The silence after the battle was heavier than the gunfire had been.
Calderone Tower stood wounded but unbroken, its lower levels scarred by bullets, explosions, and blood. Emergency crews worked under heavy guard to restore power and clear the debris, while Vittorio's men swept every floor for remaining threats. The air still smelled of smoke and cordite, a bitter reminder that the Sicilians had come closer than ever before.
Liora sat on the edge of the massive bed in the master suite, wrapped in one of Vittorio's black shirts that swallowed her frame. Her hands wouldn't stop trembling. She could still hear Luca's broken scream echoing in her ears as he was dragged away: "Liora… no!"
She had chosen.
She had stepped toward Vittorio while her brother reached for her with bleeding hands.
The guilt was a living weight in her chest, crushing her lungs.
The bedroom door opened. Vittorio stepped inside, freshly showered but still carrying the tension of battle in his shoulders. His steel-gray eyes found her immediately, softening with a mixture of triumph and concern. He crossed the room and knelt in front of her, taking her trembling hands in his.
"It's over for tonight," he said quietly. "We pushed them back. Heavy losses on their side. My men are securing the building. You're safe."
Liora looked down at him, tears slipping silently down her cheeks. "Luca… is he—"
"Alive," Vittorio interrupted, his voice firm but not cruel. "Wounded, but alive. He's back in a more secure cell. I kept my word."
She let out a shaky breath, but the relief was tainted. "He looked at me like I was already dead to him. Like I betrayed him."
Vittorio rose and sat beside her on the bed, pulling her into his lap so she straddled his thighs. His hands rested on her hips, thumbs stroking soothing circles through the fabric of his shirt.
"You didn't betray him," he murmured, pressing his forehead to hers. "You saved him. If you had gone with him tonight, both of you would be dead or captured by the Sicilians by morning. They don't want to rescue you, Liora. They want to use you as a weapon against me. Your brother is too blind with rage to see that."
Liora buried her face in his neck, breathing in his clean scent mixed with the faint trace of gun oil that still clung to his skin. "I feel like I'm losing myself. Every time I choose you, a piece of who I used to be disappears."
Vittorio's arms tightened around her. He tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his intense gaze. "Then let it disappear. The old Liora was a prisoner of fear and weak men. The woman in my arms now is strong. She is mine. She is becoming exactly who she was always meant to be — my queen."
He kissed her then — slow, deep, and reverent. There was no anger in it tonight, only a fierce tenderness that made her chest ache. His hands slid under the shirt, stroking her bare skin as if memorizing every curve.
"I need you," he whispered against her lips. "Let me remind you why you chose me."
Liora didn't resist as he laid her back on the bed. He undressed her slowly, kissing every inch of skin he revealed — the faint bruises on her hips from his grip the night before, the marks on her neck, the sensitive spots that made her gasp and arch. When he finally settled between her thighs and slid inside her, it was deep and unhurried.
He made love to her with a quiet intensity that felt different from the raw claiming of previous nights. His eyes never left hers as he moved, slow, deep thrusts that built pleasure in rolling waves rather than sudden storms.
"Feel me," he whispered, one hand cradling her face while the other gripped her hip. "This is real. This is us. No more running. No more doubt."
Liora moaned softly, legs wrapping around his waist as she met his rhythm. Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes, but they were no longer only from guilt. Pleasure and surrender mixed until she couldn't separate them.
When she came, it was with a soft, shuddering cry, her body tightening around him. Vittorio followed moments later, burying himself deep as he spilled inside her with a low groan.
Afterward, he held her close, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back.
"You did the hardest thing tonight," he murmured. "You chose. And I am proud of you for it."
Liora curled tighter against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. "What happens now?"
Vittorio's voice turned darker, more calculated. "The Sicilians lost too many men tonight. They're weakened, but desperate. They will try one final strike — probably within the week. When they do, we will end this war permanently."
He tilted her chin up again. "And you will stand beside me when it happens. Not as a prisoner. As my woman."
Liora nodded, but inside, the fracture remained.
She had chosen Vittorio.
She had saved Luca's life tonight by doing so.
But the cost was her soul, piece by piece.
The next morning, Vittorio allowed her another visit to the observation room.
Luca looked broken this time. His shoulder was heavily bandaged, his face pale and hollow. When he saw her through the glass, he didn't rush forward. He simply stared at her with exhausted, defeated eyes.
"You came back," he said quietly. "To tell me you're staying with him again?"
Liora pressed her palm to the glass, tears already falling. "Luca… I'm sorry. I couldn't let you die. I chose to keep you alive."
He laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. "By selling your soul to the devil? By spreading your legs for the man who destroyed our family?"
The words hurt more than any slap. Liora flinched but forced herself to keep looking at him.
"I don't expect you to understand," she whispered. "But I feel something with him. Something real. Something strong. I'm not suffering, Luca. I'm… changing."
Luca leaned his forehead against the glass, eyes closing in pain. "Then you're already gone. The sister I knew would never have chosen the man who bought her like cattle."
He opened his eyes again, voice cracking. "When the Sicilians come for the final time — and they will — I hope you remember who you really are before it's too late. Because if you don't… I'll have to kill him myself. Even if it means dying with him."
Liora sobbed openly now. "Please don't. I can't lose you."
Luca gave her a sad, broken smile. "You already have."
The guard signaled the visit was over. As Liora was led away, Luca's final words followed her like a curse:
"Blood calls to blood, Liora. Don't forget that when the tower burns."
Back in the penthouse, Vittorio found her curled up on the bed, crying silently. He didn't speak. He simply climbed in behind her, pulled her into his arms, and held her tight.
"You did the right thing," he whispered against her hair. "Again."
He turned her gently and kissed her tears away. His hands roamed her body with familiar possessiveness, but this time there was tenderness beneath the hunger. He made love to her slowly, whispering praises and promises as he moved deep inside her.
"You are mine," he murmured as she came apart around him. "And I will protect you from everything — even your own guilt."
Liora clung to him, letting the pleasure and his strength temporarily silence the war inside her heart.
But as she lay in his arms afterward, listening to his steady breathing, one terrifying truth settled deep in her soul:
She had chosen the devil.
She was falling in love with him.
And when the final battle came — when blood called to blood one last time — she would have to decide whether to save her brother…
…or burn with the man who had become her entire world.