Chapter 4 Blood in the marble

Chapter Four: Blood in the Marble

The gunshots ripped through the air like thunder shattering glass. Elena didn't scream-but only because she couldn't breathe.

Luciano's arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling her down, shielding her before the second shot even registered. Her back hit the cold marble floor of the music room, and for a split second, all she could hear was her own pulse thundering in her ears.

"Stay down," he barked, his voice low and sharp.

"What-what's-" she choked.

"There's no time." He reached for the gun at his hip. "Move with me. Now."

They moved like dancers in reverse-his hand on her back, guiding her out a side hall she hadn't noticed before. All she could register was the flickering of chandeliers above them, the cold sweat breaking across her neck, and the way Luciano kept glancing behind them, weapon raised.

A body fell in the corridor to their right.

Elena gasped.

Luciano's jaw clenched. "Don't look."

"But-"

He pulled her forward with surprising gentleness. "Eyes on me, Elena. Only me."

The hidden stairwell was carved behind the wall of an old oil painting. Luciano slammed the panel shut behind them and keyed a security code into the steel pad at the bottom of the stair.

They descended into darkness, but it wasn't the dusty, cobwebbed cellar Elena expected. It was modern. Clean. Impenetrable.

Steel-lined walls. Security screens. Surveillance feeds showing angles of the estate, inside and out. One wall held weapons. The other, medical supplies. The room vibrated with quiet power.

"You have a panic room," she breathed.

"I have enemies," he replied.

She turned to him. "And they just showed up *armed* at your front door."

"Which means someone let them in."

-

Luciano's fists were clenched at his sides as he watched the monitors. On one screen, his guards subdued a man in a black mask. On another, a bloodied figure limped across the garden.

"El Toro," he said, eyes narrowing. "This is bold-even for them."

Elena sat, trembling slightly. "I-I don't understand. Who are they? Why now?"

"They're not the kind of enemy that knocks. But they're the kind that never forgets a weakness."

Her eyes met his. "And what am I?"

His gaze lingered on her face. "You're the reminder that I have one."

The words hit her like a second shot.

Twenty minutes passed. The shooting stopped, but the silence was no comfort.

Elena stood and paced, arms wrapped around herself. "I don't belong here."

"You're right," he said. "You belong in a library, reading some obscure Russian novel."

She blinked. "So why am I here?"

Luciano looked at her with eyes darker than night. "Because you're mine to protect. And they just declared war on that."

-

When it was safe, he walked her back to her room himself. No guards. Just him and her.

His shirt was torn at the shoulder, blood dried at the edge of his sleeve. His knuckles bruised. But he looked composed. Powerful. Dangerous.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly.

"I'm not hurt," he said. "Not in any way that matters."

At her door, he paused. "Tomorrow, you're leaving."

"What?"

"Not for good. Just... out of the city. Until I clean this up."

"I'm not running away."

He leaned in close. "You think I'm asking?"

She stared up at him. "You think you can just tell me what to do now?"

His jaw tightened. "If keeping you alive means being the villain, Elena, I'll wear the title proudly."

She opened her mouth-but nothing came out.

Luciano's hand brushed her hair back, lingering on her cheek. "Sleep. If you can."

Then he turned and walked away.

But she didn't sleep.

Instead, she paced. Wrote half a poem. Threw it out. Cried silently. Then got up again.

When she looked out the window at 3:00 a.m., she saw him.

Luciano was in the courtyard, drenched in rain, speaking with someone tied to a chair.

Even from the window, she could see it-the fury, the controlled wrath in every move he made.

One question echoed in her head:

*What kind of man have I fallen into?*

She thought of her father-how he used to warn her about bad men with good looks. *The devil doesn't wear horns, Ellie. He wears cologne and smiles with his teeth.*

Luciano didn't smile much. But when he did, she felt it down her spine.

So why was her heart racing every time she remembered the feel of his body over hers? Why did she flinch at the sound of gunfire, but crave the sound of his voice?

What scared her more than the bullets was this truth:

-

Across the city, El Toro's leader poured himself a drink.

"They kept her alive?" he asked.

"Yes," said his second. "Moretti didn't let her out of his sight."

The man smirked. "Then she's useful."

"Moretti's got her under lock now," said a younger man.

"Not for long," the lieutenant sneered. "Every king has a weakness. We just found his."

He smiled through bloodied teeth.

"Let's see how much sin he's willing to commit for silence."

........TO BE CONTINUED.....