Bulletproof Hearts

CHAPTER TWO: The Devil You Know

The call came at 3:47 in the morning.

Luca Moretti was already awake. He was always awake. Standing in his study with a glass of whiskey he had not touched and a Beretta — one of his favourite Italian-made handgun, that he had taken apart twice out of restless habit, he listened to the voice on the other end deliver news that ruined his week.

"Ricci didn't make it out."

Uneasiness crept through him.

Luca set the Beretta down carefully. "How?"

"He was ambushed by three shooters. He took two down before they got him. I'm sorry, sir."

"Find his family. Make sure they're taken care of." Luca's voice came out flat and empty. "And get me the names of everyone involved."

"Yes, sir."

The line went dead.

Luca stood in the dark and felt nothing. He couldn’t place what he felt, not grief, not rage. Just the familiar heaviness that settled over his chest every time he lost someone.

Guilt.

Ricci had lasted eight months and some weeks. The longest any hired trigger man had worked for Luca in eight years. Some lasted weeks. Most lasted days. Ricci had been different; skilled, controlled, almost reliable.

The study door opened without a knock and only one person had that right, Matteo.

"You heard?" Matteo Caruso stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

Luca did not turn around. "Yeah."

Matteo crossed the room, his footsteps quiet on the thick Persian rug, a rich, patterned carpet from the Middle East. He was fifty-two, grey-haired, and sharp as a knife. He had been the Moretti family's consigliere, a trusted adviser and close counsellor in his family, since before Luca could hold a gun. Luca’s father placed Luca under his care for the sake of his business. If the family had a backbone, Matteo was it.

"Ricci was good," Matteo said quietly. "But he's gone. We don't have time to grieve."

"I know."

"Do you?" Matteo moved to the window. Outside, dawn was beginning to break over the hills. "Because from where I'm standing, you look like a man about to do something stupid."

Luca finally turned. "What do you want me to say, Matteo? That I'm used to it? That losing men doesn't bother me anymore?"

"I want you to focus." Matteo's tone was calm but firm. "Dante hit three of our shipments in two weeks. He's not just stealing anymore. He's trying to destroy us. Every delay, every dead operative makes us look weak, and weakness draws wolves."

Dante. Just hearing his brother's name left a bitter taste. Luca had cut ties with Dante's drug operation six months ago, after his brother had done something that nearly got them all killed, mixed drugs into an arms shipment without telling anyone. When it blew up, Dante acted like Luca should have handled it better.

Luca had walked away, Dante took it as a declaration of war.

"What do you suggest?" Luca asked.

"We move fast and hit back harder. Don't give him time to think." Matteo paused. "But first, you need a new trigger man."

"Obviously."

"I already contacted The Broker."

That got Luca's attention. "When?"

"Two hours ago. Victor Hale owes me a favour. He's sending someone today. Their best."

"Their best." Luca did not hide his doubt. "They said that about Ricci."

"This one's different."

"How?"

Matteo smiled faintly. "She's a woman."

Luca blinked. "What?"

"Victor's top operative. Twenty-four years old. Five years active. Zero failed contracts. Ninety-eight percent first-shot kill rate."

"A woman."

"Does that bother you?"

"No." It did not. Skill was all that mattered. "What bothers me is that Victor never sends his best unless there's a reason."

"There is. This is her last contract. She's retiring."

Luca laughed, it was sharp and humorless. "No one retires from The Broker."

"Apparently she is. Victor has his reasons and I don't care what they are." Matteo turned from the window. "What I care about is that she survives long enough to help us end this."

Luca was quiet, thinking it through. A woman. The Broker's best. Her last job. This was too much to process for now.

But Matteo was right. They did not have time.

"When does she arrive?"

"This afternoon. I'll send a car at two o'clock, if that is ok by you."

"Fine. But Matteo,"

"Yes?"

Luca picked up the Beretta and began putting it back together. Click, Slide, Lock.

"If she dies in the first week, I'm holding you personally responsible."

Matteo's expression did not change. "Understood."

* * *

Aria arrived at The Broker's office at eight o'clock exactly.

She had not slept. She had spent the whole night staring at her ceiling, trying not to think about Luca Moretti and failing completely. By the time dawn came, she gave up and went for a run, Five kilometers. Then ten. Then fifteen, until her lungs burned, and her legs screamed, and she could almost forget the message waiting on her phone.

She skipped the break room, she knew Jade would be there asking questions she could not answer, along with other of her colleagues with questionable eyes. Instead, she went straight to Victor's office and pushed the door open hard enough to hit the wall.

Victor did not even flinch.

He just looked up from his desk, a cigarette hanging from his lips, and said, "Right on time."

"Luca Moretti, seriously?" Aria put her hands on the desk and leaned forward. "You assigned me to Luca Moretti."

"I did."

"Every trigger man who works for him dies, Victor. Every! Single!! One!!!"

"Not every one." Victor tapped ash into his chipped mug. "Some last a few months." And that had been the case with Ricci.

"That's not reassuring."

"It's not meant to be." He leaned back in his chair. "You knew this wouldn't be easy, Aria."

"Easy is one thing. A death trap is another." Her voice dropped, cold and sharp. "I'm not doing this."

"Yes, you are."

"Find someone else."

Something shifted in Victor's eyes. Something cold. "Sit down, Aria."

"No."

"Sit Down."

The tone in his voice made her reconsider. Slowly, she lowered herself into the chair.

Victor put out his cigarette. "Do you know how much the Casa della Speranza costs per month?"

Aria went very still.

"Thirty-five thousand euros. Private care, special therapy, art programmes, security. You've been paying that for four years. Over one point six million euros."

