She crossed her arms, a mean, hungry light flickering in her eyes. "Oh, we're definitely going to see her. So—when do we move?"
"Now," she added, her voice dropping into a register that was more of a threat than a statement.
Luca didn't look confused. He didn't even blink. He just met her stare and shrugged, a dry, mechanical movement that sounded like the click of a safety being switched off. "Fine by me. Let's go."
Elena didn't hesitate. She stepped directly into his space, crowding him until the air between them tasted like his expensive tobacco and the stale, copper tang of dried blood. She hooked her arms around his neck, a reckless, "try me" smirk pulling at her lips.
He went rigid. His eyes turned into two dark, lethal slits. "What the hell is this? Are you actually trying to seduce me, Elena?"
"Carry me, you piece of shit," she hissed. She was so close their breaths tangled in the air. "I don't have shoes. How the hell am I supposed to leave this rat hole barefoot?"
Luca let out a low, mocking hum. "Mmm. You could always wear mine."
He could have snapped her neck with a flick of his wrist, and they both knew it. She didn't give a goddamn. She didn't flinch.
"Wear men's shoes?" She tilted her head, her gaze freezing over. "I'm Elena Rossi. I have standards."
"Vermont," he corrected. His voice dropped an octave, a low vibration she felt against her ribs as his hands clamped around her waist. "Not Rossi. Get used to the name before it's carved onto your headstone."
"Whatever. Just shut the fuck up and carry me to the car." She didn't blink at the threat. "I'm exhausted, I'm starving, my shoulder feels like it's been through a industrial blender, and I'm barefoot. Move."
Luca let out a sharp, frustrated exhale. He leaned down, hooking his arms under her thighs and hoisting her up with a grunt of pure annoyance. "You're nothing but a goddamn headache of a woman."
"Shut up and walk, grunt."
"Yeah, I'm gonna kill you one day, for sure."
The Encounter
He strode out of the suite, carrying her like a trophy he was already regretting winning. They were halfway through the cold, marble silence of the hallway when they ran straight into Enzo.
Enzo stopped dead. A slow, wicked grin spread across his face—the kind of look that promised trouble. Without a word, he whipped out his phone and the hallway echoed with the artificial click of a camera shutter.
"You bastard! Delete that right now or I'll blow your fucking brains out!" Luca roared. His grip tightened instinctively on Elena's legs, his knuckles turning white.
Enzo didn't even flinch. He just stared at the screen, his thumb hovering over the glass like a detonator. "Delete? I don't think I have that setting, boss. Did you mean 'post this on the family group chat'?"
"You son of a bitch—" Luca's voice was a low vibration of pure rage, the veins in his neck roping as he stormed past. Behind them, Enzo's laughter didn't just echo; it bounced off the marble walls like a taunt.
Elena let out a dry, mocking laugh that sliced right through the lingering tension. "Looks like I'm not the only one who can make you boil like a goddamn amateur."
"Do you both have a death wish?" Luca growled. He didn't look at her, but his knuckles were bone-white where they dug into the skin of her thighs.
"Move it, move it. We're burning daylight," she snapped, brushing off his threat like a stray hair on her sleeve. She hooked her chin over his shoulder, locking eyes with the other man. "Keep that photo safe, Enzo. It's a collector's item."
"Count on it, sister-in-law," Enzo shot back. His grin was sharp enough to cut as he watched the feared head of the Vermont family being ordered around like a hired hand.
The Chase
Luca didn't stay for the punchline. He stormed out of the house, dumped her into the passenger seat of his armored sedan with zero ceremony, and peeled away. The tires screamed against the gravel as he tore out of the estate, heading for the outskirts where the world got darker and the roads grew narrow.
For the first few miles, the only sound was the low, rhythmic thrum of the engine and a silence so thick it felt like a physical weight in the cabin.
"What now?" Luca cut through the quiet, his eyes unreadable behind his frames. "Cat got your tongue? You've been quiet for a full three minutes. It's a miracle."
"Shut the hell up. I'm hungry," she muttered. She didn't look at him; her gaze was glued to the side mirror, her pupils dilating as she focused on the darkness behind them.
