Chapter 34

• The city’s bruised skyline bled gold as dawn broke over the docks, casting long, jagged shadows across the battered pavement. The scent of salt, blood, and burnt rubber still clung to the air. It was the aftermath of chaos of betrayal and violence and in its wake stood Kieran Doyle and Isandro Vega, two enemies too broken to walk away and too bound to sever the cord between them.
• Kieran shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her leather jacket, her mind still buzzing from the fight. Her knuckles ached from where they’d split against bone. She could feel the dried blood on her temple, sticky and uncomfortable, but it barely registered. All she could think about dangerously was the woman beside her.
• Isandro lit a cigarette with smooth, practiced ease. Her hands were steady despite the ambush they’d barely escaped. The flare of the match illuminated sharp cheekbones, hollowed eyes, and the curve of lips that Kieran had dreamed of far too many times in moments she’d sworn were weakness.
• “Black Crest,” Isandro murmured, her voice rasped by smoke and fatigue. “They’re not just ghosts. Someone’s resurrected them.”
• Kieran exhaled sharply. “And we just painted a target on our backs.”
• Their eyes met silver steel on pitch-black fire. The air between them vibrated, heavy with adrenaline and something hotter, sharper, more volatile than the bullets that had just missed their skulls.
• Kieran’s throat worked. “We need to plan. We can’t let this spiral.”
• Isandro took a drag, exhaled smoke through parted lips. “Come to my place,” she said softly. “We’ll figure it out.”
• The suggestion was casual, but the undertone wasn’t. It dripped with the same tension that had haunted them since the first time their blades crossed in blood-soaked warehouses and under shattered neon lights.
• It wasn’t just war that tethered them now.
• It was something darker. Something they’d both refused to name.
• Kieran nodded once. “Lead the way.”
• They didn’t speak as they walked, weaving through the skeletal remains of the docks and into the heart of the city where Vega’s black SUV waited. The drive was silent, charged, every glance in the rearview mirror another spark in dry kindling.
• By the time they reached Isandro’s penthouse—dark glass, cold marble, city lights sprawling far below the weight between them was suffocating.
• Kieran stepped inside, muscles still coiled tight, senses on high alert.
• Isandro locked the door behind them and tossed her keys onto a glass table. Her leather jacket hit the floor. Without breaking eye contact, she said, low and deliberate, “Drink?”
• Kieran’s voice was gravel. “No.”
• A flicker of something dangerous passed through Isandro’s dark eyes. “Good.”
• She closed the distance with slow, deliberate steps, like a predator testing the air between them. Kieran stood her ground, jaw clenched, heart hammering in her chest.
• “You don’t trust me,” Isandro murmured.
• “Should I?” Kieran shot back, her voice a rough whisper.
• Their faces were inches apart now, breath mingling. Kieran could feel the heat radiating off Isandro’s skin, smell the sharp scent of gunpowder, smoke, and something uniquely hers something wild and addictive.
• “You shouldn’t,” Isandro agreed softly. Her lips curved into a cold smile. “But you still came.”
• The tension snapped like a frayed wire.
• Kieran’s fingers curled in Isandro’s shirt, yanking her forward as their mouths crashed together—violent, hungry, desperate. There was no pretense of softness, no careful exploration. Teeth clashed, breath hissed, and hands gripped hard enough to bruise.
• It was war dressed as a kiss.
• Isandro groaned into her mouth, biting Kieran’s lower lip before shoving her backward until her spine hit the wall with a dull thud. Kieran barely had time to suck in a breath before Isandro’s thigh pressed between her legs, her hands gripping Kieran’s wrists and pinning them above her head.
• Kieran gasped, arching involuntarily into the contact. “Fuck.”
• Isandro’s eyes burned black. “That’s the idea.”
• Kieran growled, twisting violently, but Isandro held firm, her grip steel and silk all at once. The dominance in her stance, the raw command in her expression it shot straight to Kieran’s core, made her head spin with desire and fury in equal measure.
• “You don’t get to control me,” Kieran rasped, but the breathlessness in her voice betrayed her.
• Isandro leaned in, her lips brushing Kieran’s ear. “Don’t I?”
• The challenge sent shivers down Kieran’s spine. Her pulse roared in her ears, her body betraying every cold calculation her mind tried to hold onto. She could smell the danger in Isandro, taste the threat on her lips but it only made her burn hotter.
