Lorenzo's POV
I didn't wait. As soon as the door to Jonathan's house was breached, I stormed in, moving fast, moving quiet. The air was thick with tension, the sharp scent of danger curling around us as I scanned the room. Jonathan was nowhere to be seen, but his men were.
Luca was right beside me, his movements precise as ever, a ghost in the night. The gunfire broke the stillness, loud, rapid, but clean. No wasted bullets. I didn't have time for mistakes.
The men in the house didn't last long. They didn't even get the chance to react before they fell. There was no mercy. Not tonight. The screams didn't even make it out of their throats before they were silenced. Their bodies littered the floor, no longer a threat.
Jonathan wasn't there, but I wasn't about to let him slip away. My eyes narrowed, searching for any sign of movement, any clue to where he might be hiding. He'd already crossed a line, and I wasn't going to let him crawl back into the shadows.
We tore through the house, every room checked, every corner cleared. The vast space felt cold and sterile, empty even though it was littered with things. Expensive furniture, gleaming surfaces, art on the walls, all the trappings of wealth that meant nothing now. Not to me.
Finally, we found him, slumped in a darkened office, his breath shallow, his body limp watching the CCTV footage from the living room where all his men lay dead, some scattered drugs of different colours lay on his desk. He didn't fight. He didn't move. He was done. The man who thought he could play with lives, who believed he could control the world, was nothing more than a broken thing now.
Luca moved quickly, securing him, dragging him out of the office with no care for his dignity. Jonathan's body flopped against the floor, weak and broken. He was still conscious, but barely. His eyes glazed over, full of confusion, of pain. It didn't matter. It wasn't over. Not yet.
I moved closer, my boots heavy against the floor, each step marking my approach. The silence was deafening, broken only by the sound of Jonathan's strained breathing. I could see the fear in his eyes, but I didn't care. He had made his choices, and now it was my turn to make him face the consequences.
He tried to speak, but it was nothing but a low, pitiful sound, a last attempt at bravado. It didn't matter.
"Get him to the car," I ordered, my voice cold, void of emotion. Luca didn't hesitate, hauling Jonathan's broken form toward the exit, dragging him like a sack of useless weight.
The drive was quiet, the city speeding by as I stared out the window, the night swallowing everything around us. The lights outside were nothing but a blur, a fleeting reminder of the world we inhabited, a world full of noise and distractions, but I was far beyond all that now. I was focused. Laser-sharp. Jonathan's blood would stain the night. It was only a matter of time before he realized it. Before he felt it.
I couldn't afford to get distracted by what was happening around me. Not now. The plan was simple, the mission clear. But there was something else gnawing at me, something underneath all the chaos. The quiet in the car, broken only by the hum of the engine, was suffocating. It settled into my chest like a weight I couldn't shake off. Something was wrong, something that had nothing to do with Jonathan. But I didn't have the time to sort it out.
We pulled up to my house, the same dark silence wrapping around us as we stepped out. The place felt almost too still, too perfect. It was like the house itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. And it would, I knew that. It always did.
Luca grabbed Jonathan, dragging him into the house. The sound of his ragged breathing echoed through the halls as they made their way down to the basement. The house wasn't large, but it felt like a maze in the silence. I didn't need to watch. I knew what would come next.
Luca would do what was necessary. He always did. The question wasn't whether he would break, but how long it would take before he did.
I moved through the house, my boots clicking softly on the polished floor. The tension in my chest was unbearable, but I couldn't show it. Not now. Not while Jonathan was still breathing. It wasn't over until I said it was over.
I walked upstairs, the silence wrapping around me like a second skin. The house was cold, even colder than it should be. Something about it felt... wrong. Like there was an undercurrent of something waiting to snap. Maybe it was just me. Maybe it was just the pressure of everything weighing on me.
I entered the bathroom, turning on the shower, the hot water cascading over me as I stood beneath it, letting it run down my skin. It should have been a relief. But it wasn't. It didn't wash away the unease gnawing at me. My mind kept returning to one thing. One person. Daisy.
I couldn't explain it. But those damn eyes of hers... They stuck with me. In the market, she had looked at me like she was already dead inside, like the world had taken everything from her. I had seen that look in people before—victims, the broken.
I tried to shake it off, but it clung to me like a shadow. The water didn't help. It didn't make it go away.
Damn it.
I finished quickly, drying off with practiced ease, my thoughts still tangled with her. I had no room for distractions, no time for whatever this was. But that didn't stop it. I couldn't ignore it. And that pissed me off.
Before I knew it, I was standing outside her door. My hand hovered for a moment before I unlocked the door quietly, slipping inside without a sound.
There she was, lying on the floor. The way she lay there, so still, so broken, it did something to me. Her tears had dried, but the remnants of them were still visible, streaking down her cheeks, a testament to her pleading earlier. The scene hit me harder than it should have. It shouldn't have. I didn't care about her, not in that way.
I couldn't.
But a sharp pain hit my chest, unexpected, jarring. It made me pause. I stood there for a long moment, just watching her, wondering what the hell I was even doing there. I couldn't understand it. I didn't want to understand it.
"Fuck," I muttered, the word slipping out before I could stop it. It wasn't like me to lose focus like this. But there it was. Her reaction was instant. She jumped, her gaze locking with mine, raw and fearful, like a rabbit caught in headlights.