Lines That Cannot Be Crossed

Bella sat on the edge of her bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp stretching long shadows across the walls of her room. Her fingers traced the curve of the mattress absently, drawing patterns she didn’t feel. Her mind was nowhere near the Valenti estate.

It circled a single, relentless question.

How long had he known?

How long had Luca known who he really was while he had been living under the Valenti roof?

The thought sent a chill over her skin. Goosebumps rose along her arms as memory surfaced uninvited. The last kiss. The way his body had tensed. The moment he had tried, so subtly, to push her away. As if distance could undo what they had already crossed.

She hadn’t let him.

She hadn’t yielded. Hadn’t allowed him to set that boundary.

And now, looking back, she knew.

In that moment, he must have known exactly who he was.

The realization sat heavy in her chest.

If he was truly her enemy, why hadn’t he captured her? Why hadn’t he killed her when he had the chance? He had been inside her home, surrounded by her people. He could have ended it cleanly.

Instead, he had kissed her back.

The memory burned now. His hands. His voice. The pressure of his lips, deliberate, controlled, returned with intention. He had given her something she was never supposed to have. Something she was never supposed to want.

Her pulse quickened. Her chest tightened.

How could she reconcile that moment with the truth of who he was? With the knowledge that he was capable of violence, of manipulation, of betrayal—and yet, with her, he had held back?

The room felt smaller, the walls closing in as if they demanded answers she didn’t have.

Across the city, the Santoro estate breathed with calculated calm.

Luca stood at the window, the city lights blurred beyond the glass. Alessia was beside him, composed, elegant, her presence grounding and suffocating all at once. They were discussing something that should have been simple.

A wedding date.

Luca exhaled slowly, steadying himself. Bella Valenti was the enemy. She had to be. Everything she represented—her fire, her defiance, the way she pulled at something dangerous inside him—had to be buried.

There could be no mistakes now.

Alessia’s fingers slid into his, squeezing lightly. Satisfied. Certain. The date was set. The alliance sealed.

He would comply.

At the Valenti estate, Bella heard it by accident.

She stood outside her father’s study, the door not fully closed, voices carrying through the quiet hall. Don Giovanni. Marco.

“…the date is confirmed,” Marco said. “Luca Santoro and Alessia Romano.”

Bella’s breath caught.

The wedding.

Her lips parted, a silent gasp she didn’t hear herself make. So this was how it moved forward. The Santoros strengthened. United. Untouchable.

Without knocking, she stepped into the study.

“Father,” she said suddenly, voice tight but steady. “I’ll get engaged.”

“You’ve made your choice,” he said quietly.

Alessandro was summoned.

He entered the study calm as ever, posture flawless, eyes steady. He didn’t pretend this was romantic. He understood the rules of this world better than most.

“You’ve decided,” he said, extending his hand. “Then we will do this.”

Bella placed her hand in his. Her heart thudded, not with affection, but with disbelief at how easily fate locked into place.

The rings were exchanged swiftly. Formally. The sound of metal sliding onto skin felt heavier than any declaration of love. This wasn’t a promise. It was a statement.

The Valenti family moved forward.

Whether hearts followed or not.

That evening, the city held its breath.

The Morettis were moving. Aggressive. Ruthless. They had set their sights on a critical sector of territory that neither the Valentis nor the Santoros could afford to lose.

Don Giovanni called Bella, Marco, and Alessandro.

“You will take the sector,” he said, voice clipped, absolute. “Prevent the Morettis from claiming it. Do not fail.”

Bella, Marco and Alessandro nodded once. No hesitation.

Across the city, Don Vittorio gathered his own.

“That land belongs to Santoros,” he said. “Not the Morettis. Not anyone else.”

Luca met his father’s gaze. “We’ll take it.”

Alessia nodded.

Neutral ground waited.

The sector was already alive with tension when the Valentis arrived.

Bella scanned the horizon first.

And then she saw him.

Luca.

Luca Santoro stood slightly forward of his men, flanked by Alessia and three armed Santoro men spread in a disciplined formation behind them. Their posture was controlled, alert. Professionals.

Bella’s breath hitched anyway.

Her fingers tightened around her weapon as her eyes locked onto his silhouette. The way he stood. The way he scanned the area. Calm. Cold. Untouchable.

Marco noticed immediately.

Santoros.

His jaw tightened as he shifted position, signaling two Valenti men to widen their perimeter. He followed Bella’s line of sight without meaning to.

And then he saw her face.

Not just anger.

Not just focus.

Something dangerously close to heartbreak.

Marco swore under his breath. Not now. Not here.

On the other side of the open sector, Luca saw her.

Bella.

She was flanked by Marco and four Valenti men, Alessandro slightly behind her right shoulder. They moved like a unit, practiced and lethal. She fit among them too well.

