Chapter 4: Who Sent You?

Gunshots pierced the silence.

The flat door slammed wide, sending splinters flying across the room as heavy boots thudded on the floor. I stopped breathing because my heart was pounding so loudly that I could hear it in my ears.

A powerful arm reached out before I could respond, pushing me back. Lorenzo said, "Stay down," in a clear, quiet voice. I instinctively pushed myself against the couch and fell to the ground behind it. My body was screaming for me to go, but my senses told me that any quick movement could kill me. Shadows streamed in through the broken door, hazy forms moving in the low light. Lorenzo stiffened and grabbed the nearest object from the end table, a heavy glass ashtray.It was not substantial, yet the manner in which he grasped it, as if he could take a life with it, convinced me it was equally lethal as a firearm in his grip.

A towering person advanced, holding his firearm up. "Stand back!"

The tone was strong. Known.

I looked over the side of the couch, heart still racing.

Lorenzo’s body tensed, his hold on the ashtray tightening momentarily before understanding flashed on his face.

Then his jaw tightened.

Too many people. Too many unknowns. He wasn’t safe yet. Matteo’s gaze locked onto me. “Boss?” “Lower your damn gun,” he growled.

“Matteo.”

The man—Matteo—lowered his gun, but not fast enough.

A storm brewed in Lorenzo’s dark eyes. He was aware that something was wrong with this circumstance. With a calm tone and an unreadable edge, Matteo stated, "You were off the grid for five days." “We thought you were dead.”

Lorenzo exhaled sharply. “Not dead.”

I saw the way his muscles stayed coiled, ready for a fight. He didn’t trust them.

And neither did I.

Two more men flanked Matteo, their gazes sweeping the room, their expressions unreadable. Their presence sent a shiver down my spine. This wasn’t just a rescue mission. They weren’t just here for him.

Lorenzo turned, his sharp gaze slicing through me.

And then his eyes dropped to my hand.

I froze.

My fingers were tucked against my chest, still holding the small glass vial I had fetched from the medicine cabinet.

His demeanor soured, his whole body moving like a hunter that had just discovered its target.

The quietness that lay between us expanded, heavy and stifling.

And afterward—

“Who sent you?”

His voice was chilled. A silent, deadly form of rage that caused shivers to run down my back.

“What?” I murmured, my throat parched.

He seized my wrist before I had a chance to respond, pulling me up with such strength that I fell forward.

“Who? Sent. You?” he snarled, his hold like steel.

A jolt of pain surged through my arm, but it wasn’t solely the physical strain—it was the expression in his eyes. Chilly. Computing. Hazardous.

I quickly shook my head, fighting against his hold.“No one! I—I don’t—”

“Nonsense.” He pulled me nearer, our faces just inches away. His anger was a living force that permeated everything around us.He went on, his voice nasty, "I wake up drugged, disoriented, weaker than I've ever been." He interrupted, "And now, you're standing here holding a vial of—" with a trembling head as though he was unable to speak. His scent filled my breath, slightly smoky yet with a richer undertone. “You played the long game, huh? Save me just to finish me off?”

His words stung.

Hard.

My breath hitched, my mind racing. He thought I had poisoned him?

After everything?

Disbelief and rage swirled inside me as I gulped hard.

"Because I would have allowed you to drown if I wanted you dead,"

I answered, my voice trembling. His hold loosened slightly as his fingers twitched.

I refused to cower and looked him in the eye.

"Do you not pay attention?" My voice was lower now, but firm. “I saved your life. I treated your wounds. I watched over you for five damn days. But sure—let’s pretend I had some master plan to kill you after all that.”

Something flickered in his expression.

Doubt.

But it didn’t last.

He was too used to betrayal. Too used to enemies disguised as allies.

His grip loosened just as Matteo stepped forward. “Boss, we need to go. Now.”

Lorenzo breathed out quickly, letting me go completely.

I stumbled backward, massaging my wrist. Crimson stains appeared on my skin where his fingers touched, a tangible reminder of how effortlessly he could shatter me. He ignored it.

He did not offer an apology.

He wouldn't, of course. I tightened my jaw, suppressing the irritation that was building within of me.

Matteo gave me a glance.

Matteo shot me a look. Not quite a threat, but a warning.

Then he turned back to Lorenzo. “No one else knows you’re alive. But it won’t stay that way for long.”

Lorenzo’s expression hardened. “Then we leave. Now.”

Abruptly, a choice was made.

As if I hadn't even been there.

Like I was nothing.

One of the younger men adjusted his glasses and gave Lorenzo a nod. “Mr. De Luca. We’re glad you’re still alive.”

Mr. De Luca.

The name sent a jolt through me.

I had heard it before.

I had whispered it before.

De Luca. The most feared name in the city. The name that made men cower and women cross the street to avoid even the shadow of his presence.

And now, it had a face.

A face I had saved.

A face that had nearly killed me just moments ago.

The weight of my mistake hit me like a brick wall.

I should have allowed him to drown. I tightened my hands and bit my lip so forcefully that blood came out.

Lorenzo turned toward the door, already dismissing me. Like I was nothing more than a footnote in whatever chaos ruled his life.

He didn’t say thank you.

He didn’t even *look* at me again.

And that’s when I realized—

I had just saved the devil himself.

And now, he was walking out of my life.

For now.

Because something told me that this wasn’t over.

Not even close.