Reunion

Aurora.

That name is the only thing keeping me grounded as I scan the darkened monitors before me. Every second that passes without seeing her face feels like a blade twisting in my gut.

"Gotcha! I found them, boss," Lorenzo calls from the other side of the room.

I'm at his side in an instant, my pulse hammering as I take in the grainy footage of a dark sedan crawling through city traffic. It turns off toward a high steel gate—the entrance to one of Riccardo Agosti's warehouses.

I exhale slowly. He took her there.

“That stronzo brought her to his biggest warehouse,” I growl, bracing my hands on the desk. “Guess we’re in for a straightforward raid after all.”

Behind me, Nico shifts uneasily. “It has to be a trap, Lucian. The location is too obvious.”

I barely hear him. The dull throbbing in my temple, constant since she was taken, sharpens into something close to agony. “That bastard has my wife, Nico. The time for smart has run out.”

Nico exhales heavily, rubbing a hand down his face. “Andrea is already on his way. We should have the numbers. I’ve got your back, Lucian. We’ll get her out together.”

I nod once, then turn to the others.

“We’re moving out.”

The house bursts into motion, men grabbing weapons, checking ammo. I strap every firearm I can carry onto my body, the familiar weight of a semi-automatic settling into my hands. The preparations pass in a blur—an army forming in minutes, their purpose singular: Bring her back.

The drive to the industrial district is a haze. All I can see is Aurora, her face pale with fear, her wrists bound, her eyes searching for me.

By the time we reach the perimeter, my fury is a living thing inside me.

“These outer warehouses are usually patrolled,” Andrea mutters through the radio. “It’s too quiet.”

It’s not quiet for long.

A hail of gunfire shreds through the air as we break through the chain-link fences, bullets ricocheting off armored vehicles. Nico swerves expertly, taking down two men as he rams through the main gate.

My voice is ice. “Find her.”

The battle surges around me—gunfire, shouting, the clash of bodies in close quarters—but I’m already moving. The others can handle themselves. I have one goal.

The warehouse doors loom ahead. I kick them in without hesitation.

Silence greets me.

Then—movement.

Riccardo, slipping through a side door. Coward.

I storm forward, my heart pounding. If he thinks he can take her from me and live—

He has no idea who he’s dealing with.

Here’s a slower-paced version of your scene with the requested name changes:

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The warehouse floor is slick with blood, the air thick with the acrid stench of gun smoke. Lucian barely notices the sting of his own wounds as he moves forward, every step calculated, every bullet precise. His enemies are outmatched, their numbers dwindling by the second, but he doesn't let his guard down. Not when Aurora is still trapped somewhere in this hellhole.

“Nico! With me!” he calls to his brother, weaving through the battlefield with practiced ease. They dart from cover to cover, using crates and stacks of contraband as shields against the onslaught of bullets. Riccardo set this trap for him—he knows it—but Lucian doesn’t care. He will tear through every last one of them to reach her.

A strangled cry draws his attention. A man, barely clinging to life, gurgles as blood trickles from a deep gash on his throat. His glazed eyes flicker to the far corner of the warehouse, toward a rusted shipping container. Lucian doesn’t hesitate. He lifts his gun and ends the man’s suffering with a single shot before signaling to Nico.

“There,” he says, voice rough with urgency. “She’s in there.”

They move quickly, cutting down anyone who dares stand in their way. By the time they reach the steel container, the gunfire has dwindled to occasional bursts, the enemy forces nearly wiped out. Nico braces himself against the heavy door, then wrenches it open with a screech of metal.

The dim light from outside spills in, revealing Aurora slumped in a steel chair, bound and bruised.

Lucian’s breath catches in his throat.

“Aurora,” he rasps, his heart hammering so violently he feels it in his skull. He’s at her side in an instant, hands working furiously to cut through the thick ropes chafing her delicate wrists.

Her head lifts slightly at the sound of his voice, but her movements are sluggish, as if she’s fighting through a haze of pain and exhaustion. Even in the poor lighting, Lucian can see the mottled bruises staining her skin, the dried blood marring her once-perfect face. A soft whimper escapes her lips, barely audible, but it’s enough to shatter him.

“This should never have happened,” he mutters, voice laced with fury and guilt.

A slow, mocking clap echoes through the container.

“Well, isn’t this a touching reunion?”

Lucian stiffens. His fingers tighten around the knife he’s using to cut Aurora free, but he doesn’t turn right away. He already knows who it is.

Riccardo Agosti stands in the doorway, partially concealed in shadow, a cruel smile playing at his lips. But Lucian’s gaze isn’t on him—it’s on Nico, who now stands frozen, Riccardo’s arm locked around his throat, a pistol pressed against his temple.

“Take your hands off my brother, Riccardo,” Lucian snarls, standing protectively in front of Aurora. His gun is drawn in an instant, but Riccardo only chuckles.

“I could say the same about your precious wife,” Riccardo muses, his grip tightening on Nico. “Shame I didn’t get to finish the job with her.”

Lucian takes a slow, measured step forward, his gun aimed for Riccardo’s head. But every move he makes is countered, the bastard twisting just enough to keep Nico between them.

“Just shoot, Lucian,” Nico chokes out, struggling against the hold. “Don’t let this scum take another breath.”

Lucian hesitates. He knows Nico is right. Riccardo has been a festering rot in their city for too long, a disgrace to the Cosa Nostra. But pulling the trigger means risking his brother’s life, and that’s a cost he’s not willing to pay.

Riccardo smirks. “See? This is why you’ll never be man enough to end me. You’re too soft, Lucian. Always have been.”

Lucian clenches his jaw, his finger twitching on the trigger.

Then, without warning, Riccardo’s head snaps forward, a sickening crack splitting the air as a bullet tears through his skull.

For a moment, everything is still.

Then Riccardo crumples to the ground, lifeless.

Lucian’s head jerks to the side, his gun still raised, his body still coiled to strike. But he isn’t the one who fired.

Andrea Morelli stands in the doorway, his own gun still smoking. “Sorry to break up the party,” he says, unfazed. “I figured you’d forgive me for taking the shot.”

Lucian exhales sharply, lowering his weapon. Riccardo Agosti deserved far worse, but at least it’s over.

Nico steps back, staring down at Riccardo’s corpse before spitting on it. “Filthy, maggoty wretch,” he mutters before landing a vicious kick to the dead man’s ribs.

Lucian doesn’t waste another second on Riccardo. He turns back to Aurora, dropping to his knees in front of her. She’s trembling, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps, but the moment she’s free, she throws herself into his arms.

“I thought I’d be dead by the time you found me,” she whispers, a single tear slipping down her bloodied cheek.

Lucian cups her face with infinite tenderness, brushing his thumb over her bruised skin. “I came as fast as I could, principessa,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

He lifts her effortlessly into his arms, cradling her close. “It’s over now, amore. This war is finished."

But deep down he knows this is the only beginning.

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