Blood and Shadows
1157 Words
The world was too loud when Bianca woke up.
Shouts echoed from somewhere below. Doors slammed. The rhythmic clack of boots against marble floors reverberated throughout the villa.
She sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, when she caught something metallic glinting outside her window.
Down in the courtyard, half a dozen men moved quickly, strapping on bulletproof vests and loading rifles into black SUVs.
Her stomach dropped.
Something was wrong.
Bianca slipped out of bed, careful not to make a sound. Her bare feet touched the cold marble floor as she crept to the door, pressing her ear against it.
“—can’t ignore this, Boss. If we don’t hit back, the Mancinis will think we’re weak.”
“Weak?” Lorenzo’s voice was smooth, controlled — but there was an edge there, sharp enough to cut glass.
“If they thought they had a chance, they wouldn’t have tried an ambush. They’ve already lost.”
“Then why mobilize?” another man asked.
There was silence, brief and heavy.
“Because I’m going to make sure they don’t try again,” Lorenzo said at last, low and cold. “Ever.”
Bianca backed away from the door, heart hammering. She didn’t know much about mafia politics, but she understood one thing perfectly,
Lorenzo De Luca was about to start a war.
And she was trapped right in the middle of it.
The door opened suddenly, and there he was — tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in black from head to toe.
Bianca froze.
Lorenzo’s steel-gray eyes landed on her, scanning her from head to toe like he was cataloging her existence.
“Get dressed,” he ordered.
“What?”
“You have thirty seconds.”
“For what?!” she demanded, crossing her arms instinctively. “I’m not going anywhere with you—”
He closed the distance in two strides. One hand slammed against the wall beside her head, caging her in.
“Dolcezza,” he murmured, his voice dangerously soft, “you’re not negotiating with me.”
Her breath caught, but she glared up at him anyway.
“Why do I have to go?”
“Because,” he said simply, stepping back and straightening his cuffs like he hadn’t just pinned her against the wall, “I don’t trust you out of my sight.”
Bianca swallowed, panic flaring.
“I’m not working with anyone!”
“Then you have nothing to fear,” he replied, voice flat. “Move.”
Minutes later, Bianca sat stiffly in the back of one of Lorenzo’s SUVs, wedged between two of his men. The seats smelled like leather and gun
oil, and the silence was suffocating.
Lorenzo sat in the passenger seat ahead, scrolling through something on his phone, his jaw clenched.
Bianca hated herself for noticing how effortlessly in control he seemed — like even in the middle of chaos, he was untouchable.
She tore her gaze away, staring out the window.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“To send a message,” he said without looking at her.
She frowned.
“A… message?”
The man beside her chuckled darkly.
“You’ll see.”
The city melted into back roads and empty industrial streets. Bianca’s nerves buzzed like live wires.
Then, without warning, everything exploded into chaos.
The SUV jolted violently as the driver swerved hard. The deafening c***k of gunfire shattered the quiet, bullets slamming into the convoy.
“Down!” one of the men barked.
Before Bianca could react, Lorenzo twisted in his seat, reached back, and yanked her down between the seats.
“Stay down, Bianca,” he growled, his voice sharp and commanding.
She hit the floor awkwardly, her heart pounding so hard it hurt. Glass shattered above them. Tires screeched. Shouts filled the air.
“Return fire!” someone yelled.
Bianca risked a glance up — big mistake. Through the cracked window, she saw another SUV skidding sideways, Mancini gunmen firing from behind its doors.
Something whizzed past her ear.
A hot sting burned across her upper arm.
She gasped, clutching the spot instinctively.
Blood.
“f**k,” she whispered.
Lorenzo’s head snapped toward her instantly. His eyes, cold steel a moment ago, went darker — something primal flashing there.
“Who the f**k told you to lift your head?!” he snapped, grabbing her wrist and dragging her fully to the floor.
“I—I didn’t, I just—”
He cursed under his breath in Italian, his hand pressing over the bleeding cut, firm but careful.
“Don’t move,” he ordered.
For the first time since she’d met him, Bianca heard something in his voice she didn’t expect.
Concern.
By the time the convoy reached a hidden safe house, Bianca’s adrenaline was crashing hard.
Lorenzo pushed her inside, barking orders at his men in rapid Italian.
When he turned back to her, his expression was unreadable.
“Sit,” he said.
“I’m fine,” she muttered, hugging her arm.
“That wasn’t a request.”
Bianca scowled but sat on the edge of the worn leather couch.
Lorenzo disappeared for a moment and returned with a first aid kit. He crouched in front of her without ceremony, setting the kit between them.
“Give me your arm.”
“I can do it myself.”
His eyes flicked up to hers, cold and sharp.
“You’ve already done enough damage today. Arm. Now.”
Reluctantly, she extended her arm.
He cleaned the wound in silence, the alcohol stinging like fire. Bianca winced, biting her lip to keep from making a sound.
“Stop pretending you’re not in pain,” he muttered without looking up.
“Stop acting like you care,” she shot back.
For a moment, his hands stilled. His gaze lifted slowly, pinning her in place.
“I don’t,” he said finally, his voice low and even.
But the way his thumb brushed lightly against her skin as he taped the bandage said otherwise.
Later that night, Bianca wandered out of the room she’d been locked in, following faint voices down the hall.
Lorenzo was speaking to his second-in-command.
“We have a traitor,” he said flatly.
“Someone fed the Mancinis our route. Find them.”
Bianca froze in the shadows, heart pounding.
A floorboard creaked under her foot.
Lorenzo’s head snapped up instantly, his eyes locking on hers like he’d known she was there the whole time.
“Eavesdropping?” he murmured, stalking toward her.
Bianca backed up until her shoulders hit the wall.
He leaned down, so close she could feel his breath in her ear.
“If you want to stay alive, Dolcezza,” he whispered, voice dark velvet, “learn when to keep quiet.”
And just like that, he was gone — leaving her heart racing, her knees weak, and a strange, forbidden thrill curling low in her stomach.
- Writer
