Chapter 6 - I Had Been a Nursing Student OnceBlood changes color in moonlight.
That was the useless thought that entered my head while Luca lay across me.
Dark.
Almost black.
Then training took over.
Old training.
Half-finished training.
The nursing education I had abandoned when my mother became sick.
“Luca.”
No response.
I rolled him carefully.
The bullet had entered high near his shoulder.
Not chest.
Thank God.
Blood soaked his shirt.
Rafael reached us.
“Medic!”
“Pressure,” I snapped.
He stared.
“Give me your jacket.”
He handed it over.
I folded it and pressed hard against the wound.
Luca groaned.
Good.
Pain meant consciousness.
“Luca, look at me.”
His eyes opened.
“Mateo?”
“Safe.”
I had no idea whether that was true.
But he needed to hear it.
Security dragged us inside.
A doctor was already being called.
The estate had medical supplies better than some urgent-care clinics.
Of course it did.
I cut Luca’s shirt open.
His eyes remained on me.
“You said you were a waitress.”
“I contain multitudes.”
Despite everything, he almost smiled.
The bullet appeared to have passed through.
No bubbling wound.
Breathing steady.
Pulse rapid but strong.
“Probably soft tissue,” I said.
“Probably?”
“I didn’t finish school.”
“Wonderful.”
“Would you prefer Rafael?”
“No.”
Rafael muttered, “Neither would I.”
Sirens approached.
Private ambulance.
Police.
Chaos.
Then Mateo ran into the room.
“Papa!”
Rosa couldn’t catch him.
I intercepted him before he reached the blood.
“Hey.”
His face was white.
“Papa got shot.”
“Yes.”
“Is he dying?”
“No.”
The certainty in my voice surprised even me.
Behind me, Luca said, “Come here.”
Mateo crawled beside him.
Luca touched his face with his uninjured hand.
“I’m okay.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“I’ve had worse.”
I gave him a look.
“Maybe not the reassurance we’re aiming for.”
Mateo started crying.
Quietly.
That was worse than screaming.
Luca pulled him close.
I watched this feared man whisper into his son’s hair while paramedics surrounded him.
Something hardened inside me.
Dominic had done this.
Or ordered it.
And I suddenly understood why vengeance could feel like justice.
That realization frightened me.
At the hospital, Luca received stitches, imaging, antibiotics, and strict instructions that he ignored before the doctor finished giving them.
The bullet had passed cleanly through muscle.
No major vessels.
He was lucky.
At four in the morning, I sat beside his hospital bed.
Mateo slept curled in a chair with his head on my lap.
Rafael stood outside.
Luca opened his eyes.
“You saved me twice.”
“I’m keeping a spreadsheet.”
“You should negotiate a bonus.”
“I intend to.”
His gaze dropped to Mateo.
“He should not have seen that.”
“No.”
“I failed him.”
“You were shot.”
“On my terrace.”
“Yes.”
“In his home.”
I understood.
“Then change the home.”
His eyes closed.
When they opened again, something had shifted.
“I called an attorney.”
“At four in the morning?”
“I pay him enough.”
“What for?”
“To begin restructuring every company I control.”
I went still.
“Legitimate?”
“As much as possible.”
“As much?”
“There are complications.”
“Luca.”
“All of it, Claire.”
The words were quiet.
Final.
“I’m done.”
My chest tightened.
“Because of me?”
“No.”
He looked at Mateo.
“Because of him.”
Then back at me.
“You simply made it impossible to continue lying to myself.”
That morning, Luca began a war unlike any his organization had expected.
He didn’t attack rivals.
He fired accountants.
He shut down cash operations.
Sold gambling interests.
Terminated “protection” arrangements.
Brought in outside auditors.
Cooperated discreetly with attorneys specializing in corporate compliance.
Men who had followed the Moretti family for decades thought he had lost his mind.
Some left.
Some threatened.
Others realized legitimate wealth was still wealth and stayed.
Dominic went ballistic.
For the first time, Luca’s brother wasn’t fighting for control of an empire.
He was watching Luca dismantle the empire so there would be nothing illegal left to inherit.
“You’re burning the throne,” Rafael said one evening.
Luca replied, “Good.”
But transitions create weakness.
Dominic knew that.
Three weeks after the shooting, Mateo vanished.
This time he did not hide inside a wall.
I had taken him to a pediatric dentist.
Two guards accompanied us.
We entered at 3:10.
At 3:47, the fire alarm activated.
Smoke filled the second-floor hallway.
People evacuated.
One guard went ahead.
The other stayed beside us.
Then a woman fell on the stairs.
Everyone stopped.
Someone screamed.
I turned for two seconds.
Two.
When I looked back, Mateo was gone.
The guard was unconscious.
A syringe lay beside him.
I screamed Mateo’s name until my throat hurt.
Nothing.
Luca arrived eleven minutes later.
I had never hated myself more.
“I turned away.”
“Claire.”
“Two seconds.”
He held my shoulders.
“Look at me.”
“I lost him.”
“You did not take him.”
“I was responsible.”
“Dominic was responsible.”
His voice broke on the name.
Police swarmed the building.
Security footage showed a delivery worker carrying Mateo through a service exit inside a laundry cart.
A van waited outside.
License plate stolen.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
Luca and I looked at each other.
I answered.
“Hello?”
Dominic’s voice.
“Claire.”
My knees weakened.
“Where is he?”
“Safe.”
“If you hurt him—”
“I won’t.”
“Let me talk to him.”
A pause.
Then:
“Claire?”
Mateo.
Crying.
“I’m here.”
“I want Papa.”
Luca grabbed my wrist.
His face collapsed.
“I know, sweetheart. We’re coming.”
Dominic returned.
“Touching.”
“What do you want?”
He laughed.
“Luca knows.”
Luca took the phone.
“Say it.”
“All voting shares. Every Moretti holding. Every port contract. Every property transferred by midnight.”
“You can have them.”
I stared.
No hesitation.
Dominic went quiet too.
“That was easy.”
“My son.”
“I expected negotiation.”
“You misunderstood what matters to me.”
For the first time, I saw absolute clarity in Luca Moretti.
No empire.
No pride.
No legacy.
Nothing compared to Mateo.
Dominic recovered.
“Midnight. Pier Seventeen. Come alone.”
“I will.”
The call ended.
I grabbed Luca.
“You cannot go alone.”
“I can.”
“He’ll kill you.”
“Possibly.”
“Luca.”
He cupped my face.
His thumb trembled.
“I spent years believing power would protect my son.”
“Don’t.”
“I was wrong.”
“Stop talking like goodbye.”
His eyes held mine.
“Claire.”
“No.”
“I need you to promise me something.”
“I’m not promising anything.”
“If I don’t return—”
“You will.”
“Take Mateo somewhere far from this.”
My eyes burned.
“Luca.”
“Promise me.”
I shook my head.
Then he kissed my forehead.
Not my mouth.
That somehow hurt more.
“I love you.”
I stopped breathing.
It was the first time he had said it.
He stepped away before I could answer.
And twenty minutes later, the gates opened.
Luca Moretti drove toward the river alone.
But he made one mistake.
May you like
He assumed I would obey him.
He really should have known me better.
