The scream wasn't loud.
I was halfway down the staircase when the first gunshot echoed through the mansion.
Panic exploded.
Shouts. Running footsteps. Glass shattering somewhere to my left. I froze for half a second, long enough to remember Rule One.
You do not leave the estate without permission.
Then another shot rang out.
And I ran.
I didn't know where Luca was. I didn't know who was shooting. All I knew was that the air smelled like metal and fear, and that somewhere nearby, men were dying.
A hand grabbed my arm.
I screamed.
"Quiet," a voice hissed.
Not Luca.
The man dragged me into a side corridor; a gun pressed against my ribs. His breath was hot, frantic.
"Walk," he whispered. "Slow."
My heart slammed against my chest so hard it hurt.
We turned a corner and Luca was there.
Time stilled.
He didn't raise his gun immediately. He assessed. Calculated. His eyes flicked to the man's grip on me, to the weapon at my side, to my face.
"Let her go," Luca said calmly.
The man laughed. "You'll drop yours first."
Luca didn't hesitate.
The gun clattered to the marble floor.
My breath caught.
I stared at him.
"You think I won't kill her?" the man sneered.
"I know you won't," Luca replied.
"Why?"
Luca's jaw tightened.
"Because you won't live long enough to enjoy it."
The shot came fast.
Pain ripped through my shoulder, hot, blinding. I cried out as the grip on me loosened.
Another gunshot.
The man collapsed.
Luca caught me before I hit the floor.
Blood bloomed across my dress, dark red against pale silk. His hands pressed against the wound instantly, firm, steady.
"Stay with me," he ordered. "Look at me."
I tried. My vision swam.
"You promised," I whispered. "You said you'd protect me."
"I am," he snapped. "Don't close your eyes."
He lifted me into his arms and ran.
The room blurred.
Voices shouted orders. Someone cursed. Someone else said my name, but only one voice cut through the haze.
Luca's.
"Get the doctor. Now."
"If she loses consciousness, I'll kill someone."
"Move."
I woke to pain and silk sheets.
My shoulder throbbed. My body felt heavy, drained.
Luca sat beside the bed.
He wasn't standing guard or wearing his usual distant mask. Instead, he sat there, a strange expression etched across his face, one I never thought I'd see. I would even dare to say that the ruthless Mafia Lord looked worried.
His suit jacket was gone. His shirt sleeves rolled up. Blood stained his cuffs.
Not mine.
Or maybe his too.
"You broke your rule," I murmured.
He looked up instantly.
"You left the room," I continued weakly. "You came for me."
His eyes darkened.
"I told you not to test me."
A pause.
Then, quieter: "You shouldn't have been there."
"I heard the shots."
"You should've hidden."
"I'm not built that way."
His lips pressed into a thin line.
"They targeted you," he said. "That was the point."
"Because of you?"
"Yes."
"Then why am I still alive?"
He didn't answer immediately.
When he did, his voice was low. Rough.
"Because you're mine."
I laughed softly, then winced.
"That's romantic."
He stood abruptly, turning away.
"You almost died," he said. "Because of my name."
"Because of my father," I corrected.
"No," Luca said sharply. "Because I let you exist in my world."
Silence stretched.
"You dropped your gun," I said. "For me."
He didn't turn around.
"I would've killed you," I added.
"I know."
"Why?"
Finally, he faced me.
And for the first time, Luca Moretti looked afraid.
"Because," he said quietly, "losing you would cost more than the debt ever did."
My heart stuttered.
"That sounds dangerously close to caring."
He stepped closer to the bed, stopping just short of touching me.
"Don't misunderstand," he said. "This changes nothing."
But his hand hovered, an inch from mine.
"Liar," I whispered.
His fingers twitched.
For one breathless second, I thought he'd break.
Instead, he clenched his fist and stepped back.
"You'll recover," he said coldly. "Tomorrow, we announce the engagement."
I stared at him. "After I was shot?"
"Especially because you were shot," he replied. "They need to know hurting you means war."
He turned to leave.
"Luca," I called.
He paused.
"You bled for me," I said. "That's not part of the contract."
His voice came back strained. Barely controlled.
"No," he said. "That's the part I never wanted."
The door closed.
And for the first time since this nightmare began, I realized something terrifying, I wasn't just his collateral anymore, and whatever I'd become to Luca Moretti, he didn't know how to handle it.