THE SISTER SHE NEVER WANTED TO BE

The sunlight caught the polished silver barrel of the revolver as Vanessa aimed it directly at my face through the windshield.

My breath lodged in my throat. I was frozen, trapped in the passenger seat of the heavy armored SUV.

Armored.

The word echoed in my panicked mind just as Vanessa pulled the trigger.

CRACK.

The bullet slammed into the windshield, right in front of my eyes. But instead of shattering the glass and tearing into me, it embedded itself into the thick, bullet-resistant layers, leaving a massive, spider-webbed crater in the glass.

Vanessa stumbled backward from the recoil, clutching her wounded side, her face twisting in pure rage when she realized the glass held.

She aimed again, moving toward the driver's side door, trying to find a weak point in the armor.

I scrambled across the center console, desperately searching for a weapon, a radio, anything. My hands were shaking so violently I knocked the gear shift.

The heavy SUV lurched slightly.

Vanessa fired a second time, hitting the driver's side window. The glass cracked but didn't break.

She let out a frustrated scream, stepping closer to the door, pressing the barrel directly against the fractured glass.

Suddenly, the side exit door of the clinic burst open.

Luca emerged, his weapon already drawn, moving with a lethal speed that defied his exhaustion.

"Drop it, Vanessa!" Luca roared, his voice echoing across the empty parking lot.

Vanessa spun around, raising her revolver toward him.

But she was injured, bleeding, and desperate. Her aim was unsteady.

Luca didn't hesitate. He didn't fire to kill. He fired with surgical precision.

BANG.

The bullet caught Vanessa in the right shoulder. She shrieked, dropping the pearl-handled revolver as the impact spun her around. She collapsed onto the asphalt, clutching her shoulder, sobbing in agony.

Luca kept his weapon trained on her as he quickly closed the distance. He kicked the revolver far out of her reach.

I fumbled with the locks and threw open the SUV door, scrambling out into the cold morning air.

"Luca!" I cried, running toward him.

"Stay back, Megan!" he ordered, his eyes locked on Vanessa.

Marco sprinted out of the clinic behind Luca, securing the perimeter and radioing for backup.

Vanessa was writhing on the ground, blood staining her hospital gown and the cheap coat she had stolen to escape. She looked up at Luca, her eyes filled with venom and defeat.

"You're a monster, Luca," she hissed through gritted teeth.

"Where is the photograph, Vanessa?" Luca demanded, his voice devoid of any pity.

She let out a wet, bitter laugh. "It's gone. I burned it. You have nothing."

Luca crouched down beside her. He didn't touch her. He didn't need to. His mere presence was enough to suffocate the remaining fight out of her.

"I don't need the photograph to ruin you," Luca said softly, his voice colder than the winter wind. "The Commission knows you conspired with Julian Rossi to break the truce. They know you plotted to murder a boss's wife. Even if I don't touch you, you are a dead woman walking in every city in this country."

Vanessa’s face paled. The realization of her true situation finally sank in. She had no allies left.

"Please," she whimpered, the venom replaced by pathetic desperation. "Luca, please. I'll leave the country. I'll never come back. Just let me go."

"You lost the right to ask for mercy the day you poisoned my wife," Luca said flatly.

He stood up, turning his back on her.

"Marco," Luca said. "Call the authorities. Give them the evidence of her embezzlement, her involvement with the Rossis, and the medical records proving she tampered with Caroline's medication. Let the justice system handle her. If she goes to a federal prison, the Commission won't need to hunt her. She can spend the rest of her life in a concrete box, looking over her shoulder."

"Understood, Boss," Marco nodded, dialing his phone.

Vanessa screamed obscenities as two of Marco's men lifted her off the ground, dragging her back toward the clinic to await the police.

Luca watched them go, his shoulders finally dropping the massive weight they had been carrying for three years. The truth was out. The people responsible for Caroline's death were exposed and handled.

He turned toward me.

I was standing by the SUV, my arms wrapped around myself to ward off the cold and the residual adrenaline.

Luca walked slowly toward me. The fierce, untouchable mafia boss was gone. In his place was just a man—exhausted, bruised, and deeply relieved.

He stopped two feet in front of me.

"Are you hurt?" he asked softly, his eyes scanning my face for any sign of injury.

"I'm okay," I whispered, my voice trembling slightly. "The glass held."

Luca reached out and gently traced the line of my jaw with his thumb. His touch was warm, grounding me in reality.

"I told you to stay in the car," he murmured, a faint, teasing smile touching his lips.

"I did stay in the car," I replied, a watery laugh escaping me. "I just didn't expect the car to be used for target practice."

Luca’s smile faded, replaced by an intensity that made the breath catch in my throat.

"I was terrified," he admitted, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. "When I heard the gunshot... I thought I was too late."

He closed the distance between us, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me flush against his chest. I rested my hands on his lapels, feeling the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath the ruined fabric of his suit.

"You weren't too late," I promised him, looking up into his dark eyes.

Luca leaned down. There was no hesitation this time, no phone ringing to interrupt us.

His lips met mine in a kiss that was slow, deep, and incredibly gentle. It was a release of all the tension, fear, and unspoken longing that had built up between us over the past twelve hours. It was a promise of safety, of a new beginning built on truth rather than lies.

I kissed him back, my unburned hand sliding up into his thick, dark hair, pulling him closer. The cold morning air vanished, replaced entirely by the warmth of him.

When we finally pulled away, breathless, Luca rested his forehead against mine.

"Let's go home," he whispered.

"To the cabin?" I asked.