• With a violent twist, Kieran broke one wrist free, grabbing the front of Isandro’s shirt and dragging her into another searing kiss. This one was messier, harsher, as if they were both fighting for dominance, for control, for air.
• Clothes were torn more than removed buttons scattering across marble floors, leather sliding from sweat-slicked skin. Kieran’s back hit the bedroom door before Isandro shoved her through it, both of them breathless, bruised, and desperate.
• The bed was too far.
• They didn’t make it.
• Isandro pinned Kieran against the door, one hand tangled in red hair, the other sliding beneath the waistband of her jeans. Kieran gasped sharply, her hips bucking into the touch she was too far gone to resist.
• “Tell me to stop,” Isandro growled against her throat, her breath hot, her teeth grazing sensitive skin. “And I will.”
• Kieran’s fingers dug into Isandro’s bare shoulders, nails raking skin. Her voice was hoarse, wrecked, honest. “Don’t.”
• The moment shattered.
• Isandro’s hand dipped lower, rough and unrelenting, drawing a broken moan from Kieran’s throat. The world blurred white-hot pleasure sparking along every nerve as her body arched, writhed, obeyed without consent or thought.
• It was reckless. Dangerous. Exactly what they weren’t supposed to be.
• Their mouths met again sloppier now, needier teeth and tongue, bruises and breath. Kieran’s mind barely registered when her jeans were shoved down, her shirt discarded, her body laid bare to the cool air and the searing heat of Isandro’s touch.
• There was nothing gentle in the way Isandro pressed her against the door, fingers curling with bruising precision, drawing gasps and curses in equal measure. Her free hand gripped Kieran’s jaw, forcing her gaze up, their eyes locked fierce, molten, raw.
• “Look at me,” Isandro ordered softly.
• Kieran couldn’t look away if she tried.
• The rhythm built—sharp, relentless, every stroke another nail in the coffin of their restraint. Kieran’s breath hitched, her hands scrambling for purchase—shoulders, hair, the door itself as her body buckled on the edge of something blinding.
• “I hate you,” she gasped, voice breaking on a moan.
• Isandro’s lips twisted into a dark smile. “Liar.”
• The climax ripped through Kieran like a detonation—violent, consuming, her cry muffled by Isandro’s mouth as she shattered apart. Her body trembled uncontrollably, breath heaving, muscles spasming beneath Isandro’s hold.
• And still… Isandro didn’t let go.
• As the aftershocks faded, Kieran sagged, her forehead pressed to Isandro’s shoulder, breath ragged. Every nerve still hummed. Every inch of her skin felt branded.
• They stayed like that for a moment silent but trembling, the air thick with the taste of sweat, smoke, and something perilously close to tenderness.
• Then Kieran laughed softly a raw, breathless sound.
• “Still think this is a good idea?” she murmured against Isandro’s skin.
• Isandro exhaled, her hand sliding from Kieran’s body to cradle her jaw instead. Her thumb brushed the corner of Kieran’s bruised lip with surprising gentleness.
• “No,” she admitted quietly. “Not at all.”
• And still… neither of them pulled away.
• Not yet.
• The city lights flickered beyond the penthouse windows, but neither of them noticed. Their world had narrowed to the heat between them, the bruising passion that came from weeks to months of hatred that had morphed into something sharp and consuming.
• Elio’s fingers tightened around Luca’s wrist as he shoved him against the glass, breath coming hard. His eyes, so often cold and ruthless, burned now something wild and dangerous overtaking the carefully constructed facade he wore like armor.
• “You think you know me?” Elio growled, voice rough with both desire and something darker. “You have no idea what you’re playing with.”
• Luca’s chest heaved. “Then show me.”
• The challenge in his voice was unmistakable. Defiance, yes, but beneath it hunger. Need. The kind of need that stripped away every pretense.
• Elio’s mouth crashed into his, claiming him with bruising force. Hands tore at buttons, at belts, at every barrier between them until bare skin met bare skin and heat exploded between their bodies.
• It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was raw filthy every thrust of hips and scrape of teeth a declaration of war as much as desire.
• But it was the moment Elio’s forehead pressed to Luca’s, breath ragged, when the walls began to crack.
• “I should hate you,” Elio rasped. His hands trembled against Luca’s sides. “I should kill you for what your family did to mine.”
• “Then why don’t you?” Luca whispered, voice breaking. His own hands curled around Elio’s jaw, pulling him closer. “Why am I still here?”
