CHAPTER 7: AFTERMATH
1612 Words
Chapter 7: Aftermath
The house was quiet in the way places go quiet after violence—like the air itself is holding its breath. Ava sat at the kitchen table with a mug of tea she hadn’t touched. Steam curled into the cold morning light. Luca hadn’t slept. He moved through the house like a shadow, checking locks, drawing blinds, making calls in a low voice she couldn’t follow.
Her cheek was swollen. Her knuckles were raw from gripping the edge of the table when the man with the knife had leaned in. She could still taste blood. She could still hear the shots.
“You should rest,” Luca said, setting a plate of bread in front of her. He looked like hell—shirt torn, cut above his eyebrow darkening, jaw tight.
“I don’t think I can,” Ava said. “Not after last night.”
Luca pulled out the chair across from her and sat. Close enough that she could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the way his hands trembled slightly before he steadied them. “Then talk to me.”
Ava wrapped her hands around the mug for warmth. “My father knew you.”
“Yes.”
“He never mentioned you.”
“He wouldn’t have. He wanted you out of this.” Luca’s voice was rough. “When he died, I thought I could keep you safe by keeping my distance. I was wrong.”
Ava looked at him. Really looked. Not at the man who’d cornered her in his office or the one who’d kissed her like he was drowning, but at the man who’d walked into gunfire for her. “Why?”
“Because he saved my life, Ava.” Luca leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Twenty years ago, I was a kid trying to get out. His crew had me pinned. Your father stepped in. Took a bullet meant for me. He told me to run, to build something clean, to stay away from his daughter.”
Ava’s throat tightened. “And now?”
“Now the people who wanted me dead then are back. And they think hurting you will break me.”
Ava closed her eyes. The tea had gone cold. “So what do we do?”
“We end it,” Luca said. “Not by hiding. By finishing what your father started.”
He slid the folder across the table. The same one from his office. Ava opened it with shaking hands. Inside were photos, names, dates. Her father’s handwriting in the margins. Ledger entries she didn’t understand. And at the bottom, a list of names. One circled in red: Vincenzo Rizzo.
“The man in the warehouse,” Luca said. “Rizzo’s nephew. Rizzo wants what your father had—proof of the smuggling routes, the payoffs, the accounts. He thinks I have it. He thinks you do.”
“I don’t,” Ava said.
“I know,” Luca said. “But he doesn’t. And he won’t stop until he’s sure.”
Ava stared at her father’s handwriting. She remembered him coming home late, smelling like rain and cigarettes, pulling her into a hug even when she was too old for it. He’d always told her to stay in school. To stay clean. To stay away.
She’d failed at that.
“What’s the plan?” she asked.
Luca’s expression didn’t change. “We give Rizzo what he thinks he wants. A meeting. You and me. He’ll bring his men. We’ll bring ours.”
“And if it goes wrong?”
Luca held her gaze. “It won’t.”
Ava didn’t believe him. But she nodded anyway.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Luca made calls. Men came and went. Ava showered, changed, and tried not to look at the bruise blooming on her cheek. She called her mother and lied about working late. Her mother’s voice was tired, worried, and Ava hated herself for it.
By nightfall, they were on the move. Luca drove. Ava sat beside him, the folder in her lap. The city slipped past—neon, rain, the smell of the docks growing stronger.
“You don’t have to do this,” Luca said suddenly.
Ava looked at him. “Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s my father,” Ava said. “And because I’m tired of being the thing people use to get to you.”
Luca didn’t answer. His hands tightened on the wheel.
The meeting place was an old boatyard, abandoned and lit by a single flickering bulb. Rizzo’s men were already there—six of them, armed. Rizzo himself stood at the center, older than his nephew, eyes cold.
“You brought her,” Rizzo said as Luca cut the engine.
“I brought what you asked for,” Luca said, stepping out. Ava followed.
Rizzo’s gaze moved to her. “You look like him.”
Ava didn’t answer.
“Where’s the ledger, Moretti?” Rizzo asked.
Luca held up the folder. “Here.”
Rizzo nodded to one of his men. The man stepped forward, hand out.
Luca didn’t move. “Not yet.”
Rizzo frowned. “What game are you playing?”
“The one your nephew lost,” Luca said.
Rizzo’s face darkened. He reached for his gun.
Chaos erupted.
Luca moved first, shoving Ava behind him as gunfire cracked through the night. Ava hit the ground, covering her head. She heard shouting, the roar of an engine, Luca’s voice cutting through it all.
“Ava! Stay down!”
She did. She kept her eyes closed and her hands over her ears until the gunfire stopped. When she opened them, the yard was quiet again. Smoke hung in the air. Rizzo lay on the ground, unmoving. His men were gone or worse.
Luca stood over her, breathing hard, gun still in his hand. He dropped it and pulled her to her feet.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
Ava shook her head. She couldn’t speak.
Luca pulled her into him. His arms were strong, shaking slightly. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”
Ava clung to him. She could feel his heartbeat, fast and uneven. She could smell gunpowder and rain.
When she pulled back, she looked at him. Really looked. At the blood on his shirt. At the cut on his face. At the way he was looking at her like she was the only thing left in the world.
“Luca,” she whispered.
He didn’t answer. He just lowered his mouth to hers.
The kiss was desperate, full of adrenaline and fear and relief. Ava’s hands fisted in his shirt. Luca’s hands slid to her back, pulling her closer. The world narrowed to the taste of him, the heat of him, the way his forehead rested against hers when they finally broke apart.
“We can’t,” Ava said, but her voice lacked conviction.
“I know,” Luca said. “But I need to.”
He took her hand and led her to the car. They didn’t go back to the house. They drove until the city fell away and the road opened to the coast. The sky was starting to lighten. Dawn was coming.
Luca parked on a bluff overlooking the water. He turned off the engine. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Ava reached for him.
What happened next was raw and urgent, built on hours of terror and the knowledge that they might not get another chance. Luca’s mouth found her throat, her collarbone. Ava’s hands tangled in his hair. The backseat was cramped, but neither of them cared.
They moved together, driven by the same need that had been building since the warehouse. Luca’s mouth was on her shoulder, her jaw, her mouth. Ava’s fingers dug into his back. The car rocked slightly with the motion of the waves below.
When it was over, they stayed tangled together, breathing hard. Ava’s head rested on Luca’s chest. She could hear his heart slowing.
“Regret it?” he asked softly.
Ava opened her eyes. The sky outside was pink with sunrise. “No,” she said. “Do you?”
Luca shook his head. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Never.”
They stayed like that until the sun came up. Then Luca started the car. They drove back in silence, hands linked between them.
At the house, Luca turned to her before she got out. “Whatever happens next, Ava—”
“I know,” she said. “We end it. Together.”
Luca nodded. He didn’t kiss her again. He didn’t have to.
Inside, Ava went to the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. Her lip was swollen. Her hair was a mess. There was a faint mark on her throat where Luca’s mouth had been.
She looked different. She felt different.
Down the hall, Luca was cleaning his gun. His face was set, his eyes hard. The man who’d kissed her like she was the only thing keeping him alive was gone. In his place was the man who’d walked into gunfire without blinking.
Ava stepped into the doorway. “What now?”
Luca looked up. “Now we finish it.”
Ava nodded. She crossed the room and sat beside him. She didn’t touch him. She didn’t have to.
Outside, the sun was fully up. The city was waking. And somewhere, Rizzo’s people were regrouping.
But Ava wasn’t alone anymore.
And Luca wasn’t fighting without her.
The war wasn’t over.
But they were ready for it.
- Writer
