Bloodstained Hands, Gentle Touch

‎Chapter 5: The Glass Shatters

‎Elena

‎The ride back from the restaurant was suffocating. The interior of Alessandro’s SUV smelled of leather and him—an intoxicating mix that made my head spin. He didn't speak, but I could feel his gaze on me, heavy and possessive, through the darkness of the backseat.

"You can't keep doing this," I whispered, looking out the window as we pulled up to my apartment building. "You're going to get me fired. Or worse."

‎"I am the 'worse', Elena," he said, his voice a low rumble. "And I’m the only thing keeping you safe."

‎I turned to retort, but the words died in my throat. As I looked past him toward my building's entrance, I saw a flash of light—the reflection of a streetlamp on a metal barrel.

‎"Alessandro, get down!"

‎The first shot shattered the rear window, showering us in diamonds of safety glass.

‎In a heartbeat, the "man" I had been arguing with disappeared, replaced by the Don. Alessandro didn't panic. He moved with a terrifying, practiced fluidness. He threw his body over mine, pinning me to the floor of the car as more bullets hissed through the air, thudding into the armored doors.

‎"Stay down! Don't move!" he roared over the sound of the engine roaring to life.

‎"Marco, go! Take the sidewalk if you have to!"

‎The SUV screeched, throwing me against the leather. Alessandro’s weight was crushing, but for the first time, it didn't feel like a threat—it felt like a shield. He had a gun in his hand now, a sleek black semi-automatic that looked like an extension of his arm.

‎He looked down at me, his eyes wide and wild with a protective rage I had never seen in another human being.

‎"Are you hit?" he demanded, his hands frantically checking my arms, my legs, my face. "Elena! Look at me! Are you hurt?"

‎"I'm... I'm okay," I choked out, my ears ringing from the gunfire.

‎He let out a breath that sounded like a snarl. He turned to the front, his face hardening into a mask of pure, lethal intent. "They touched you. They tried to take you."

‎He grabbed his phone, punching in a code. "Gather the men. I want the Lucianos burned to the ground. Every warehouse, every club, every soldier. If they breathe, I want to know why."

‎He looked back at me, his hand cupping my cheek, his thumb brushing away a small shard of glass.

‎"You aren't going home, Elena," he said, and this time, there was no room for argument. "You’re coming to the estate. My world just became yours. And I’m never letting you out of my sight again."