Chapter 5

Adriana

Gunfire shattered the night.

I dropped low, pressing my head down, heart thundering in my chest. The crack of bullets ricocheted off metal, and the smell of burnt rubber clawed into my lungs. Matteo was crouched at the back of the vehicle, his hands gripping his head like a man seconds away from erupting.

The tires screeched as his bullets tore them apart. The car fishtailed, sparks spitting against the road. The man in the passenger seat howled, clutching his hand. Blood streaked down his wrist and soaked the fabric of his shirt.

For a heartbeat, instinct pushed me toward apology, to say something absurd about his hand and beg them to let me out. Then my eyes caught it.

Ink.

A tattoo that twisted across his skin, coiling into a dagger, a serpent winding tight around it.

The Colombo mark.

My breath stilled.

Suddenly I understood why Matteo had fired. Why his aim hadn’t been wild, but precise.

I dragged a hand over my face, trying to push away the tears gathering in my eyes. It was useless. The truth was crashing down too fast.

I thought running would put distance between us.That Matteo wouldn’t follow me if I left. But of course he would. I had forgotten who he was.

Matteo wasn’t some reckless man chasing after a girl. He was Capo of the Diavoli. He always got what he wanted.

And I had run into the arms of his enemies.

If Matteo could get me out of this alive, I swear that I would marry him.

The injured man groaned through clenched teeth, blood dripping from his fingers. “What the fuck is the boss’s son doing here? Has he lost his mind?”

Boss’s son. My stomach lurched at the words.

The driver’s eyes cut back to me through the mirror. His shoulders were massive, his chest stretching the seams of his shirt. Built like Lorenzo, all muscle and menace.

“What’s your name?” he demanded.

My mouth went dry. My mind screamed to stay calm. Lie. Always lie.

“Kimberly,” I answered, voice soft but steady.

The driver snorted. “Bullshit. You look Italian. Why’s that man chasing you? What the fuck is going on, woman?”

“I don’t know,” I lied, forcing my voice to shake, feigning helpless confusion. “He followed me all the way here. I needed help. Thank you for stopping, but… I think I’ll get out now.”

I grabbed the door handle, heart vaulting in my chest.

It didn’t move. Locked.

The wounded man shifted, his face pale with blood loss. He leveled a pistol at me, his good hand steady despite the crimson soaking his sleeve.

“You stepped into the wrong car.” His voice was low, dangerous.

He shoved his sleeve higher, flashing the tattoo again, the snake and dagger gleaming under the dashboard light. I squinted, pretending not to understand. His smirk deepened, like he enjoyed the performance.

The driver's name is Savio, as I’d later learn,pulled his gun from under the seat, resting it casually on his thigh, the muzzle pointed at me.

“We’re Colombo men,” he said, voice steady as stone. “And you, sweetheart, just got yourself kidnapped.” His lips curled. “You’ll be cargo soon enough. Sold off. Shipped

Cold spread through my veins.

“Talk if you want to live,” the bleeding man rasped.

I folded my arms, trying to mask the panic that quivered inside me. “I… I worked for him. I stole money. That’s why he’s after me.”

The wounded one was Luca.He let out a dark laugh. “You must have stolen a hell of a lot. Riccardo’s going to want to see you himself.”

Riccardo.

Even the name was venom.

“Phone,” Savio ordered.

My fingers tightened around it like it was the last thread to freedom. If I gave it up, Matteo would never find me. If I didn’t, they’d kill me here. My breath hitched. Slowly, I handed it over. Savio took it, rolled down the window, and tossed it into the night.

“Brother, you’re bleeding bad,” Savio muttered, glancing at Luca’s drenched sleeve. “We’ll stop at my girl’s before Riccardo.

The tire’s ruined anyway. That bastard shot it.” He lifted his phone. “Tell the boss his son’s here. Bring backup.”

I closed my eyes. The car reeked of blood and smoke. Despair sat heavy in my chest.

The Colombo. Everyone knew their reputation. They were the rot of Cosa Nostra. Dishonest, vile, feeding off the trade the other families despised. Flesh for profit. Girls stolen and broken.

Faces flashed in my mind.The missing girls plastered across the news, smiling in photographs. Smiles that would never return.

My throat tightened. A tear broke free, and then another. Not just for me. For them. For every girl lost to Colombo’s grip.

The car stopped. Hands grabbed me, rough and merciless. Cold cuffs snapped over my wrists and ankles. Duct tape sealed my mouth, choking me with the stench of glue and my own breath.

“Out.”

I stumbled forward, legs useless, steps jerking. My knees buckled, and I crashed to the pavement. The cuffs tore into my wrists, skin splitting as pain ripped through me. A muffled cry broke out against the tape.

“Careful,” Luca muttered weakly. “She’s worth less if she’s damaged.”

Savio grunted, then threw me over his shoulder like a sack. My ribs pressed against his back. My arms dangled, the cuffs biting deep. I thought about swinging them into his skull, but fear pinned me down. I wouldn’t make it far. Reinforcements were already coming.

They knocked and the door creaked open.

A woman’s gasp split the silence. “Savio, oh mio Dio…”

Her lips were plump with fillers, her body curved wrong, proportions off, her surgeon did a poor job.

“Baby, get the kit,” Savio ordered, carrying me inside. He dumped me onto a couch, the cushions swallowing me whole.

She disappeared and returned quickly, eyes darting from me to Luca.

“Cosa gli è successo?” Her voice trembled as she stared at Luca’s wound.

“Matteo’s in town,” Savio said flatly.

Her face drained of color. “Why?”

“For her.” His chin jerked toward me. “She stole from him. Riccardo will decide what to do.”

Her hands shook, but she obeyed, crouching beside Luca. She dug out the bullet with steady fingers. He didn’t flinch.

I tried shifting, but the tape burned, the cuffs tore at skin already raw. Tears welled again, silent and furious. I hated myself for it….for crying, for sitting here bound and useless while men outside loaded their guns.

Riccardo’s reinforcement had come.

The woman’s gaze flicked to me. Her lips parted, pity softening her face. She reached toward me until Savio caught her wrist.

“Don’t touch her, baby.” He kissed her forehead, then her cheek, then angled for her lips.

And the glass shattered.

A bullet split the air.

It hit Savio square in the skull. His body crumpled into her arms. Her scream tore through the house, wild and broken.

Luca lurched, gun shaking in his good hand. He raised it toward me

Two shots cut him down. Blood spattered the wall as he collapsed.

I slid off the couch, pressing my bound hands to the floor, dragging myself back against the wall. The woman wailed over Savio, her cries piercing, hysterical.

“He’s here!” she shrieked. “He’s come to kill us all!”

Gunfire thundered outside. Men screamed. Each shot was final.

Then the door burst open.

Matteo strode through like a storm, soldiers behind him, rifles gleaming under the dim light. His eyes locked on me and nothing else mattered.

He crossed the room in three strides, dropped to his knees, and cupped my face between his hands. His skin was warm, steady, anchoring me to the world.

And I broke. Tears flooded fast, hot, unstoppable. My chest heaved as I buried my face against him. He had come. Against all odds, he had come for me.

And something inside me shifted.

I would never be helpless again.

I would train. Fight. Learn. I would rip Colombo apart from the inside. For myself. For the missing girls. For every woman who had been silenced.

I would drag Riccardo to his knees.

And if the price was marrying Matteo….then I would pay it.

“Princess,” Matteo whispered, his eyes shadowed with something raw, something almost broken.