"Don't." Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Don't what? Don't mention that Elena's care depends on you staying alive? Don't point out that if you refuse this, the broker has no reason to honor your retirement?" Victor's eyes were steady. "Don't remind you that she's vulnerable?"

"If you touch her, I swear to God I will—"

"I won't touch her," Victor raised a hand. "I'm not threatening Elena. I'm reminding you of reality. You want out? Fine. But you know the rules. One last contract. This is it."

"You're sending me to die."

"I'm sending you to do what you do best. Survive." His voice softened slightly. "You've handled contracts that should have killed you. Better-armed targets, more dangerous situations. And you're still here."

"This is different."

"Yes. It is." He pulled a folder from his desk and slid it across. "Which is why the payout is two million euros."

Two million. Two whole million. Enough for five more years of Elena's care. Enough for a house. Enough to never work again.

What a tempting offer, almost worth dying for.

"I believe in you, Aria. I wouldn't send you if I didn't think you could handle this. You're the best I've ever trained. And more importantly, you want to live. That desire to survive will keep you sharper than fear ever could."

She opened the folder. Photos of Luca Moretti, his associates, his patterns. At the bottom: Contract duration — six months or until Dante Moretti is neutralized.

Six months.

Aria closed the folder and took a breath. "When do I meet him?"

"This afternoon. A car picks you up at 2pm, Don't be late. Moretti values punctuality."

"Anything else?"

Victor breathed out smoke. "Don't die."

* * *

The car was a black Mercedes. The driver opened the door without a word.

Aria climbed in.

They drove north out of Rome through rolling hills covered in vineyards and olive trees. Old money country. The kind of place where families had owned land for centuries and people asked no questions.

After forty minutes, they turned onto a private road lined with tall cypress trees. A gate appeared, heavy wrought iron, fifteen feet high, cameras mounted into the stone pillars. The driver entered a code. The gate swung open.

And then she saw it.

The main house was a restored villa — a large, grand old Italian country house. Three floors of honey-coloured stone and terracotta roof tiles glowing in the afternoon sun. Formal gardens stretched out on either side. The marble fountains, the gravel paths and security everywhere, if you knew where to look.

This was not a home. A fortress would be a better word.

The car stopped and Aria stepped out.

A grey-haired man in an expensive suit appeared. "Aria Valenti?"

"Yes."

"Matteo Caruso. Luca's consigliere." He extended a hand and gave her a firm grip. He was assessing her, "Welcome," he said, smiling halfway.

He led her inside. The ceilings were high with painted walls that gave this old-money aesthetic and marble floors. Everything simple and tasteful. The home of someone who did not need to prove anything.

They stopped in front of double doors. Matteo knocked once.

"Come in."

The study was lined with bookshelves, a large desk, with tall windows overlooking the gardens.

And standing by those windows was Luca Moretti.

Taller than she expected. Six feet two, maybe more and those heavy broad shoulders. His black hair pushed back. Dressed in black tailored pants and black shirt, with a signet ring on his right hand.

He did not turn immediately. He just stood there, letting the silence grow.

Aria did not move or speak, she just waited.

Finally, he turned, and Aria forgot how to breathe.

Not because he was handsome, though he was, in a hard, unforgiving way. A sharp jaw shadowed with stubble. A scar along his jaw that looked old and earned. Dark eyes that took in everything and gave away nothing.

"Aria Valenti." His voice was low and controlled. "The Broker's best."

She held his gaze. "Mr. Moretti."

"Luca. I don't use titles with people who watch my back." He walked to the desk. "Sit."

She paused for half a second. Long enough to make it clear she was choosing, not obeying. Then she sat.

Luca leaned against the desk, arms crossed, studying her.

"Victor tells me this is your last contract."

"It is."

"Why?"

"Not your concern."

Something moved in his eyes. Amusement, maybe. "Fair enough."

He began to pace. "I assume Victor briefed you."

"Your brother, Dante. He's sabotaging your operations."

"Sabotaging is a polite word." His voice hardened. "He's trying to burn me out. Every shipment I run, he attacks. Every ally I make, he turns against me. Every man I trust ends up dead."

He stopped pacing and faced her.

"I need someone reliable. Someone fast, smart, and most importantly, someone who wants to live long enough to collect their payout."

"I don't have a death wish."

"Good. Because I need you to be sharp, not reckless." He leaned back against the desk. "Your contract is six months or until Dante is neutralized. You accompany me on operations, provide over watch, which means watching from a high position, covering my safety and also handle specialized contracts. In return, two million euros and your freedom."

"And if I die?"

"You don't collect. But I'll make sure your sister is taken care of."

Her blood went cold. "How do you know about—"

"I do my research. Sister, Seventeen, Autistic, Casa della Speranza, Expensive care." His tone was now flat. "That's why you're doing this."

Aria was on her feet, her hand moving toward her knife. "If you touch her—"

"I won't." Luca did not move. "I'm not like that. I don't use innocent people as threats unless it’s necessary. But I needed you to know I understand what's at stake for you. You're not here by choice."

She forced herself to sit back down.

"Questions?" he asked.

She had a hundred. "When do we start?"

Luca smiled, but not a kind smile.

"Tomorrow night. Drop your contact with Matteo. I'll send details in the morning. Matteo will show you out. Get some rest. You'll need it."

“Ok”

Aria stood. She turned to leave.

"Miss Valenti."

She stopped. She looked back.

His face was unreadable. "Don't die on me. I've already lost too many good people."

There was something in his voice, something raw.

She nodded once. "I'll do my best."

"That's all I ask."

Matteo walked her back in si

Hence, as the estate disappeared behind her, Aria touched the paper bird in her pocket, Elena.

She would have to survive. No matter what it cost.