Crossfire
---
FBI Command Center – 7:15 PM
Emilia Hart paced in front of the glass-walled briefing room, every nerve screaming. Cole Brennan stood at the head of the table, tapping a sheaf of surveillance photos.
"De Rossi's moving tonight," Cole said, voice low. "They've got muscle, firepower, and a grudge against Moretti. We pick up chatter they'll hit Luca's docks or a warehouse."
Agent Vargas leaned forward. "You two will run point. You're going in as a team."
Emilia's jaw clenched. "Cole's cover is fragile—if Luca sees us together, he'll smell a rat."
Vargas shrugged. "Better a rat than a dead one."
Cole met her eyes. "We watch each other's backs. No loose ends."
Emilia forced a nod. She knew "loose ends" was FBI code for "if one of us dies, the other's on their own."
---
Luca's Maserati – En Route to Docks – 8:30 PM
Rafa rode shotgun, silencers strapped across his lap.
Luca's knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. "They'll be expecting me."
Rafa's gaze was flat. "Expectations are for fools."
Luca's reflection in the rear‐view glanced coldly at him. "I didn't bring you for company."
"You brought me because you need someone watching your six."
Luca didn't answer; he didn't need to.
---
South Street Docks – 9:00 PM
Fog rolled off the river in ghostly tendrils. Shipping containers crouched like beasts in the shadows.
Emilia and Cole emerged from opposite sides—she in black leather jacket, he in a tailored sport coat. They moved with purpose, eyes scanning.
"This is it," Cole whispered. "Source said he'd be here with the merchandise."
Emilia's breath caught. She spotted a lone figure in the distance, illuminated by a single lamp. Luca's silhouette—impossibly still, impossibly dangerous. She swallowed.
"Get to the crate," she murmured. "I'll cover."
Cole slipped between containers; Emilia melted into shadow.
---
Moments Later
A soft click—the sound of a briefcase opening.
Cole knelt, unzipping a lock. Emilia raised her pistol toward the darkness, heart hammering.
Then, a roar of engines—and black SUVs screeched to a halt.
Men in suits and De Rossi colors spilled out, shotgun barrels glinting.
"FBI scum!" one yelled.
Gunfire shattered the night. Steel met concrete as bullets tore into the pavement around Emilia.
She opened fire, each shot precise. A De Rossi thug staggered—Emilia's bullet finding its mark.
Cole dove for the crate—and crashed against it as a slug struck him in the shoulder.
"Cole!" Emilia screamed, sprinting forward, returning fire.
Luca watched from the shadows, arms folded—the world's most handsome executioner judging the chaos.
Rafa materialized at Luca's side, shotgun ready.
Luca's lips curved. "Looks like our friends are settling old scores."
Rafa's finger tightened on the trigger. "Shall we?"
Luca's nod was a command—and they advanced together.
---
Between Bullets and Shadows
Emilia dragged Cole behind a stack of crates. Blood blossomed on his coat. He gritted his teeth.
"Stay down," she hissed, pressing her hand to his wound. "I've got—"
A deafening crack as Rafa's shotgun blast tore through the crate above her head, splintering wood and sending her sprawling.
She rolled into the open just as Luca emerged. Their eyes met—cold, electric.
Everything slowed: the thud of Cole's pulse; the hiss of fog; the stench of gunpowder.
Luca raised a pistol—and everything fell away.
Emilia dove to shield Cole, gun raised.
"Don't," she whispered, teeth clenched.
Luca's expression flickered—surprise? Admiration?
Then the world snapped back as a single shot echoed—
---
Emilia's arm went slack. The pain was white—searing. She tasted iron as she collapsed over Cole.
Luca's pistol clattered to the ground. Rafa's gasp cut through the chaos.
In the wreckage of night and violence, three figures lay in frozen balance:
Emilia, bleeding but alive, her secret and her loyalty shattered.
Cole, wounded and helpless, the FBI's pawn exposed.
Luca, standing above them both, the predator who never loses—caught between vengeance and something else entirely.
And somewhere in the shadows, the De Rossi gunsmith smiled.
Collateral Damage
Lower Manhattan Docks – 9:12 PM
Smoke curled around Luca's shoulders as he savored the brief luxury of silence. Then he heard it: a soft groan from the shadows.
He dropped into a crouch and found Emilia crumpled against a stack of crates, blood pooling beneath her. Cole lay beside her, breathing raggedly, one hand pressed to a burning wound in his side.
Without hesitation, Luca scooped Emilia into his arms. Her eyelids fluttered, and he caught a glimpse of fear—then pain. His jaw clenched as Rafa and two others moved to secure the perimeter, weapons hot.
