapist to call her.” What the hell am I saying? Next thing I’ll be offering her my damn passwords. “When does your father usually come back?”
“I don’t know. Just go. We don’t have anything worth taking.”
“I noticed. What’s your name?”
“Sophia.”
“Do I strike you as a petty thief, Sophia?”
She starts crying softly. “Don’t hurt me.”
The words cut deeper than they should. I could never harm her. “Your father took something from me. I came to collect.”
A sound—keys in the door. Someone’s coming in.
“Stay in this room,” I warn her before moving away.
She stays frozen, watching me. Her eyes plead with me like I’m the only thing standing between her and destruction. A crazy part of me wants to pull her out of this mess, take her far away, fix every broken thing in her life.
But that’s not reality. I don’t need distractions. Not with the billion-dollar project I’ve been lining up. The riverside land, the rezoning, the skyscrapers—everything’s ready. And when it’s mine, I’ll finally get revenge on the man who shattered my life.
I glance around her room again. It’s spotless. She hasn’t moved. Her chest still rises and falls in uneven waves.
I should say something. Reassure her. Instead, I just close the door.
As I pass the kitchen, a magnet holds a photo on the fridge. I recognize the place. That park got demolished years ago—for the same land I’m about to buy. The woman in the picture... must be her mother. The resemblance is uncanny.
I don’t even realize I’ve stopped moving until the front door swings open.
I snap out of it just in time.
I slam into the figure entering, forcing them backward into the narrow hallway outside—out of earshot.
“Richard Graves,” I snarl, grabbing him and dragging him toward the railing. I dangle him out over the stairwell, five stories down.
“If I let go,” I say, my grip tightening, “do you think you’ll live through the fall?”
“Please,” he stammers, voice trembling. “I don’t have it anymore.”
I haul him upright, letting his feet hit the ground. “You know who I am? Why I’m standing here? Let’s not waste time.”
He nods rapidly, breath catching. “Luca Morretti. You’re here for the suitcase, right?”
“No.”
And that’s when it hits him—he’s not walking away from this. His eyes go wide. “I didn’t know it was yours! I was just paid to deliver it, that’s all!”
“You’ve got some nerve pushing it through the streets like it didn’t belong to someone dangerous.”
“If they’d told me it was yours, I swear I would’ve handed it over.”
“But you slipped the tail, didn’t you? Knew someone was watching, but not why. Who paid you?”
I lean in, our faces almost touching. His breath reeks of stale liquor—makes my stomach turn. Reminds me of the person I nearly became. Back when my parents died, I drank to escape. Got blackout drunk. Beat two guys half to death for looking at me the wrong way.
That was the night I swore off alcohol. Killing for business is one thing—losing control? Never again. Control is everything. Without it, you're nothing.
“Start talking,” I say low. “Only chance you’ll get.”
His lips part like he’s about to say something—then a weasel-looking bastard appears on the stairwell. Beady-eyed, slick hair, like he crawled out of a sewer.
“Piss off,” I snap without turning from Richard.
“He owes me three months' rent,” the rat mutters, whining like a kicked dog.
“Not anymore.” Still staring at Richard, I reach into my coat, pull out a stack of bills, and toss them at the man. “That covers the rent and your fading vision. You saw nothing.”
“Didn’t see a thing,” he nods quickly, scooping the cash up.
“Then crawl back into your hole before I break your neck.” The threat leaves my mouth like a hiss, and the rat vanishes down the stairs.
Back to business.
I tighten my grip around Richard’s neck. “Where’s the case?”
He sputters, eyes wild. “I don’t know,” he gasps. “I swear on my life.”
“Bullshit,” I snarl. “Last chance. Talk—or I throw you down and see how many bones snap before you stop screaming.”
I start to lift him again—but then her face flashes in my head. Sophia. Her horror when she finds her father’s body. My arms hesitate, holding him midair.
“I did have it!” he blurts. “But I already dropped it off!”
If I’d let him fall, I’d never have heard that.
“Where?”
He starts sobbing. “Please, don’t kill me. I’ve got kids.”
“How old?”
“Tess’s nineteen. Sophia’s twenty-two.”
“Old enough to know what a fucking disaster their father turned out to be.”
He cries harder. “I didn’t know it was yours. I swear, I didn’t! I was desperate. Behind on rent. Just trying to help my girls.”
I ease off slightly. “Then make it count. Tell me everything. This is your only shot.”
Foam gathers at the corners of his mouth as panic takes over.
“Three months ago, I lost everything. Got swindled out of the business. Last night I’m drinking, and these two guys show up. Buy me some rounds. Offer me twenty grand to deliver a suitcase first thing in the morning.”
“Let me guess. No names.”
“None. Just instructions. Pick it up at a locker in Grand Central. Drop it off behind Briarwood’s bar. In the dumpster. Said the cash would be back at the locker when I returned.”
“And it wasn’t.”
“There was a note. Said the suitcase belonged to you—and I’d better stay silent if I wanted to live. I had no idea. I didn’t look inside. I swear. I just moved it.”
“Where’s the case now?”
“I went back. It was gone.”
Briarwood. Of course. The ghost of my past. The man I’ve suspected for years—the one who murdered my parents and thought I died with them. Now he’s trying to beat me to the riverfront land. It makes sense now. This wasn’t luck. Someone big financed that vault breach.
I point at Richard. “Give me one reason not to end you right now.”
“I can find Briarwood,” he offers, grasping at straws.
I chuckle, the sound sharp and cold. “You? Track down the Russian boss no one’s seen in a decade?”
“Maybe not him,” he stammers, “but the men who hired me—I can find them. They’ll know where it went. That’s what you want, right?”
I want to break him in half. But her face. Her fear. Her innocence. It gets in the way again. A dangerous idea forms—and I almost smile.
“You’ve got twenty-four hours,” I say flatly. “If you don’t bring them to me, I take one of your daughters.”
His voice cracks. “Why?”
“Don’t ask,” I whisper darkly. “Just focus. Find them.”
I let him slump against the wall, breath ragged, soul breaking. He finally understands what it means to be prey.
I descend the stairs, grateful to be free of that reeking apartment. Outside, I hesitate, tempted to turn back, to take Sophia with me.
But what would I do? Smother her light until there’s none left? Her innocence would rot in my hands.
I get into the car. Nicholas is behind the wheel. He merges into traffic.
He glances at me. “Forget something? I don’t see a suitcase.”
“Get St. Agatha’s ready for a wedding. Friday. Noon.”
He blinks. “What, you marrying him? Thought this was a hit, not a honeymoon.”
I don’t laugh. “I’m marrying his daughter.”
His brows shoot up. “You gave him a deadline he can’t meet.”
“He’s got daughters?”
“Nineteen. Twenty-two.”
“Terrible names.”
“Drive the car, Nicholas.”
He snorts. “You had mob princesses from every major family begging for your ring, and now you pick the daughter of the guy who stole from you? What’s the deal?”
“She keeps him on task. While he hunts down the men who used him, I hold her close. If he succeeds, I get confirmation Briarwood’s behind it. If not—I marry her anyway and find them myself.”
“You make it sound like marrying her is a win.”
“You haven’t seen her,” I say quietly. “She’s not like anyone I’ve ever seen.”
“And if her dad skips town?”
“He won’t. He cares too much. Took the job for them. He’ll crawl through fire to fix this.”
Nicholas nods, all business now. “I’ll prep the church.”
“You want to get a dress too?”
“I look better in a suit.”