Page 7 of His Mafia Captor

Gunfire. Close, too close. The sharp, staccato bark of semi-automatic weapons, the shattering of glass, the thud of bullets hitting wood and plaster.

I react on instinct, years of training and experience taking over. I lunge forward, tackling Luca to the ground just as the kitchen window explodes in a hail of glass and lead. We hit the floor hard, my body covering his, shielding him from the deadly spray.

Luca cries out beneath me, his voice high and panicked. I can feel him trembling, his heart pounding like a jackhammer against my chest. "Enzo," he gasps, his hands clutching at my shoulders. "What's happening? Who's shooting at us?"

I grit my teeth, my mind racing. There's only one explanation, one reason for this sudden, brutal attack. Someone's found us. Someone who wants me dead, and Luca along with me.

"Stay down," I growl, my voice rough with adrenaline. "Don't move, don't make a sound. I'll handle this."

Luca nods shakily, his eyes wide and terrified. I push myself up, my gun already in my hand, the weight familiar and comforting. I keep low, stalking towards the shattered window, my senses on high alert.

The gunfire has stopped, but I know it's only a temporary reprieve. Whoever's out there, they're not going to give up until they've finished the job. I risk a quick glance out the window, taking in the scene with a sniper's eye.

There are three of them, all armed to the teeth, all wearing the colors of a rival family. The Rizzo brothers, low-level thugs with more ambition than sense. They've been trying to muscle in on our territory for months, looking for any weakness, any chink in the Vitale armor.

And now they've found one. Found Luca, the witness I couldn't bring myself to kill. The man who's wormed his way under my skin, into my head and my heart. The man who's become a liability, a weakness I can't afford.

Rage boils up inside me, hot and vicious. How dare they come here, into my safe house, my sanctuary? How dare they threaten what's mine, what I've claimed as my own?

I'll make them pay for this. Make them regret the day they ever heard the name Enzo Vitale.

With a snarl of pure, primal fury, I lunge up and fire through the shattered window. My first shot takes the leader between the eyes, his head snapping back in a spray of blood and brains. The second and third drop before they can even react, their bodies jerking and twitching as my bullets tear through flesh and bone.

But I'm not fast enough. Not good enough. As I turn to check on Luca, to make sure he's safe, I hear the crack of a fourth gun. Feel the searing pain as a bullet rips through my shoulder, spinning me around and sending me crashing to the floor.

Distantly, I hear Luca screaming my name, his voice high and panicked. I try to push myself up, to reassure him, but my body won't cooperate. Blood is pouring from the wound, hot and slick, pooling beneath me on the tile.

Luca scrambles to my side, his hands fluttering over me, his face pale and stricken. "Oh God, Enzo," he chokes out, his eyes wide and brimming with tears. "Oh God, you're hurt. You're bleeding."

I try to smile, to tell him it's nothing, just a scratch. But the words won't come, my tongue heavy and thick in my mouth. The edges of my vision are starting to gray out, the pain a dull, distant roar.

Luca presses his hands to the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood. I can feel his fingers, slick and trembling, as they dig into my flesh. Can hear the hitch in his breathing, the panic in his voice as he pleads with me to stay awake, to stay with him.

But I'm fading fast, the world tilting and spinning around me. The last thing I see, before the darkness claims me, is Luca's face. His beautiful, tearstained face, his eyes bright with fear and something else, something I'm too afraid to name.

I want to reach for him, to touch him one last time. But my body is no longer my own, my limbs heavy and numb. As I slip into unconsciousness, my blood staining Luca's hands crimson, I have one final, desperate thought.

I can't die. Not now, not like this. Not when I've finally found something worth living for, worth fighting for.

Not when I've finally found him.

CHAPTER 4

LUCA

The world narrows down to a pinpoint, everything fading away except the man bleeding out in my arms. Enzo's blood is hot and slick on my hands, his face pale beneath his olive complexion. His eyes are closed, his breathing shallow and labored.

Panic claws at my throat, threatening to choke me. I can't think, can't breathe. All I can see is Enzo, the man who's both my captor and my savior, lying still and broken on the kitchen floor.

The rational part of my brain, the part not paralyzed by fear, knows I should run. The gunmen are dead, their bodies sprawled grotesquely on the lawn. The door is open, the way clear. I could be out of here in seconds, disappear into the city and never look back.

But I can't. I can't leave Enzo, not like this. Not when he's hurt, when he needs me. He saved my life, put himself between me and a hail of bullets. I owe him more than a coward's flight.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I force myself to focus. I need to stop the bleeding, need to get Enzo stable. Everything else can wait.

With shaking hands, I strip off my shirt and press it to the wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood. Enzo groans, his eyelids fluttering, but he doesn't wake. I murmur soothing nonsense to him, my voice cracking and hoarse.

"Shh, it's okay. You're going to be okay. I've got you, Enzo. I'm here."

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