"Medic," Luca barked. "Now."
Rafa was already on his radio. "We're pulling out. Extraction point ."
Luca ignored the call. He carried Emilia toward the Maserati, spitting orders at startled men. "Get him in the back—careful with that shoulder. And move—now!"
Doors slammed. Engines roared. Sirens wailed in the distance—but not close enough. Not yet.
---
Safehouse – Unmarked Brooklyn Loft – 10:05 PM
The door slammed shut behind them. Matthew and Nico, faces pale, rushed forward as Luca laid Emilia gently on a makeshift cot. Cole collapsed onto a couch, sweat and blood soaking his shirt.
"Check her vitals," Luca ordered the two crew medics he'd alerted earlier. They snapped into action, tearing at Emilia's jacket, exposing a thin line of red across her side.
Rafa stood by the window, boots planted like sentinels. "Feds are hot on our trail," he growled. "We can't stay long."
Luca ignored him, kneeling beside Emilia. The medic pressed a cloth to her wound; Emilia's shallow breaths rattled the air.
"She's stable," the medic reported. "Lost too much blood. Need more time."
Luca's gaze flicked to Cole, who was pale but conscious. "And him?"
"Bleeding out if we don't get morphine in ten minutes," the other medic said.
Luca's mind raced. An FBI agent—and his "buyer"—both saved by him. His empire demanded ruthlessness, not compassion.
He rose, shoulders tight. "Clear the docks. I'll handle De Rossi. Make sure this stays off the street."
Rafa snapped to attention. "You want me to—?"
"Do it," Luca said flatly. "And no loose ends. No witnesses." His eyes hardened: he had to protect the business first, even as he saved the lives of the very people hunting him.
---
FBI Command Center – 10:22 PM
Agent Vargas slammed his fist on the table. The conference room's TV screens flashed aerial drone footage of the abandoned docks, smoke drifting over overturned crates.
"They vanished," he growled. "both agents—no sign of either."
An analyst at the console flipped through data. "Their last confirmed GPS pings died ten minutes ago. Same time the shots rang out."
Vargas rubbed his temple. "Get me every asset in the field. I want eyes on all exit points—now."
The comms officer tapped a headset mic. "Sir, we just intercepted a burner‐phone ping from Brennan's device. It's transmitting from a loft on Greene Street."
Vargas's eyes snapped up. "Coordinates?"
"23 Greene Street. Signal's weak but consistent."
He turned to the room. "That's our window. Tactical team, gear up and move on my mark. We're extracting our agents—dead or alive."
The room snapped to action, the buzz of radios and stomping boots filling the air.
---
De Rossi Headquarters – Upper East Side – 11:00 PM
A black sedan slipped through iron gates. Inside, a De Rossi lieutenant slid a slim folder across the backseat to his boss.
"Moretti's in trouble," he said. "His right hand—Gio's replacement—called off the hit. He's holed up with the boss's people. Weakness."
The boss cracked the seal: photos of a blood-splattered safehouse, a wounded FBI agent on a makeshift cot.
"Perfect," he murmured. "Deploy the teams. Tonight, we claim Moretti's territory. And if that agent lives, she pays the price."
---
Safehouse – Brooklyn Loft – 11:27 PM
Luca stood framed by the filmy glow of a single lamp. Emilia's chest rose and fell steadily now; the medic washed his hands with trembling efficiency. Cole sat propped against the wall, pale but alive.
Rafa closed the door and locked it. He slid a pistol into his belt. "De Rossi's on their way."
Luca's gaze never left Emilia. For a moment, he saw something fragile in her—something worth protecting beyond the code of crime.
He turned to Rafa. "Move them both. New location. Now."
Rafa hesitated, torn between orders and doubt. "We don't have time—"
Luca's voice was steel. "Do it."
Rafa darted to Emilia, scooping her up. Cole shuffled to his feet, leaning heavily on Luca's arm.
They filed out into the night, the safehouse abandoned to dust and blood.
---
Moving Van, En Route – Midnight
Emilia's eyes fluttered open. The motion jolted her—but what she saw made her heart seize.
Luca sat across from her, slicked-back hair shadowed in the van's dim light. His suit was rumpled, a smear of blood at his collar, but his eyes were razor-sharp.
She blinked. His gaze met hers—fury, relief, something unnamable.
"Stay with me," he said quietly.
Emilia swallowed, voice a rasp. "Why… why did you save me?"
Luca's lips curved—half smile, half grimace. "Because even sinners have debts to settle."
The van's engine hummed as they sped into darkness—three lives bound by blood, secrets, and a war that was just beginning.