Still Breathing

The warehouse smelled of dust, oil, and tension. Luca’s chest tightened with every step. His body still carried the faint tremor of exhaustion, but his mind was razor-sharp. He wasn’t about to show weakness—not here, not now.

Bella’s hand brushed his as she moved beside him, silent and deliberate. Every step was measured. Her eyes scanned the room, catching every shadow, every glint of metal. Marco hung back slightly, alert, ready to intervene if needed—but mostly observing, letting the tension mount.

Across the room, Alessia’s lips twisted into that cold smile Luca knew too well. Alessandro’s pistol was already drawn, eyes locked on Bella and Luca, hands steady, controlled—but full of barely contained fury. Behind them, three Moretti men fanned out, weapons raised, trained eyes scanning every corner.

Time slowed.

Then it happened.

The silence shattered with a single metallic click.

Then everything moved.

Weapons came up in practiced unison—not panic, not chaos. Training. Instinct. Intent.

The first shots ripped through the warehouse, bullets sparking off metal and chewing into concrete. Luca felt Bella’s hand clamp onto his sleeve as she dragged him sideways. Both of them dropped behind a stack of reinforced crates just as gunfire tore through the space they’d occupied a heartbeat earlier.

The Santoro-Valenti men reacted instantly. Four flanked Luca and Bella with deadly calm. Two moved left, spreading wide to cover angles. One dropped to a knee near the vehicles, laying down suppressive fire that pushed the Morettis back behind crates and pallets. The fourth mirrored Marco, scanning the ceiling beams and catwalks, eyes sharp for any movement.

“Positions!” Marco snapped. “Left flank, hold. Don’t let them box us in.”

Bella was already firing, short controlled bursts forcing Alessandro and his men to retreat behind cover. Each shot calculated. No shouting, no wasted motion.

Luca moved with her, breath steady despite the tightness coiling in his chest. Fatigue tugged at him, subtle but present, a warning he shoved aside.

Alessandro leaned out too fast.

The shot cracked sharp and clean.

Pain flared across Luca’s side, white-hot, immediate.

He hissed through clenched teeth as the bullet grazed him, tearing fabric and skin along his ribs. Not deep, but enough to burn. Enough to make him wince.

Bella felt it instantly.

“Luca.”

Not panic. Control sharpened by anger.

She shoved him lower behind cover, body angling instinctively between him and the line of fire as she returned fire with ruthless precision. One of the Morettis swore sharply and ducked back behind a stack of crates.

“Hit?” Marco barked.

“Graze,” Luca answered tightly, forcing himself upright despite the heat blooming under his ribs. “Still functional.”

“Then stay that way,” Marco snapped. “Center’s holding. Left flank, push them back.”

The Santoro-Valenti men advanced with deadly calm, movements synchronized. One covered while the other moved, boots scraping softly against concrete. The Morettis were skilled, but now they were reacting, not dictating.

Alessia’s voice cut through the gunfire, sharp with irritation. “Careful. He’s still standing.”

Luca let out a short, humorless breath. “Disappointing, I know.”

Bella shot him a warning look without turning her head. He shut up.

Alessandro surged forward, fury bleeding through discipline, but Marco’s man cut him off with a burst of fire that forced him back behind a forklift.

The exchange burned hot and fast. Seconds stretched, then snapped.

Finally, the Morettis pulled back, retreating deeper into the warehouse. Smoke and dust hung thick in the air.

Silence slammed down.

Bella was on Luca immediately.

“Sit,” she ordered, gripping his jacket.

He dropped to one knee, then the concrete, adrenaline ebbing just enough for the pain to bite properly now. Sweat beaded at his temple.

She muttered under her breath, hands quickly checking the graze along his side. “Couldn’t even dodge properly, could you?”

He gave a weak, humorless laugh, wincing slightly. “You married me knowing I can be reckless.”

Marco crouched nearby, weapon still raised, scanning the shadows. “All hostiles retreating. No pursuit. We’re clear enough to move.”

One of the Santoro-Valenti men stepped in, voice low. “Perimeter secure. No movement outside.”

“Good,” Marco said, glancing at Luca. “You done collecting souvenirs?”

Bella pressed a firm hand against Luca’s side, grounding him. “He’s done fighting today.”

Luca didn’t argue. That alone said plenty.

The drive back to the Santoro estate was tense. Marco’s hands gripped the wheel, eyes sharp, scanning every turn and rearview reflection. Two Santoro-Valenti vehicles flanked them in tight formation, one ahead, one behind, maintaining distance without breaking pace.

On the back seat, Bella’s gaze didn’t leave Luca. He slumped slightly against the door, pale and tense, gripping his side where the graze from Alessandro’s bullet had nicked him.

“You’re burning up,” Bella said quietly, fingers brushing his forehead. There was no panic, just anger held in check.

“I’m fine,” Luca replied hoarsely. “Just exhausted.”

She gave him a look sharp enough to stop any further argument. “You were off this morning. Then you get shot. Don’t insult me by calling that fine.”

He caught her wrist, a reflex more than a choice. His grip was light, but his eyes gave him away. Fever. Pain. Control stretched thin.

“Don’t make it worse,” he muttered. “I can manage.”

Bella leaned closer, lowering her voice. “You could have been hit for real. You’re burning up, Luca.”

A weak breath left him, something between a laugh and a sigh. “Still breathing.”

“Barely.” Her hand stayed on his chest, steadying him, grounding him. She glanced toward the front seat. Marco met her eyes in the mirror and gave a subtle nod. Still alert. Still moving.

