His Quiet Addiction

CHAPTER 4 — Unwanted Complications

ALESSANDRO

The black van sat blocking the road like a death sentence, its side door sliding open with mechanical precision. Men poured out, armed and ready, their weapons glinting under the streetlights.

I counted quickly. Eight. Maybe nine.

Too many for a coincidence. Too organized for a spontaneous attack.

"Backup," I said, my voice flat.

Luca's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. "Dante probably called them in."

Of course he did. Marco's interrogation had lasted less than ten minutes, but that was all the time Dante Caruso needed to mobilize his dogs. The man was paranoid, efficient, and far too well connected for his own good.

I never should've told Joe to get rid of Marco's body. We need the extra hand, but he wasn't around.

"What do we do?" Elena's voice was small, terrified, coming from the back seat.

I didn't answer her. Instead, I turned to Luca.

"How long until our people get here?"

"Ten minutes. Maybe less."

"We don't have ten minutes."

The men from the van were advancing, fanning out in a semicircle, cutting off any escape route. Professional. Disciplined. Caruso had sent his best.

I checked my gun. Half a clip. Not enough.

"Luca, when I say go, you reverse. Hard and fast. Get us around that corner." I pointed to the narrow side street about fifty meters behind us. "We hold them off until backup arrives."

"That's suicide."

"You have a better plan?"

He didn't.

I turned to Elena. She was pressed against the seat, eyes wide, the handkerchief I'd given her still clutched against her temple. Blood had seeped through the white fabric.

"Stay down," I told her. "No matter what happens, you stay down. Understand?"

She nodded, but I could see the tremor in her hands, the way her breath came too fast.

"Elena." I made my voice firm, commanding. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," she whispered.

Good.

The first shot rang out, shattering what remained of the rear window. Glass exploded inward. Elena screamed, throwing her arms over her head.

"Now!" I barked.

Luca slammed the SUV into reverse, tires screeching. We shot backward, swerving wildly as bullets pinged off the chassis. One hit the side mirror. Another took out the headlight.

I fired through the broken window, aiming for the closest man. He went down. The others scattered, taking cover behind the van.

We rounded the corner, and Luca hit the brakes. The SUV skidded to a halt.

"Out," I ordered. "We make our stand here."

Luca and I moved in sync, years of working together turning us into a seamless unit. He took position behind the engine block. I crouched near the rear, using the SUV as cover.

Elena stayed inside, curled into a ball on the floor.

The first wave came fast. Three men, weapons raised, moving with military precision.

I fired twice. One dropped. Luca took out another. The third ducked behind a dumpster.

"Reloading," Luca called out.

I provided cover fire, keeping the remaining men pinned down. My clip ran dry. I ejected it, slammed in a fresh one. Muscle memory. No thought required.

More men appeared. Six now. Too many.

"Where the hell is our backup?" I growled.

"On their way."

A bullet whizzed past my head, so close I felt the air displace. I returned fire, hitting one man in the shoulder. He spun, falling.

Five left.

Then I heard it. The distinctive roar of engines. Multiple vehicles approaching fast.

Our backup.

Two black SUVs screeched around the corner, and my men poured out. Martinez, Enzo, Tommaso. The best I had.

The tide turned instantly.

Caruso's men tried to retreat, but there was nowhere to go. It was over in less than two minutes. Clean. Efficient. Final.

Silence settled over the street, broken only by the sound of engines idling and Elena's ragged breathing from inside the SUV.

I holstered my gun and turned back to the vehicle.

She was still on the floor, arms wrapped around her knees, shaking violently.

"It's over," I said, opening the door. "We're leaving."

She looked up at me, eyes glazed with shock. "You killed them."

"Yes."

"Christ! All of them."

"Yes."

She stared at me like I was a stranger. Maybe I was.

"Come on." I held out my hand.

She didn't take it. Instead, she climbed out on her own, unsteady but determined. Blood still streaked down the side of her face. Her shirt was torn. Glass glittered in her hair.

And still, she stood.

Stubborn girl.

"Luca, take us home," I said.

The drive to my estate was silent. Elena sat in the back, staring out the window at nothing. I watched her in the rearview mirror, noting every flinch, every tremor.

She was in shock.

Understandable.

When we pulled through the gates of my property, she finally spoke.

"This is your house?"

"Yes."

"It's huge."

"Yes."

She fell silent again.

Luca parked near the front entrance, and I got out, moving around to open Elena's door. She climbed out slowly, looking up at the mansion with something between awe and disbelief.

"Come," I said, gesturing toward the entrance.

She followed without protest, too exhausted to argue.

Inside, I led her up the grand staircase to the second floor.

The guest room was at the end of the hall, spacious and comfortable. Neutral colors, soft lighting, everything designed to put people at ease.

I doubted it would work on her.

"You can stay here tonight," I said, opening the door.

She stepped inside, looking around like she'd entered a museum. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Not killing me."

Straight to the point. I appreciated that.

"Because you're not a threat," I said simply.

"Then let me go."

"Not yet."

Her jaw tightened, but she didn't argue. Too smart for that.

"There's a bathroom through that door," I continued, pointing. "Clean clothes in the closet. I'll bring something to treat that cut."

"I can do it myself."

"I'm sure you can."

I left before she could protest further, heading down the hall to retrieve the first aid kit from my study. When I returned, I didn't bother knocking. The door was unlocked. I pushed it open.

And froze.

Elena stood in the middle of the room, her back to me, her shirt discarded on the bed. She wore only a bra and her pants, her skin pale and smooth in the soft lighting.

A bruise was forming on her shoulder, dark purple against cream.

For a moment, I couldn't move. Couldn't think.

She was beautiful.

Then she turned.

Our eyes met.

Time stopped.

And then she screamed.

"GET OUT!"