Chapter 6 - The Lion’s Protection and the Breaking Point
Before Enzo could pull the trigger, the double doors of the library didn't just open—they splintered off their heavy brass hinges.
A blur of charcoal and black moved across the room faster than humanly possible.
Luca Moretti didn't draw a weapon. He didn't issue a warning.
He crossed the distance between the threshold and Enzo in two monstrous strides, his left hand locking around Enzo’s throat like an iron vise, lifting the two-hundred-pound man clean off his feet and slamming him violently against the solid stone fireplace mantle.
The sound of Enzo’s skull impacting the stone echoed like a crack of thunder.
The nickel-plated revolver flew from Enzo’s grip, clattering across the emerald rug and coming to a stop near my boots.
"You brought a loaded gun onto my floor," Luca’s voice was barely a whisper, but it carried the chilling resonance of an executioner reading a final sentence. "In front of my guest."
Enzo choked, his face instantly turning a mottled shade of dark purple as his feet kicked uselessly at the air, his hands clawing desperately at the iron grip Luca had clamped around his windpipe.
"L-Luca..." Enzo gasped, bubbles of bloody spit forming at the corner of his lips. "She's... she's just a maid... she's a fucking nobody—"
Luca tightened his grip. The sound of cartilage crunching in Enzo’s neck was sickeningly audible.
"In this house, she is under my protection," Luca said, his obsidian eyes completely devoid of human warmth. "And you, Enzo, are nothing more than a rat feeding on the scraps of a dead empire."
With a brutal, effortless twist of his arm, Luca hurled Enzo across the room. The young man crashed into the heavy petrified-wood desk, smashing through the crystal decanters of bourbon before collapsing in a broken, bleeding heap on the hardwood floor, groaning in agony.
Matteo appeared in the doorway, stepping over the shattered doorframe, his twin SIG Sauers already drawn and leveled.
"Boss?" Matteo asked calmly.
"Break both of his hands and throw him in the wine cellar vault," Luca commanded, not even looking back at the groaning boy. "If he makes a sound, cut out his tongue."
"Understood," Matteo replied. He grabbed Enzo by the collar of his ruined velvet jacket and dragged him out of the room like a sack of discarded trash, leaving a streak of dark blood across the polished floorboards.
I stood by the hearth, the iron fire poker still clutched in my trembling hands, my breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps.
Luca turned toward me.
His white shirt was splattered with droplets of Enzo’s blood across the chest and collar. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, and his breathing was deep, controlled, and heavy.
He walked over to me, reached out, and gently took the iron poker from my frozen fingers, setting it back on its stand.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice instantly dropping that terrifying, murderous edge.
"No," I whispered, my voice breaking. "No, I'm... I'm okay."
Suddenly, the adrenaline that had been keeping me upright for the last six hours evaporated completely. My knees buckled beneath me, and I began to fall toward the floor.
Luca caught me before I hit the ground.
His strong, heavy arms scooped me up effortlessly, cradling me against his broad chest. The scent of cedarwood, rain, and fresh iron enveloped me. He carried me over to the large leather sofa near the fire and laid me down gently, sitting on the edge of the cushion beside me.
"You're safe, Olivia," he murmured, his hand coming up to gently brush a strand of hair away from my uninjured cheek. "No one in this city will ever lay a finger on you again. I swear it on the blood of my family."
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"Luca... the engagement party," I said, looking up at the bloodstains on his shirt. "What are you going to do?"
"The party is over," Luca said, his eyes darkening with ruthless purpose. "Now, we hunt."