"Mmm. I've heard women turn into monsters when they're starving," he drawled, "but you... you were born a goddamn beast."
Elena was about to snap back with something venomous, but the words died in her throat. Her gaze sharpened, locking onto the twin pinpricks of light in the reflection. They stayed at a consistent, haunting distance—ghosts in the rearview.
"Hey," she whispered. The mockery was gone, replaced by a voice that was cold and razor-sharp. "Those headlights. The black sedan and the one trailing it. They've been on our tail since the main road. They've mirrored every turn we've made, exactly two seconds behind."
Luca didn't flinch. He didn't even check the mirror. "What are you talking about?"
"This road leads to my town," she hissed, leaning so far forward her hair brushed the dashboard. "I know every piece of junk that crawls through these streets. Nobody back home owns a black sedan with glass that dark. Not a goddamn soul."
A grim, knowing smirk pulled at Luca's mouth. He'd spotted them the second they cleared the estate gates; he'd just been waiting to see if her brain was as fast as her mouth. "So, you actually noticed. Maybe you're more than just a pretty face with a sharp tongue."
Elena stiffened, the realization hitting her like a slap. "What? Were you fucking testing me?"
"Unfortunately not," he said. His voice dropped into a lethal, low register, the kind of tone that ended conversations. His hand drifted casually toward the holster hidden beneath his jacket. "I don't recognize those cars either, and they aren't here to talk. Brace yourself, sweetheart."
"Brace myself for what?"
"You're about to find out."
The Climax
He slammed his foot into the accelerator. The engine didn't just roar; it screamed like a cornered beast as the needle swept past 140 km/h. Behind them, the black sedans abandoned the shadows, their tires screeching against the asphalt as they broke cover. Then came the glint of metal—the unmistakable silhouettes of automatic muzzles sliding through the windows, ready to paint the road red.
A cold shiver tracked down her spine—a familiar, hollow ghost resurfacing in the dark. "What now, Luca?" she whispered. The mockery was gone, replaced by the raw, jagged edge of survival.
"Finally," he murmured, his eyes locked on the road ahead. "You said my name without sounding like you wanted to spit on it."
"You idiot, look! They're closing in!"
The gap was vanishing. The lead sedan loomed in the rearview mirror, a heavy, silent silhouette of death. Luca tapped the brake, feeling the weight of the car shift beneath him, before flooring it again. Behind them, the shadows mirrored his every move, a synchronized dance at 150 km/h.
"Sweetheart, open the glove compartment. Fast." A dry, dark smirk pulled at his mouth—a beautiful, twisted distortion of a man who loved the edge. "Fools. Do they really think a pair of hired hearses are going to write the end of Luca Vermont?"
He floored it. The engine didn't just roar; it let out a guttural, savage snarl of agreement as the car lunged, pinning them both against their seats. Elena leaned over, her movements fluid and hauntingly calm as she clicked the compartment open. Inside sat a massive, matte-black handgun—cold, heavy, and thick with the promise of violence. She wrapped her fingers around the grip, staring at the steel with a strange, unreadable intensity.
Luca checked the mirrors, his jaw tight enough to snap. They were moving for a pincer maneuver, flanking him on both sides to run him off the asphalt and into the dirt. He waited for her to scream.
He waited for the panic, for her to start firing wildly into the night. But when his peripheral vision caught her stillness, his breath hitched.
"For God's sake, Elena! What the hell are you doing?"
She wasn't looking at the road. She wasn't looking at the gun. She was staring at her reflection in the vanity mirror, her face a mask of chilling, vacant detachment. "What? What's the problem?"
The car swerved violently as a bullet finally found its mark, shattering the rear window and showering them in a hail of glass diamonds.
Luca slammed his open palm against the steering wheel, the crack of skin on leather echoing like a gunshot in the cabin.
He stared at her in pure, unadulterated disbelief as she calmly traced a cherry-red stain across her lips. Her focus was absolute, centered entirely on the curve of her mouth while the world outside prepared to explode.
"Is this the time for goddamn lipstick?!" he roared.