Chapter Eight Luca POV

Rain streaked the windows as we pulled into the penthouse garage, a cold smear of neon reflections painting the wet asphalt. The storm outside mirrored the storm inside me, the kind that never settled, no matter how many bodies I left behind, no matter how many deals I closed. My grip on the wheel tightened, not from the driving, but from the way Sienna watched me, eyes wide but alert, like she’d already been baptized in fire and wasn’t sure if she wanted to survive it.

The Russian meeting had been tense every word, every movement calculated, every glance a threat or a test. And she had survived it. More than that she had held her ground. My stomach had twisted the first time one of the Russians’ wolves sneered at her, and my hand itched to draw a line where his smirk ended. But she… she didn’t flinch. She had smiled. Sharp. Fearless. And for a heartbeat, I had laughed not at them, but at the audacity, at the way she carried fire like a shield.

Now, back in the relative sanctuary of the penthouse, I parked the SUV and killed the engine. Silence filled the car for a moment, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Her hands rested in her lap, fingers flexing just slightly adrenaline lingering in her muscles. I could feel it, a low hum under my skin, and I didn’t bother hiding my own pulse.

I think they underestimated you, I said finally, breaking the quiet, voice low, edged with something between amusement and warning.

She looked up, eyes sharp, yet there was that tiny flicker of vulnerability I had glimpsed once before. I didn’t underestimate them, she said softly. I didn’t have a choice.

I studied her, letting the tension linger between us. She wasn’t lying. Not entirely. But she hadn’t just survived she had thrived. That spark, that fire, was exactly what made her dangerous. Dangerous girls were the hardest to control.

The moment we stepped into the penthouse, the storm outside intensified, rain pelting the windows like artillery. I dropped my keys on the counter without looking, and Sienna followed, silent, careful, every step deliberate.

I leaned against the counter, dragging a knife from the block, the metal catching the dim light. The sound of steel against stone filled the room a ritual I’d repeated thousands of times, but tonight, it carried a pulse. A heartbeat. Something hypnotic and methodical. My hand worked with precision, but my awareness never left her.

You’re going to cut yourself, I said, voice low, carrying warning, authority, and a hint of something I didn’t bother hiding.

She didn’t flinch. “I can handle it,” she said, eyes locking with mine, daring me to test her. The confidence or maybe the recklessness was irresistible.

I put the knife down, stepping closer. The space between us hummed, electric. This isn’t about knives, I said, voice dropping lower. It’s about knowing your limits… and then breaking them.

Her lips parted, the faintest edge of breath brushing her bottom lip. For the first time, I saw it clearly the raw, jagged edge beneath her defiance. Vulnerability and fire intertwined. Maybe I like breaking limits she whispered.

The words ignited something deep inside me. My hands itched to touch her, to trace the line where defiance met vulnerability, to see if the fire beneath her skin would burn me or herself. But my world didn’t forgive weakness. Not hers, not mine.

A sharp knock at the door broke the tension. Jory stepped in, expression tight, eyes scanning the room as if the walls themselves might betray us. Boss… we’ve got trouble. Inside. One of ours… he switched sides. Gave intel to the Russians. He’s coming for the penthouse.

Instincts took over before thought. I moved, precise, deliberate, and Sienna followed, eyes wide but steady. I didn’t ask if she was afraid. I already knew. Fear clung to her like a second skin, but it didn’t matter. She stayed.

By the time we reached the stairwell, the first shots rang out, sharp and deliberate, a warning, a declaration. My men were already in position, but I didn’t wait for orders. I pushed Sienna behind me, every step calculated, every motion a dance of survival and control.

“Stay close,” I murmured, voice barely a growl.

“I’m not afraid,” she shot back, lips pressed tight.

You should be, I murmured under my breath, and something tightened in my chest at her stubbornness.

The fight erupted in a blur of motion. Brutal. Efficient. The traitor didn’t last long. And Sienna… she moved like she belonged in it. Ducking, rolling, striking with a precision that made my blood heat. Watching her adapt, watching her survive, I realized training had evolved into something else entirely. She wasn’t just learning anymore she was becoming part of my world, part of me.

Every strike, every roll, every calculated movement sent a pulse of something darker through me. Pride. Desire. Protection. That strange, sharp pull of wanting someone to survive not for duty, but for… other reasons. Dangerous reasons.

When the dust settled, we returned to the penthouse. Rain streaked the windows, the storm still lashing the city, but inside, silence reigned thick, almost tangible. Adrenaline scorched our veins, our breaths shallow and uneven. She leaned against me, chest rising and falling rapidly. I gripped her waist, forcing her eyes to meet mine. “You were incredible,” I said, voice low.

Her gaze was fierce, yet softened with exhaustion. I’m learning from the best she said, a small smirk teasing the edge of her lips.

I closed the distance between us, forehead resting against hers. Warm breath mingling. I warned you, I murmured. My world isn’t safe. But for some reason… you want in.

She didn’t answer at once. And then, soft and almost swallowed by the storm’s roar outside, she said, I don’t want out. Not if it means leaving you behind.

The words hit harder than any gunshot, sharper than any blade. I pulled her into my arms, holding her close, feeling the fire of her pressed against the cold steel of my life. She was reckless. Dangerous. Alive. And against all reason, she was mine.

We stayed pressed together, breathing in sync, the storm outside our shield, the penthouse our fragile fortress. Every pulse in my chest mirrored hers, and I let myself feel it dangerous, consuming, intoxicating. For now, we were untouchable. For now, the world outside could wait.

But I knew it wouldn’t. The Russians would come again. Traitors would return. Blood would spill. And I would be the one wading through it all to keep her alive.

Still, tonight, I let the adrenaline linger, let the storm’s electricity echo the tension between us. Her hands trembled slightly in mine, not from fear, but from the raw heat of surviving, of living, of choosing to step fully into my world.

“You’re not fragile,” I said finally, voice low, gravelly with lingering adrenaline. Not to me. Not here. Not now.

Her gaze softened, just slightly, and for one heartbeat, the chaos outside slipped away. Rain hammered the windows. Neon glared across the wet streets. The city roared with life and danger. But in this moment, nothing existed except her, the fire she carried, and the knowledge that she had chosen me, chosen danger, chosen to be part of my storm.

I allowed myself a fraction of indulgence, tracing her jaw lightly with my thumb, memorizing the set of her lips, the sharpness in her eyes, the curve of her neck that had brushed mine during the fight. Dangerous, reckless, alive and mine, if only for this moment.

The storm would end, the threats would return, and the city would demand more blood. But right now, we were still. Alive. Electric. Untouchable.

And that realization of the fire, the tension, the fragile and fierce heartbeat of her pressed against mine. Made every second, every stolen breath, every brush of skin feel like a warning and a promise all at once.

Because I knew… the deeper she stepped into my world, the harder it would be to let her go.