The echo of the gunshot still rang in Aria’s ears as Luca’s grip slipped from her hand. Time collapsed into a single, stretched-out breath. Her scream never made it past her lips.
“LUCA!”
He staggered, a bloom of red spreading through his white shirt. But he didn’t fall.
Instead, Luca De Rossi turned, raised his pistol, and fired with terrifying precision—dropping the masked shooter before the man could squeeze the trigger again. Blood painted the walls. Another intruder lunged from the hallway, but Luca was already in motion, using his injury like a weapon, his pain channeling fury.
“MOVE!” he barked, shoving Aria behind a hallway column.
More men poured in. Elena appeared from behind the staircase with her own weapon, shooting one clean through the chest. Matteo arrived seconds late
