The drive back toward the city felt like a descent into a past I wanted to burn to the ground. Rain lashed against the tinted windows of the SUV, blurring the lights of Naples into jagged streaks of neon and gray. Inside the car, the silence was heavy, saturated with the scent of Luciano’s sandalwood cologne and the cold, metallic tang of the weapons his men were checking in the front seat.
Luciano sat beside me, a dark god in a charcoal suit. His hand rested heavily on my thigh, his fingers splayed in a possessive grip that pinned me to the seat. Every few seconds, his thumb would trace a slow, rhythmic circle through the silk of my dress—a silent reminder of who I belonged to, even as we drove toward the man who had first claimed my blood.
"He’s in the sub-level of the old warehouse by
