Chapter 42: Shattered Allegiances
The world was a war drum.
Each beat was a gunshot, each pulse a scream of vengeance that echoed through Luca's ears as the smoke curled around him. The west wing of Victor's estate had erupted into chaos—walls cracked open like ribs torn apart, windows shattered into knives, and flames licked the wallpaper with savage hunger.
But it wasn't the inferno or the scent of burning silk that paralyzed Luca.It was the silence that came after.
A silence too loud.
"Marco!" he shouted, stumbling forward through the wreckage, gun still clenched in his shaking hand. Every step was a question he didn't want answered. Blood dripped from a wound on his side, but he didn't feel it—not really. All he could think of was Marco, disappearing into the wave of guards and gunfire just minutes ago.
He shoved past a collapsed beam, boots crunching over glass and bone. Smoke stung his eyes, but he kept moving, his heart hammering like a war drum in his chest.
"Marco, answer me!"
Then—a sound.
A groan. Low, strained.
Luca spun, eyes locking onto a figure partially buried under twisted metal and wood. He sprinted, dropping to his knees, adrenaline flooding his veins as he pulled apart the debris.
And there he was.
Marco.
Bloodied, bruised, but alive.
"Goddamn it," Luca breathed, voice breaking as he saw Marco's chest rise and fall. "You stupid, reckless bastard."
Marco coughed, blood staining his lips. "Takes one to know one."
Luca's hands shook as he lifted the beam off Marco's chest with all the strength he had left. He hauled him up, looping Marco's arm around his shoulder. "I told you not to do anything stupid."
"I didn't." Marco winced, forcing a smirk. "I did something calculatedly desperate. There's a difference."
They staggered together through the skeletal remains of the estate, every footstep echoing with pain. Behind them, the fire consumed everything Victor had built—the opulence, the lies, the facade of control. But Victor himself… was gone.
Again.
By the time they reached the edge of the woods, dawn was threatening the horizon, painting the sky in bruised shades of lavender and crimson. They didn't speak. They didn't have to. Every breath was a victory. Every step, a promise.
Back at the safehouse—a dusty, nondescript building hidden in the folds of the countryside—Luca slammed the door shut behind them. He collapsed into a chair while Marco eased onto the edge of the bed, hand pressed to his ribs.
Luca stared out the cracked window. "He played us."
"No," Marco said, voice gravel. "He underestimated us. That was his mistake."
"Not the first time," Luca muttered. "But it better be the last."
A long pause. The quiet was heavier than the gunfire had been.
Then, Marco spoke. "We can't do this alone."
Luca turned to him. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"
Marco nodded slowly. "Ethan."
Luca scoffed, pushing away from the window. "He's poison."
"He's useful," Marco countered, locking eyes with him. "And you know it."
"He's Victor's protégé. He—"
"He walked away. That's more than most."
Luca crossed his arms, jaw tight. The name brought back more than memories—it brought shadows. Ethan was once part of the machine that tore Luca's life apart. But he was also the only one alive who understood Victor's next move. And they were running out of time.
"I don't trust him," Luca finally said.
"I don't either," Marco replied. "But I trust you."
That silenced him.
Luca swallowed, forcing down the storm inside him. He crossed the room, grabbed his phone, and opened a long-dead thread. No recent messages. Just one unsent draft.
He deleted it.
And typed a new one.
"Coming for answers. You know who."
He hit send.
Across the city, atop a towering high-rise wrapped in glass and steel, Ethan adjusted his cufflinks. His reflection stared back at him—sharp suit, sharper eyes. The penthouse was immaculate, impersonal. It was the kind of place a man lived in when he expected to leave without warning.
A phone buzzed on the table behind him.
He didn't turn right away. He knew.
When he finally looked, the screen flashed with a message.
"Coming for answers. You know who."
Ethan exhaled through a crooked smile. Not surprised. Not angry. Curious.
"Well," he said to the empty room. "Took you long enough."
He slipped the phone into his pocket, poured a glass of whiskey, and stepped onto the balcony. The wind kissed his face as the city below stirred awake.
"Let the game begin again."
To be continued...
4o
Follow up
Make their reunion emotionally intense
Reveal Ethan's hidden motives
Describe the safehouse in vivid detail