Enemies in Name Only

Alessia’s hand clenched into a fist as the car cut through the darkened streets. One of Don Vittorio’s trusted men sat behind the wheel, eyes fixed on the road, taking side streets and back routes with practiced precision. Alessia sat rigid in the back seat beside Don Vittorio, fury etched into every line of her face.

Her wedding day had barely begun before the Morettis shattered it. They had stormed in without fear, without respect, and stolen Luca in the chaos. A day meant to unite families had turned into a declaration of war.

“They dared,” Alessia hissed through gritted teeth, voice low and sharp. “They stormed in, took him… our day, Don Vittorio. How dare they.”

Don Vittorio didn’t respond immediately. His gaze stayed forward, sharp and calculating, as the convoy of Santoro vehicles followed behind them in staggered formation. Reinforcements. Enough to make a statement.

“We stay focused,” he said at last, his voice calm but edged with steel. “Luca is ours. Everything else is secondary. We save him first.”

Alessia nodded stiffly. Revenge could wait. Family could not.

Across the city, another convoy moved with equal precision. Marco’s hands gripped the wheel, eyes scanning the road, mirrors, every shadow. He didn’t speak; there was nothing unnecessary to say. Every second mattered.

In the back seat, Don Giovanni’s disbelief was written plainly across his face. “I still can’t believe it,” he muttered. “Bella. Risking herself for a Santoro. Our enemy.”

Beside Don Giovanni, Alessandro’s jaw tightened, hands flexing against his knees. Fury and jealousy churned together in his chest. The thought burned, sharp and relentless. If I see that Santoro… I’ll kill him before she even has time to look at him.

Marco glanced at him briefly in the rearview mirror. He said nothing at first, then added lightly, without looking back, “Try not to let it distract you. Jealous hands tend to shake.”

Alessandro shot him a glare. “Focus on the road.”

“I am,” Marco replied calmly. “You should try it too. Bella comes first.”

Don Giovanni remained silent, unaware of the storm building beside him.

Ahead, the warehouse loomed.

The chains clinked as Bella shifted again, this time with purpose. Adrenaline was still high, but reality set in. They weren’t just flirting in danger anymore. They were trapped, alone, and at the mercy of the Morettis.

They studied the chains, the locks, the room itself. Windows? Secured. Doors? Guarded. The air conditioning vent looked small—but maybe usable for someone light enough.

“Here’s the plan,” Luca whispered, leaning close. “We play enemies. Like we’re supposed to.” He mouthed the words, eyes locking onto hers.

Bella nodded, heart racing—not just from fear, but because she trusted him.

“And if they don’t buy it?”

“We’ll make it convincing,” he replied, his tone steady, unwavering. It cut through her panic like a blade.

“Before we start,” he added quietly, eyes fixed on hers, “don’t be afraid to hit me.”

A corner of Bella’s mouth lifted. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I won’t hesitate.”

“Good.”

She took a deep breath. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

They staged it.

The chains rattled as Bella shifted with intent, deliberately crowding Luca’s space again. Her voice rose, sharp and poisonous, perfectly pitched to carry.

“You think sitting there makes you powerful, Santoro?” she snapped. “You’re nothing without your name.”

Luca sneered back instantly, playing his part. “Careful, Valenti. You talk big for someone who’ll beg first.”

The door opened. A guard stepped in, scowling as he took in how close Bella was to Luca.

“Get away from him,” the guard barked, striding forward.

Bella didn’t step back.

Instead, she drove her fist into Luca’s jaw.

The impact cracked through the room.

Luca’s head snapped to the side. He laughed, low and mocking, blood already at the corner of his mouth. “That it?” he taunted. “Is that all you’ve got?”

The guard froze for half a second, confused.

That second was enough.

Bella stayed close to Luca, snarling up at him.

“I’ll kill you myself, Santoro.”

“Try,” Luca shot back, grinning. “You won’t finish the job.”

The guard moved closer, intent now on separating them.

Big mistake.

Bella twisted, slamming her shoulder into him, fingers closing around his holstered gun. She ripped it free and spun in one clean motion.

The barrel came up, aimed directly at Luca’s head.

The guard went rigid.

“So dramatic,” Bella said coldly. “This ends now.”

The second guard at the door stiffened, hand drifting toward his weapon as suspicion flared. He stepped closer, trying to get a better angle.

Bella’s eyes flicked once. Measured. Calculated.

Two targets.

She turned.

Two shots echoed in rapid succession.

The first guard dropped instantly. The second staggered, then collapsed against the doorframe.

Silence slammed down.

Bella exhaled once and moved fast, dragging both bodies toward her. Chains rattled as she searched them.

“Key,” she muttered. “Knife.”

She kicked a second pistol toward Luca.

“Can’t reach yet,” he warned quietly.

“Soon.”

Luca hooked the knife between his knees, steady and precise. Bella dropped to her knees, pressing the rope at her wrists against the blade.

The fibers snapped.

Her hands were free.

She grabbed the key, unlocked her ankle shackles, then moved behind Luca. Her fingers slid the key into his chains.

Click.

Metal fell.

Luca rose immediately, rolling his shoulders, eyes already scanning.

They were standing now. Breathing hard.

Bella handed him the second gun. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second. No words. No hesitation.

More guards appeared in the corridor. Bella and Luca fired together, moving in perfect sync, dropping two, then three more as they advanced.

Gunshots rang through the warehouse.

Outside, both convoys heard it.

“Hold your fire,” Marco snapped, voice low but commanding. “Not yet. Let us—focus on Bella.”

In the Santoro convoy, Don Vittorio’s head snapped up at the sound. “Everyone, hold your shots. No one fires yet. Let’s see what they do.” His voice was calm but firm, cutting through the sudden surge of adrenaline. Every hand gripped a pistol tighter.

The gunfire within the warehouse stopped as abruptly as it had started. A heavy silence settled over both sides.

Inside, Bella and Luca reached the exit.

“Almost there,” she whispered.

“We move together,” Luca replied.

Then, the doors burst open Bella and Luca emerged, bruised and battered, but alive, moving as one. Their hands were intertwined. Their eyes swept over both convoys simultaneously, counting men, marking positions, registering weapons.

Don Vittorio’s eyebrows lifted slightly. Relief mixed with shock as he realized Luca was alive—and with Bella.

On the opposite side, Don Giovanni’s eyes widened. His jaw tensed, then relaxed fractionally.

Alessia’s breath caught. Alessandro’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

Marco, ever the observer, caught Alessandro’s subtle reaction. He allowed himself the faintest, almost imperceptible smirk.

Both Bella and Luca turned toward the exit, moving with careful deliberation. Their steps were measured, calculated.

Outside, the night air held a tense stillness. Both sides waited, weapons ready, eyes unblinking.

And in that frozen moment, the calculus of survival, loyalty, and chemistry collided. Bella’s gaze flicked to Luca, silently agreeing: we survive this together, or not at all.