Marco’s phone buzzed. He answered without hesitation.

“Yes, Father… Confirmed. Alessandro and Alessia. Moretti alignment.” A pause. “We’re heading back now.”

He hung up, eyes returning to the road, mirrors, shadows.

Bella adjusted Luca carefully, supporting his weight. She felt the tremor now, the heat under his skin.

“Why didn’t you tell me this morning?” she asked quietly, but firm.

“I didn’t want you distracted,” he admitted. “You already carry enough.”

Her jaw tightened. “I handle things better when I know the truth. Don’t shut me out.”

He exhaled slowly and pressed a brief kiss to her fingers. “I wasn’t shutting you out. I just thought I could push through.”

She didn’t raise her voice. “Then next time, you tell me first. We decide together.”

From the front seat, Marco spoke without turning. “Exes, gunfire, fever. You two have impressive timing.”

Bella glanced up, unimpressed. “Careful.”

He smirked. “Not teasing. Just… noting survival.”

Luca leaned into Bella, the fight finally ebbing. “Still counts,” he murmured.

“Barely doesn’t,” she replied, tightening her grip. “I’ve got you. Do you trust me?”

“Always,” he whispered, letting his eyes close for a moment, control loosening just enough to rest against her.

The estate loomed ahead, dark and imposing. Marco slowed the car, eyes sweeping the perimeter, then signaling for a quiet entry. Bella tightened her grip on Luca, brushing a hand along his temple, while Luca closed his eyes for a fraction, allowing himself the briefest comfort.

The Santoro estate was quiet, almost too quiet, the way a fortress feels when nothing yet has exploded but the air is heavy with expectation.

Bella eased Luca onto the large leather couch in the suite, his jacket discarded, his shirt sticking slightly to the back from heat. His pulse was fast under her fingertips, and she could feel the warmth radiating from him even as he tried to mask it.

“Luca…” she murmured, brushing a strand of damp hair from his forehead. “This isn’t good.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted, voice tight but betraying the slightest tremor.

Bella ignored him. She unbuttoned his shirt carefully, piece by piece, her hands steady even as her pulse raced. She inspected the shallow graze along his side—the one that hadn’t seemed life-threatening before, now flaring with irritation as the fever made his skin flush.

“You’re going to make me worry if you keep lying,” she said softly. “Hold still.”

He exhaled through gritted teeth, letting her work, letting her care. Bella went to the side table, returning with a small kit she had prepared. Alcohol wipes, antiseptic, and a clean cloth.

“I need to clean this,” she said firmly. Her fingers worked expertly, swabbing the wound. Luca flinched faintly, but said nothing else. She tore a strip of sterile gauze to apply over it, eyes never leaving his.

“Bella…” he breathed, voice low. “You don’t have to do—”

“Yes, I do,” she interrupted, stern but quiet. “Because you’re overheating and stubborn, and I’m not letting either win.”

His jaw tightened, a mix of pride and pain, but he didn’t move. She pressed a cool cloth to his forehead, checking the fever creeping along his skin.

“Something to bring this down,” she muttered almost to herself, “before it gets worse.”

At that moment, the door opened quietly. Marco and Don Vittorio stepped inside, their presence commanding but careful, eyes instantly assessing the situation.

“Looks worse than I expected,” Marco said, voice low, almost teasing but sharp under the weight of concern.

“Not life-threatening,” Bella replied quickly, “but he’s burning. I need something for the fever.”

Vittorio’s gaze swept over Luca, registering the flush along his temples and the subtle tremor in his hands. “Then act. Whatever he needs.”

Bella nodded, briskly moving to grab a cold compress and some fever-reducing medication from the small cabinet she’d stocked for emergencies. She glanced at Luca, her expression softening, but fierce all at once.

“You’re lucky I love you,” she muttered under her breath, pressing the compress gently against his forehead.

For a moment, Luca froze, heat and pain making him acutely aware of the weight behind her words.

A weak smirk tugged at his lips despite the fever. “I’m painfully aware of my misfortune,” he murmured, voice low.

Bella ignored the joke, cutting the gauze with precise hands and dabbing a bit of antiseptic along the graze again. Luca’s eyes closed for a moment, exhaustion brushing against him, the heat making him lethargic despite his effort to stay upright.

“Here,” she said, pressing the cool cloth again to his forehead. “Keep it there. Drink this.” She handed him a glass of water.

Marco stepped closer, casting a glance at Vittorio. “He’ll be alright?”

Vittorio’s eyes never left Luca, calculating. “He will. But this… weakness can’t show to the enemy.”

“Good,” Marco said, voice low. “Because you know they’re watching every move.”

Bella shifted beside Luca, her knee brushing against his as she stayed close, grounding him. “We’ll manage,” she said firmly, more to him than anyone else. Her hand remained at his temple, steady, pressing just enough to comfort and cool him.

Luca’s lips parted slightly, breath shallow, heat radiating across his skin, but there was relief in the presence of Bella—calm, controlled, and entirely capable.

“Better?” she asked softly, eyes meeting his.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Better.”

She tightened her hold on him slightly, brushing a lock of hair from his face. “Good. We’ll fix the rest after the medicine works. For now, just stay with me.”

Vittorio and Marco watched quietly, letting the two of them work, their presence both reassurance and a reminder that the war outside this suite hadn’t paused.

Bella pressed a kiss to Luca’s temple. “You’ll be alright,” she said, a promise more than reassurance. “I’ve got you.”

And for now, that was enough.