Enemy. That was the word he forced into place.

This is how it has to be.

Still, when their eyes met for a brief, brutal second, something sharp twisted under his ribs.

Across the city. Across the war. On the wrong side of everything.

He looked away first.

Morettijs poured in moments later, confident, numerous, spreading out with the arrogance of men who believed this territory already belonged to them. At least eight of them. Maybe more hidden.

They were the strongest family right now.

They knew it.

Marco stepped forward, weapon raised, voice steady and loud.

“This sector isn’t yours.”

A Moretti leader laughed.
“Tonight, it is.”

The order came fast.

Gunfire tore through the silence.

Bella moved instantly, firing as she dropped behind partial cover. Her shots were sharp, controlled, each pull of the trigger deliberate. One Moretti man went down, another stumbled back wounded.

Marco barked commands, coordinating Valenti fire with ruthless efficiency.

“Left flank, suppressing fire. Keep them pinned!”

Two Valenti men advanced, covering each other as they moved.

Alessandro fired from behind Bella’s position, movements calm, protective. He wasn’t reckless. He watched her angles, filled the gaps she left when she moved.

“Right side clear,” he called.

On the Santoro side, Luca took control immediately.

“Formation. Two forward, one high ground.”

His men responded without hesitation. Santoro gunfire joined the chaos, precise and deadly. One of his soldiers dropped a Moretti attacker before he could reposition.

Alessia fired beside them, jaw clenched, movements tense but determined.

Luca tracked everything at once.

Enemy positions. His people. The Valenti advance.

And Bella.

She moved fast. Too fast. Exposed herself too often.

Don’t.

The thought came uninvited.

Bella caught sight of him through the smoke, standing firm, issuing orders, Alessia close at his side. Something bitter surged in her chest.

So this is what you chose.

She fired again, harder now, anger bleeding into her precision.

Then it happened.

A Moretti gunman broke formation, slipping through the chaos. His weapon lifted, steady, aimed directly at Bella.

Marco shouted her name.

The shot rang out.

Pain exploded across Bella’s shoulder as the bullet tore through flesh. She cried out, staggered, barely keeping her grip on her weapon.

Luca saw it.

The world narrowed to a single, horrifying point.

His response was pure instinct.

He fired once.

The Moretti man dropped instantly, blood blooming across his chest.

For a fraction of a second, Luca forgot where he was.

Fear flashed across his face. Raw. Uncontrolled.

Gone just as quickly.

Marco saw that flash.

Noted it.

Filed it away like a weapon.

Bella forced herself upright, teeth clenched, blood soaking into her sleeve. She was still standing. Still breathing.

Another shot cracked.

Alessia cried out as a bullet tore into her upper arm. She swore, firing back even as Luca dragged her into cover.

“Still standing,” she hissed.

“Retreat,” he ordered quietly. “Now.”

Across the zone, Marco had reached the same conclusion.

“Fall back!” he shouted. “We’re not holding this.”

Alessandro grabbed Bella as she swayed, wrapping an arm around her to support her weight.

“Move,” he told her firmly. “You’re not dying here.”

She let him help her. Just this once.

As they withdrew, Bella glanced back through the smoke.

Luca stood beside Alessia, shielding her, expression locked back into stone.

Her chest tightened painfully.

He saw her too.

Saw Alessandro holding her up.

Something ugly settled in his gut.

The Valentis and Santoros retreated in opposite directions, never crossing paths, never acknowledging each other.

Enemies. Publicly. Completely.

Morettis remained.

Victorious.

Bella pressed her back against a wall once they reached cover, breathing hard, blood dripping to the ground. Alessandro stayed close, steadying her.

Bella felt the weight of Luca’s gaze before she truly saw him.

Anger surged, sharp and reckless. Not clean rage. The kind born from humiliation, from knowing she should not care and caring anyway.

He stood there with Alessia. Untouched. Controlled. Already moving on.

Fine.

If he had chosen his future so easily, she would choose hers just as openly.

Bella turned to Alessandro and kissed him.

Not because it felt right.

Not because it erased anything.

But because Luca was watching.

And because she needed him to see what he no longer had the right to touch.

Alessandro froze for half a second before returning it, his hand tightening at her back as if grounding her, as if accepting the choice she was forcing herself to make.

Something sharp went through him. Not anger. Not jealousy alone.

Finality.

He did not move. Did not react. Did not betray the fracture running through his chest.

Alessia said his name once, softly.

He turned to her immediately, the mask sliding back into place.

“Let’s go,” Luca said evenly.

The Santoros disappeared into the night.

Bella pulled back from the kiss slowly, her forehead resting against Alessandro’s for a moment longer than necessary.

She didn’t look back again.

Because if she did, she wasn’t sure she would be able to keep standing.

The Morettis had taken the territory.

But the real damage had already been done.