CHAPTER TEN
660 Words
LUCA
The call came in just as Iris laughed at something ridiculous I’d said. Her laughter—fragile, rare, too precious for this world,was cut short by the vibration in my pocket.
I answered, and in the next instant, the warmth of the moment shattered.
“Boss,” one of my men stammered. “The east warehouse—someone set it on fire. It’s burning. We’ve lost half already.”
My blood iced. That warehouse wasn’t just product; it was power, territory, a symbol. And now it was smoke in the sky.
“Casualties?” I demanded.
“Not yet… but the flames spread fast. We think it was deliberate.”
Of course it was deliberate. Elena’s games. Or someone foolish enough to follow her lead.
I ended the call, jaw tight enough to crack. The weight of loss, betrayal, and fury pressed against my skull—but when I looked at Iris, all I could think was, She can’t know. Not yet.
“Stay here,” I told her, my tone sharper than I intended. “Don’t move until I return.”
Her eyes widened, lips parting, but I didn’t give her time to argue. I stepped away, men falling into line beside me, giving orders under my breath.
The fire could wait. Everything could wait.
But the second I returned to the trattoria, my world stopped.
The table was empty.
No Iris. No sign of her. Just the hollow echo of a chair pulled back, the faintest trace of her perfume.
My heart slammed against my ribs like a fist.
“Where is she?” I barked at the nearest waiter. He shrank under my glare, muttering something about the restroom. But I barely heard him.
I should have checked there first. Dio, why didn’t I? My mind went wild with possibilities—Elena’s men dragging her into a black car, her body discarded in an alley, her scream swallowed by fire.
The thought alone nearly drove me to madness.
I paced the street like a caged animal, running my hand through my hair, scanning every face, every shadow. The part of me that ruled with iron and blood was already calculating how many bodies would fall if something had happened to her.
Elena would be first. Slowly. Painfully.
I’d burn her world to ash before I let her touch Iris again.
Then—I saw her.
She stepped out from the small corridor by the restrooms, blinking at the sunlight as if nothing had happened. Relief hit me so hard I staggered.
“Iris,” I growled, crossing the space between us in seconds. My arms crushed her to me before she could speak.
Her small frame fit perfectly against mine, her cheek pressed to my chest, her heartbeat a frantic echo of my own.
“Don’t you ever disappear on me again,” I rasped against her hair. My grip was desperate, unrelenting. “I thought—” My voice broke, but I forced it out. “If something had happened to you, dolcezza bambina, I would have painted the streets red. Do you understand me? Elena, her men, anyone who dared to look at you—they would all be dead.”
Her fingers trembled as they clutched my shirt. “Luca… I just went to the restroom.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I muttered, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes. My own reflection stared back at me in their depths—frantic, unhinged, consumed. “Every second you’re out of my sight is a second too long.”
She swallowed hard, but she didn’t pull away.
And in that moment, with the scent of smoke still lingering in my mind and her warmth pressed against me, I knew one thing with terrifying certainty.
I could rebuild a hundred warehouses. I could burn empires and build them again.
But if I lost Iris Rodriguez—even once—I wouldn’t survive it.
- Writer
