The Don’s Deadly Cure

Chapter 4- LUCA

Pain was an old friend, but this morning, it was an unwelcome tenant.

I gritted my teeth as I slid the heavy oak bolt of Suite 412 back. Every movement felt like a hot blade twisting in my side. The shooting during the meeting had left its mark. Bullets had torn through the room, the chaos and the screams still ringing in my ears. My body had taken the brunt, but the woman, Nadia Snow, according to the small ID tag on the desk, had sheltered me, letting me hide in her room. She had no idea what she had stepped into.

I looked back at the room one last time. The armchair she had chosen was empty, but her presence lingered. Her hair fell in loose strands over her face, dark and soft against the harsh light of the early Milanese morning. She looked fragile, almost impossibly so, and yet there was a strength in the way she had carried herself in the middle of danger. I didn’t know her. I didn’t know what she did or why she had let me into her room. All I knew was her name. Nadia Snow.

I placed a small note carefully where her ID badge was and pocketed the ID badge, the only trace of myself I would leave for now. The rest, the threat, the warning, the gratitude, would have to wait. I didn’t linger. My body ached, every step sending sharp reminders of the bullets lodged in my side and the ragged wound that would throb for days.

The Palazzo Parigi was silent at this hour, the air thick with the faint scent of lilies and polished marble. I avoided the elevators, taking the service stairs instead. My hand hovered near the grip of my Beretta. If the Valenti hitmen were still anywhere in the building, they would be watching the main exits, but I couldn’t risk the obvious route. Every instinct screamed caution.

The heavy steel door to the alleyway swung open beneath my push, and the cold Milanese air hit me like a blade. It stung my lungs and made my wound throb more sharply, but it was necessary. I had to move, had to disappear before anyone realized the chaos of the previous hour.

A black SUV waited, idling in the shadows. Its tinted windows reflected the faint gold of streetlights, and the exhaust trailed into the cold morning air. Marco stepped out before I even reached the car, hand twitching toward the submachine gun under his coat. Relief softened his features when he saw me.

Don Luca, he said, voice low but urgent. We thought,

The report was premature, I interrupted, leaning heavily against him as he guided me into the leather interior of the vehicle. My ribs protested with every movement.

Two other men sat in the front, silent and alert. The SUV lurched forward, tires squealing softly on the wet cobblestones. I let myself close my eyes for a brief moment, feeling the residual adrenaline ebb away and the exhaustion hit like a hammer.

Marco handed me a burner phone. Valenti activity is high. They know you’re wounded. Every bottom-feeder in Milan is out looking for a price on your head, he said.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. Of course they had been bold enough to order a hit during a meeting in my own hotel. Amateur. But dangerous. Too dangerous to ignore. I was alive, but barely. Every movement reminded me that vulnerability was a luxury I could not afford.

How many? I asked, my voice low and even, masking the burn of pain in my gut.

At least a dozen operatives are still in the area. They scattered the moment the shots rang out. They won’t stop, Fabiano replied.

Then we remind them why the De Santis don’t bleed lightly. I let the threat hang in the air. I had no intention of giving them a show just yet. The Valenti's needed to understand that audacity came with a price.

I glanced down at the badge I took from Nadia's room while she was sleeping. I didn’t know her, hadn’t spoken to her beyond the few seconds it took to find shelter, but there was something about the steadiness of her hands in the chaos that stayed with me. I turned to Fabiano, my second, handling him the badge, lowering my voice. Find out everything about her. Name, where she lives, where she works, her habits, the people she trusts. Leave no detail unchecked.

Fabiano’s eyes narrowed. It will be done, he said.

I didn’t need to explain further. In our world, debts are never forgotten. Someone who saved my life, even unknowingly, had shifted the scales. And the scales always came due.

I shifted in the leather seat, feeling the dull roar in my side. I had survived, but barely. Every movement reminded me that vulnerability was a luxury I could not afford.

Marco caught my grimace. The family doctor is ready if we need him, he offered.

I shook my head. No. Let him tend to minor scratches and bruises. This one I handle myself.

The SUV curved through the narrow streets of Milan, ancient buildings sliding past, their facades gleaming wet in the morning light. I allowed myself a moment to consider the Valenti's and their audacity. Ordering a hit in my city, during a meeting? Bold. Reckless. I allowed a slow smile to curl across my face despite the pain. They’ll learn the cost of pride.

Fabiano’s lips pressed into a thin line. And if she was involved? he asked.

She is not involved, I said quickly, though the words were measured. She saved a life. That is all. But mark my words, Fabiano, a life saved in my name is a life with a debt attached. We will collect it, carefully, patiently, and when the time is right.

I looked out at the horizon, the spires of Milan bathed in early gold light. For now, she was safe. She had no idea of the storm she had stepped into or the shadow she had become part of. But that would change. Everything about her would be known. Every habit, every routine. Everything that made her ordinary would become our ledger.

And the note? Fabiano asked.

I brushed a hand across the crease in the small piece of cream-colored stationery. Let it sit. Let it simmer. It is enough for now. She doesn’t know me, doesn’t understand the debt she has incurred. That is the advantage.

Fabiano’s eyes narrowed. And the Valenti?

They learn caution, I said, my voice dropping to a whisper that carried cold steel. They learn why people fear the De Santis. Every step they take in Milan, every breath they draw, they will remember the cost of boldness. For now, we wait.

The SUV accelerated, disappearing into the labyrinth of cobblestone streets. Suite 412, the armchair, the ID badge, and the woman who had unknowingly saved my life were left behind. For now, the debt was unpaid. But in my world, debts always came due, and I never forgot a life owed.