• The answer neither of them spoke hovered between them.
• Because despite the blood.
• Despite the betrayal.
• Despite everything this was something neither could walk away from.
• Their bodies moved in sync, faster, harder each desperate for release, but the emotion clawed its way in, unwelcome but impossible to ignore.
• And when it came when the blinding, shattering climax ripped through them, it wasn’t just the physical that unraveled. It was everything.
• Elio collapsed against him, chests heaving, sweat-damp skin pressed together as their breathing slowly steadied.
• Luca’s fingers ran through the damp strands of Elio’s hair, hesitant. The air felt fragile. Too fragile.
• “Elio…” Luca began, but he didn’t finish.
• Because that was the moment the penthouse door crashed open.
• Gunshots rang out one, two splintering the fragile stillness.
• Elio shoved Luca down, protective instincts flaring as masked figures stormed in, weapons drawn. His hand closed around the gun at the bedside, but it was too late one of the men grabbed Luca by the throat, yanking him up.
• “Get your hands off him!” Elio roared, but a second gun pressed to his temple halted him in place.
• The leader a familiar voice. One Elio hadn’t heard in years.
• “Didn’t think I’d find you like this, brother,” the man sneered, pulling off his mask to reveal a face Elio knew all too well.
• “Rafaele,” Elio breathed, shock stealing his voice.
• His half-brother. The man everyone believed dead.
• And he was very much alive.
• “Time to finish what our father started,” Rafaele whispered, gun tilting toward Luca’s skull.
• Everything...everything shifted in an instant.
• The blood. The betrayal. The tangled mess of lust and loyalty.
• And Elio knew he was about to lose the one thing he’d sworn never to want.
• The icy press of the gun barrel against Luca’s temple stole the air from the room.
• “Elio…” Luca’s voice was raw, hoarse his hands raised slightly in the universal gesture of surrender. His heart pounded, adrenaline burning through his veins.
• Elio’s entire body tensed, his own gun held but useless with the second assailant’s weapon trained on him.
• “Let him go,” Elio growled, his voice low, lethal. “This is between us.”
• Rafaele’s cold laughter sent shivers through the air. “Oh, I know exactly what this is, brother. I’ve been watching.” His eyes flicked to Luca, mouth curling with disgust. “Didn’t take you for the type to fall into bed with the enemy.”
• “Elio” Luca started, panic sharpening his tone.
• “Quiet,” Rafaele snapped, shoving the gun harder against Luca’s temple. The click of the safety being disengaged was deafening in the tense silence.
• “I will kill you where you stand,” Elio snarled, the mask of the cold, merciless Mafioso slamming back into place. But beneath it Luca could see the terror. The desperation.
• Rafaele smirked. “You were always soft where it mattered most.”
• In a flash of movement, Elio fired.
• The shot was clean, precise—striking the hand of the man holding him at gunpoint. Blood splattered. A scream tore through the air.
• Chaos erupted.
• Luca ducked instinctively as Elio lunged. The gun in Rafaele’s hand swung toward Elio, but Luca reacted raw instinct his elbow slamming into the man’s ribs, throwing him off balance.
• More shots. Glass shattered.
• Elio and Luca moved together without thinking, bodies pressed close as Elio fired again dropping one of the attackers.
• But Rafaele was gone. Vanished into the dark, the front door swinging wide.
• Silence fell.
• Their chests heaved in tandem, the smell of gunpowder thick around them. Blood dripped from a shallow cut on Luca’s brow, but neither of them moved.
• Elio’s hands found Luca’s face, cupping it roughly. “Are you—?”
• “I’m fine,” Luca gasped, heart still thundering. “You?”
• Before either could say another word, Elio crashed their mouths together this time not in lust but sheer, savage relief.
• It was frantic, desperate his hands gripping Luca’s jaw, his lips devouring. Luca melted into it, trembling as the kiss deepened, full of everything they couldn’t voice.
• When they broke apart, breathless, Elio’s forehead pressed to his.
• “I almost lost you,” Elio whispered, voice cracked open and bare. “I can’t” He swallowed, closing his eyes. “I won’t.”
• Luca’s hands slid up his chest, gentle despite the adrenaline. “I’m right here.”
• And somehow, despite the blood, the broken glass, and the danger still closing in they held onto each other.
• The chapter ends with the sirens echoing in the distance, a storm of violence still waiting on the horizon.