The night air smelled like salt, rust, and old secrets.
Elena pulled the collar of her borrowed leather jacket higher as the SUV rolled to a quiet stop behind a stack of shipping containers. Luca killed the lights. For a second, the only sound was the distant lap of water against the pier and the low hum of the city somewhere behind them.
Her heart wouldn't settle. It kept thudding uneven, like it couldn't decide if it was fear or something else entirely. The note from her father's desk was folded in her pocket now, edges already soft from how many times she'd touched it. The wolf's tooth still bites. Whoever wrote that knew exactly how to twist the knife between two families.
"You good?" Luca asked from the driver's seat. His voice was quiet, not the boss voice. Just him.
She shrugged, then realized he probably couldn't see it in the dark. "I keep thinking about the last time I was here. I was sixteen. You brought me down to watch the boats come in. Said one day we'd steal one and disappear."
A soft huff of air—almost a laugh—from his side. "Yeah. I was full of shit back then."
"You were hopeful," she corrected. Her fingers found the door handle but didn't pull it yet. "I liked that about you. Even when everything else was falling apart."
Silence stretched for a beat. Then Luca reached over, his hand covering hers on the console. Warm. Rough from years of holding guns instead of her. He didn't squeeze, didn't push. Just rested there, letting her feel he was solid.
"We don't have to do this tonight," he said. "Dante and the others can sweep the dock. You've already been through enough."
Elena shook her head. "No. I need to see it for myself. If Gianni's mixed up in this… or if someone else is using his access… I want to know before I look at him again."
Luca exhaled slowly. "Alright. But you stay close. No hero stuff."
"Same goes for you," she shot back, the corner of her mouth twitching despite everything.
They slipped out of the car. Dante and two other men melted into the shadows ahead of them—quiet, professional. Sofia had stayed behind at the penthouse, grumbling but agreeing it was smarter for her to monitor the feeds from there. Elena missed her already. Having another woman in the middle of all this testosterone helped.
The old dock creaked under their boots. Most of the lights were out, just a few flickering yellow bulbs swinging in the wind. Cargo crates loomed like sleeping giants. Water slapped against the pylons, cold and restless.
Luca moved like he belonged in the dark—smooth, alert, one hand hovering near the gun at his hip. Elena stayed half a step behind him, her own small pistol (the one she'd taken from her father's desk) heavy in her jacket pocket. Every shadow made her pulse jump.
About fifty yards in, Luca stopped and crouched behind a rusted container. He motioned for her to join him.
"There," he whispered, nodding toward a faint glow near the end of the pier.
Two figures stood under a dim lamp, heads close together. One was tall, broad-shouldered, smoking a cigarette. The other was smaller, hood up, gesturing sharply with gloved hands. Voices carried in snatches on the wind—too low to make out words, but the tone was tense.
Elena's stomach dropped. The smaller one moved like Gianni. Same impatient jerk of the shoulders.
Luca's hand found her arm, steadying. "Easy. We watch first."
They crept closer, using the crates for cover. The smell of cigarette smoke mixed with diesel and brine. When they were close enough, a few words drifted over clearly.
"…told you the old man was getting soft. The package is ready. Once the Rossis and Morettis start ripping each other apart, we move in on both territories."
The taller man laughed, low and ugly. "And the girl? The princess?"
"Handled," the hooded figure said. "Moretti's already got her on a leash. Perfect distraction."
Elena felt the words like a slap. Her breath hitched loud enough that Luca's grip tightened on her arm—warning or comfort, she wasn't sure.
Before she could react, a boot scraped on concrete behind them.
Luca spun, shoving her behind him as a third man stepped out from between two crates, gun already raised.
"Boss said no visitors tonight," the guy growled.
Everything happened fast.
Luca moved like liquid shadow—slamming into the man, one hand knocking the gun aside while the other drove an elbow into his throat. The guy choked, staggering. Elena pulled her pistol but didn't fire; the noise would bring the others running.
A shout from the pier. The two figures turned.
"Run!" Luca barked at her, but she wasn't leaving him.
She kicked the fallen gun away instead, heart hammering so hard her ribs hurt. Luca finished the guard with a sharp punch to the temple—clean, efficient, nothing like the playful boy who used to wrestle with her in the grass.
Footsteps pounded toward them.
Luca grabbed her hand—tight this time, no hesitation—and they sprinted back the way they came, weaving between containers. Bullets pinged off metal behind them, too close.
"Left!" he yelled.
They ducked around a corner. Dante appeared like a ghost, covering their retreat with suppressed shots that dropped one pursuer without a sound.
The SUV was close now. Luca yanked the door open, practically shoving her inside before sliding behind the wheel. The engine roared to life as more shouts echoed behind them.
They peeled out, tires screeching. Elena twisted in her seat, watching the dock shrink in the rearview. No one followed immediately, but her hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Luca drove fast but controlled, jaw tight, knuckles white on the wheel. After a few blocks he slowed, glancing over.
"You hurt?" His voice cracked a little on the question.
She shook her head. "No. You?"
"Fine." He reached over anyway, fingers brushing her knee—quick, checking. The touch lingered half a second longer than it needed to. "That was too close. I shouldn't have let you come."
"I made you bring me," she reminded him, trying for a smile that felt wobbly. "And I heard them. They're planning to pick off both families while we fight each other. Gianni… I think that was him."
Luca cursed under his breath. "Yeah. Sounded like it."
The city lights blurred past. Elena leaned her head back against the seat, suddenly exhausted. All the grief from her father's death, the confusion of being with Luca again, the sting of family betrayal—it all pressed down at once.
"I keep waiting to wake up," she said quietly, staring at the roof. "Like this is some bad dream and Dad's still alive, yelling at me for staying out too late. And you're still the boy who snuck me ice cream at 2 a.m."
Luca was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his words came slow, like they hurt to say.
"I think about that night I left every damn day. I sat in the airport with a one-way ticket and your last text still on my phone—'Come back safe.' I almost turned around a hundred times. But my father's threat… the way he described what he'd do to you… I couldn't risk it. So I told myself you'd hate me, move on, find someone normal. Someone who wouldn't drag you deeper into this shit."
Tears burned her eyes. She didn't wipe them away.
"I did hate you," she admitted. "For a while. Then I just… missed you. Even when I tried to forget. Especially when I tried to forget."
His hand found hers again, this time lacing their fingers properly. No rush. No demand. Just warm skin and the faint tremble in his grip that told her he was just as messed up inside.
"I'm here now," he said. "Messy as hell. Still dangerous. Still not good enough for you. But I'm not leaving again. Not unless you tell me to."
Elena turned her head to look at him. The dashboard lights caught the sharp line of his jaw, the exhaustion under his eyes, the softness he only let show when it was just them.
"I don't want you to leave," she whispered. "But I'm scared. Of how much I still feel. Of what happens when the revenge is done and we have to figure out what's real."
He brought their joined hands up and pressed a kiss to her knuckles—slow, careful, lips lingering like a promise.
"Then we take it slow," he murmured against her skin. "One ugly truth at a time. One night at a time. Until you're sure."
The SUV rolled through the quiet streets toward the penthouse. Elena didn't pull her hand away.
For the first time since the gunshot, the ache in her chest felt a little less like loss and a little more like possibility.
But the note in her pocket and the voices at the dock whispered otherwise.
Someone wanted them broken.
And they were only starting to put the pieces back together.