Chapter 9 - The Wrath of the Vale
Dante never even got his gun out of his coat.
Before the heavy wood of the door had finished hitting the floor, a massive, dark shadow lunged across the room. Luca Vale hit Dante like a freight train, driving the older man backward with such force that they crashed through a wooden wardrobe against the back wall, shattering mirror glass everywhere.
Maya gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth as glass rained across the floor.
Luca pinned Dante to the floor with a knee planted squarely on his chest, his large right hand wrapped around Dante’s throat, squeezing just hard enough to cut off air without breaking the bone. Luca’s face was entirely devoid of human emotion—a terrifying, frozen mask of absolute lethal intent.
“You touch her,” Luca whispered, his voice so quiet it barely rose above the hum of the club music outside, “and I won’t just hand you over to federal marshals, Dante. I’ll feed you to the smelting furnaces at the South Harbor myself.”
Dante’s face turned purple, his fingers clawing frantically at Luca’s wrist. “Luca... please... just a message... Vincent said—”
“Vincent is finished,” Luca snarled, pressing his knee harder down. “And anyone who thinks they can step into his shoes by threatening people in my orbit is signing their own death warrant. Marcus!”
The doorway filled instantly. Marcus Hale stepped over the splintered wood, his pistol drawn and aimed squarely at Dante’s temple, flanked by two armed operatives in dark suits.
“Boss?” Marcus said calmly.
“Tie him up, throw him in the trunk of the unmarked sedan, and take him down to the federal holding facility,” Luca ordered without breaking eye contact with the suffocating man beneath him. “Tell the prosecutor we have a new witness to the docks extortion ring.”
“Copy that,” Marcus said, signaling his men forward.
Dante was hauled up off the floor like a sack of wet cement, his boots dragging across the shattered mirror glass as he was dragged out into the hallway.
The dressing room suddenly grew very quiet.
Luca stood amid the wreckage of the wardrobe, his chest rising and falling beneath his dark sweater. He slowly turned his head to look at Maya.
She was standing by the makeup table, her hands trembling slightly, but her eyes were locked onto his.
Luca walked toward her, his movements stiff and controlled. When he reached her, his hands hovered near her shoulders for a fraction of a second before gently catching her arms, pulling her closer as if checking to ensure she wasn't hiding a wound.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice rough and uneven.
“No,” Maya whispered, shaking her head. “I’m fine. But... Luca, they’re coming for you. Every old-guard caporegime who benefited from Vincent’s lies is going to panic.”
“Let them panic,” Luca said, his fingers tightening gently around her arms. “For eleven years, I sat in that penthouse waiting for someone to hurt me. Tonight, I realized something important.”
“What?”
“I’m not afraid of losing the empire anymore,” Luca said, his gray eyes burning with an intense, steady warmth that chased away the cold shadows of the room. “The only thing I’m afraid of is losing the one person who showed me what it means to be alive.”
Maya looked up at him, the fear from Dante’s intrusion melting away, replaced by a sudden, undeniable certainty. She reached up, her hand gently brushing against the lapel of his sweater.
May you like
“You’re not going to lose me, Luca,” she murmured.
Luca looked down at her lips, then back into her eyes. For the first time since she had walked into his life, the heavy, lonely ghost of the Gold Coast penthouse vanished completely, replaced by the promise of a future neither of them had ever dared to imagine.
