Chapter 3 - The Broken King
A single gunshot shattered the tension in the room. The kneeling intruder collapsed sideways onto the marble, clutching his shattered shoulder with a guttural scream of agony. Luca didn't fire again. He stepped over the fallen man, gesturing to two waiting enforcers.
"Take him down to the docks. When he decides he likes having two working arms, call me."
The guards dragged the screaming man away, leaving long crimson smears across the white floor. The rest of the cleaning crew moved with eerie efficiency, bagging weapons and sweeping glass as if clearing tables after a messy banquet.
Suddenly, Luca swayed.
His right hand shot out, catching the edge of a massive marble pillar to steady himself. His breathing grew shallow and rapid, his head dropping forward. The fresh blood from his upper arm was now running in steady droplets down his forearm, splashing onto the floor.
"Boss," Marcus appeared at his side, reaching out to support him.
"Don't touch me," Luca grated through clenched teeth. "Clear the perimeter. Ensure the perimeter cameras are restored by four. If the police show up, tell the precinct captain it was a failed carjacking outside the gate."
"Understood, Boss. But you need a medic. That incision tore wide open."
"The family doctor is in Philadelphia until tomorrow night," Luca muttered, pushing himself off the pillar with sheer willpower. "I'll manage."
From my hiding spot on the mezzanine, my chest tightened. He was stubborn to the point of suicide. He was so terrified of showing vulnerability to his men that he would rather bleed to death alone in his bedroom than admit he needed help.
I didn't think about the rules. I didn't think about Marcus’s warning or the bloodstains still drying on the marble downstairs. I quietly backed away from the balcony railing, slipped down the eastern corridor, and sprinted straight to the medical room on the second floor.
I grabbed the heavy suture kit, antiseptic, sterile gauze, and local anesthetic, packing them into an apron before hurrying to his private master suite.
When I pushed his door open, the room was freezing again. The fire had died down to glowing embers during the raid. Luca sat on the edge of the leather chaise lounge, his head in his hands, his bare chest heaving with every ragged breath.
He didn't look up when the floorboards creaked. He reached blindly for the pistol resting on the side table. "I told everyone to stay out."
"It's Elena," I said softly, setting the steel medical tray onto the table beside his weapon.
His hand froze on the grip. Slowly, he lifted his gaze, his face drained of color, his dark eyes clouded with fever and exhaustion.
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"I told you to lock yourself in the bunker," he whispered, his voice cracking.
"I don't take orders from people who can't even stand up straight," I replied, pulling a chair right in front of him and snapping on a pair of sterile latex gloves. "Sit still, Luca. You're losing too much blood."
