Chapter 5

5

LUCA

I f there's any indication that I'm getting more and more attached to Lila, it's the strange tug in my belly after I close the front door behind me. The realization that I don't want to leave her—not even for a few hours—has me questioning my entire existence.

Attachment has never been a problem, which is why this life suited me. I live in a suitcase, spending most of my time either in airports or hotel rooms, and that's fine.

Or it was.

But whatever. I can dissect these feelings once I'm done with this particular errand.

Rule #1: Tie up loose ends.

That's exactly what I'm doing. I've spent the last two days eliminating possible suspects, which isn't easy to do given how many people dear ole Dad scammed out of their pension or retirement funds or life savings.

I'm left with two men, both involved in some serious shady shit.

The first one lost five million to Dad, but after going through his finances, lifestyle, and vices, he's not the guy. He likes his money—his three mistresses do too—but he doesn't use a lot of muscle, just three bodyguards he surrounds himself with.

The second one, however, piques my interest.

Darin Dalton. Thirty-two years old. Worth eighty million dollars. Dabbles in all things illegal—pretty much anything and everything that can make him north of a million. Has a compound full of private military contractors.

And Dad was stupid enough to scam him twenty million.

What the fuck was he thinking? He knew he would have a target on his back the moment he ran off with Dalton's money.

Then again, that's Dad. He never thinks, just does whatever he wants, and fucks off everyone else—even his own family.

Especially his own family.

When I arrive near Dalton's place, I sit in my car for a full five minutes, hands ghosting over my weapons—my trusty hand-forged Damascus steel Bowie knife, some fragmentation grenades, and two SIG Sauer P226s. And, of course, the bomb to end this once and for all.

It's not much, but I'm going to have to wing it once inside. The last thing I need is getting dragged down by my bulk.

I think about Lila sitting at home, at the men who tried to hurt her or worse, and I feel the flame of fury licking my veins.

Anger sharpens my mind, like it always does, and clears my head. People will say not to fight angry, but I disagree. The angrier I am, the more efficient I become. A better weapon. A better killing machine.

With one deep breath, I step out of the car and toward the compound.

Getting inside is surprisingly easy, and I make it to his second-floor balcony without alerting anyone, dodging both guards and security cameras. Maybe because it's broad daylight, and they know that the only intruders who will try to break in are fools. Which I am not.

Dalton is standing in front of his king-sized bed with nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist. He's an average-looking guy—light brown hair brushed back, deeply tanned, and basically a face that won't ever stand out. A forgettable face, save for the cruel tilt to his mouth.

Two naked women lie on the mattress, and a third one is draped over the loveseat behind him.

He swipes through his phone and puts it against his ear, looking at the sleeping women and stepping out onto the balcony.

Wrong move.

I waste no time wrapping an arm around his neck, sticking the muzzle in his mouth, and dragging him toward the adjoining room, which apparently doubles as his home office. I use zip ties to tie him to a chair, and he struggles before I wrap a hand around his neck to cut off his oxygen.

His eyes widen with fear, and I say in a low voice, "Stay still, or I might accidentally break your bones or choke you to death."

"W-who are you? What do you want?"

Satisfied that he's secured, I step back and drag a chair so I can sit across from him. "I'm going to ask you a question. Answer yes or no. If I find out you're lying, I'll bury this knife in your thigh. Then, I ask the same question. If you lie again, I'm going to bury it in a different spot." I grin at him. "So if you don't give me an honest answer, you're going to end up looking like a voodoo doll."

"You're fucking crazy," he spits out. "I have two dozen men outside."

"Yeah?" I lean back and prop an ankle over my knee. "Where are they now?"

He realizes the situation he's in, and his eyes turn wild, his breathing erratic. Fear. Good. He deserves to marinate in it.

"Did you send your men to Phillip Lennox's house?"

The brief, unmistakable glint in his eyes confirms it—a physical reaction to my question—but instead of answering, he glares at me. "What's it to you?"

"It's a yes or no question."

"The bastard stole my twenty million."

"He's not at home, though, but you already know that."

"His stepdaughter is."

Something long buried in the back of my mind flickers to awareness—the primal beast that I have forgotten existed. It was this beast that had me fighting mindlessly on the streets, beating bloody anyone who came near me. The beast that landed me in jail.

"Nobody comes after my woman and gets out alive." The possessiveness in my voice catches me off-guard.

"W-who are you?"

"Luca Lennox."

His eyes dart back and forth. "So the woman in Belshire … She's your stepsister."

"Did I stutter?"

We're done talking. I need to get back to Lila.

I stand and roll my shoulders. The next twenty minutes are going to be busy.

I lift a hand holding my gun and point it to his forehead. His eyes cloud with terror, pupils dilated. His face is drained of color, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. "Please. Don't do this. I can give?—"

The sound of a bullet being fired reverberates in the room, and that leaves me a few precious seconds before his men come for me. Well, then. Time to get to work.

Exactly ten minutes later, the three women crowd in a car and speed away, leaving me to watch the explosion blowing out bits of glass from the first and second floor, fire belching out.

The second I hear the sirens, I drive back home … home to Lila.

Mission accomplished.

Lila waits outside the house and watches me approach. Her beautiful face is tense and etched with concern. Her lips are pressed into a thin line, the muscles in her neck taut and visible.

The ends of her white dress flutter in the breeze, and she looks breathtaking. Well, except for the way she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, wringing her hands in front of her.

I haven't fully gotten out of the car yet when she flings herself to me. "God, I was so worried, Luca. You told me you had an errand, but it's been four hours." She pulls back, scanning my face and touching a spot on my cheek. "You have blood here. Is this yours?"

"No."

Shock ripples across her face, and she nods. "Then that's good enough for me. Let's go inside and get you cleaned up."

The image of her worried sick as she waited for me to come home floats in my mind's eye. I imagine her sitting anxiously, wondering if I'm going to step inside the door or if my handler will tell her where to pick up my body.

Jesus Christ.

I don't want this for her. It was fine before since no one ever worried about me, and I didn't worry about anyone else.

But things are different now. My life is about to head in a different direction with her. Of course, it's with her. The only way I'm leaving my old life and trading it with a new one is if Lila's with me.

She's all that matters.