Chapter 6 - The Night Adriana Chose HerselfCarlo took my phone.
“No.”
I reached for it.
He moved it away.
“Give it back.”
“You are not going.”
“That is Lucia.”
“I know.”
“She works for me.”
“I know.”
“She is my friend.”
“I know.”
“Then give me the phone.”
“No.”
I stared at him.
This was the line.
I felt it.
Everything between us had been moving toward this exact moment.
Carlo believed love meant protection.
But his version of protection always contained control.
I lowered my voice.
“If you keep my phone, I walk away from you when this is finished.”
His face changed.
“You do not mean that.”
“Try me.”
“Adriana—”
“I will not exchange my independence for your protection.”
“She could be bait.”
“She obviously is.”
“He wants you.”
“Yes.”
“And you still want to go?”
“I want Lucia alive.”
“So do I.”
“Then work with me.”
Carlo stared.
Not command.
Not obey.
Work with me.
Eventually, he returned the phone.
That was the first victory.
We examined the photograph.
I enlarged it.
Carlo saw a terrified woman.
I saw composition.
Light.
Background.
Details.
“What?” he asked.
“The wall.”
“What about it?”
“Blue paint. Industrial. Look at the logo behind Lucia.”
Half obscured.
White letters.
A circle.
Carlo recognized it.
“Ferretti Maritime.”
“One of your warehouses?”
“Could be dozens.”
I zoomed further.
There was a number painted near the floor.
Carlo called Matteo.
Within minutes, we had a location.
Warehouse 17.
Old port.
Enzo had chosen Ferretti property.
Arrogant.
Personal.
Carlo wanted me nowhere near it.
I refused.
Eventually we compromised.
I would remain in an armored vehicle two streets away.
It was not exactly my definition of involvement.
But Lucia mattered more than winning the argument.
At 1:12 a.m., Carlo’s men surrounded the warehouse.
Police were not called.
I did not ask why.
I probably knew.
Carlo kissed me before leaving the vehicle.
Not passionately.
Almost desperately.
“Stay here.”
“Bring her back.”
“I will.”
He disappeared.
Ten minutes passed.
Then twenty.
Gunshots.
I stopped breathing.
More shots.
Luca, sitting in front, spoke rapidly into his radio.
Something had gone wrong.
“Tell me.”
“Enzo knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That we were coming.”
Of course.
Another insider.
Suddenly a truck exploded from the warehouse gates.
Luca shouted.
The armored car accelerated.
The truck turned toward us.
“Move!”
We did.
Barely.
The truck clipped our rear bumper.
Metal screamed.
We spun.
My head struck the window.
Everything blurred.
When I regained focus, Luca was unconscious.
The driver was bleeding.
My door opened.
A man grabbed me.
I fought.
Kicked.
Bit.
Screamed.
He dragged me out anyway.
A hood came over my head.
Then darkness.
When the hood was removed, I was sitting inside Warehouse 17.
Lucia was across from me.
Alive.
“Adriana!”
I nearly cried from relief.
Enzo stood between us.
He looked immaculate.
Of course.
“You came.”
“You kidnapped my friend.”
“Yes.”
“Very persuasive invitation.”
His smile disappeared.
“You joke when frightened.”
“I learned recently that it annoys Ferretti men.”
“You think you understand Carlo.”
“No.”
“Good.”
He paced.
“My brother loves control.”
“I noticed.”
“He will destroy anything he cannot control.”
“That sounds more like you.”
His eyes hardened.
There.
That was the real Enzo.
Not charm.
Not humor.
Resentment.
“You think he is different because he kisses you gently?”
“I think he is different because when I tell him no, eventually he listens.”
Enzo laughed.
“Eventually.”
“Yes. He is learning.”
“And you believe that is love?”
“No.”
I looked directly at him.
“I think learning is.”
That angered him.
Good.
Angry people made mistakes.
I had noticed something else.
Lucia’s restraints were plastic zip ties.
So were mine.
But Enzo’s men had taken my bag without searching the inner pocket.
Graphic designers carried strange tools.
Including small precision blades.
The blade pressed against my hip.
I worked slowly.
Enzo kept talking.
About Carlo.
Their father.
Inheritance.
Years of being overlooked.
I let him.
Every narcissist eventually confused attention with agreement.
“You know what Carlo’s weakness is?” Enzo asked.
“You?”
“You.”
The zip tie weakened.
“He will come for you.”
“I know.”
“He will trade everything.”
“Maybe.”
“His territory. Accounts. Companies.”
“Maybe.”
“His life.”
I looked at Enzo.
“No.”
“You sound certain.”
“Because Carlo finally understands I would never forgive him.”
Enzo’s expression changed.
Then the warehouse doors exploded inward.
Chaos.
Lights.
Gunfire.
I cut the final strip of plastic.
Grabbed Lucia.
Pulled her behind machinery.
Carlo entered through smoke.
I saw him instantly.
He saw me.
For one impossible second, everything stopped.
Then Enzo raised a gun.
At Carlo.
“NO!”
I threw a metal tool case.
It struck Enzo’s arm.
The gun fired.
Carlo dropped.
My entire world collapsed.
“CARLO!”
Matteo shot Enzo in the shoulder.
Enzo fell.
Men swarmed him.
I ran.
Carlo was on the ground.
Blood.
Too much blood.
“Carlo.”
His eyes opened.
“Stubborn girl.”
I sobbed.
“Do not joke.”
“Shoulder.”
The bullet had passed through.
Not chest.
Not heart.
I pressed my hands against the wound.
“You idiot.”
“You came.”
“So did you.”
“You were supposed to stay in the car.”
“The car was attacked.”
“That seems like an inadequate excuse.”
I laughed through tears.
Then kissed him.
Right there.
Blood.
Smoke.
Police sirens approaching.
Everything falling apart.
I kissed Carlo Ferretti because for the first time since this madness began, I understood something.
I was not falling in love with his danger.
I was falling in love with the man fighting against it.
And those were not the same thing.
Enzo survived.
Lucia survived.
Carlo survived.
But the Ferretti empire did not.
Because three days later, lying in a hospital bed, Carlo made a decision nobody expected.
May you like
He called the prosecutor.
And offered everything.
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