Luca didn't remember leaving the warehouse.
He did remember the gunshot and the way Marco's body went slack beneath him,
The smell of dust, blood, and rusted metal.
After that—nothing else.
The world snapped back into focus with the shrill scream of his phone vibrating in his palm, Gia's name flashing again and again as he ran, half-blind, out of the building. His shoulder throbbed where the bullet had grazed him, as warm was blood soaking into his sleeve, but the pain barely registered.
Only one thing did, Sienna.
He drove like a man who was possessed.
Red lights meant nothing, speed limits were irrelevant to him.
The city blurred into streaks of light and shadow as Luca pushed the car harder than it had ever gone, one hand gripping the wheel, the other clenched so tightly his knuckles went white.
"She can't do this without me," he muttered under his breath. "Not now, not like this."
His phone rang again.
This time, he answered.
"Gia."
Her voice was tight, strained. "We're at St. Mary's. She's in active labor, Luca. The contractions are close. The doctors are worried."
"I'm on my way," he said, already seeing the hospital in the distance. "I'm almost there."
"Please hurry."
The line went dead.
When Luca screeched into the hospital parking lot, he didn't bother parking properly. He left the car crooked, engine still running, and sprinted inside, blood staining the floor behind him.
"Nurse!" he shouted. "My wife—Sienna Marchetti, she's umm…seven months pregnant."
Several people turned. A nurse rushed forward. "Sir, you're bleeding—"
"I don't care."
"She's already in delivery," the nurse said quickly. "You can't just—"
"I'm her husband."
The words came out sharp, dangerous. Not loud—but like a final destination.
Something in his face must have convinced her. She nodded once and waved him through.
The delivery room was chaos, machines beeped in uneven rhythms. Doctors and nurses moving so fast, voices clipped and urgent. Sienna laid on the bed, sweat-drenched, hair stuck to her face, eyes wide with fear and pain.
For a split second, Luca just stood there.
She looked smaller than he'd ever seen her.
"Luca?" Her voice cracked when she saw him. "Is that really you?"
He crossed the room in three strides and took her hand. "I'm here. I'm here, baby."
Tears spilled down her cheeks. "I thought—I thought you weren't coming."
"I would crawl through hell to get to you," he said hoarsely, pressing his forehead to hers. "I'm not leaving. Ever."
Another contraction ripped through her, and she screamed, fingers digging into his skin. Luca held on, grounding her, whispering against her ear.
"Breathe with me. You're doing so good. I'm right here."
The doctor spoke. "Her blood pressure's unstable. The baby's heart rate is dropping."
Fear slammed into Luca's chest.
"What does that mean?" Sienna whispered, panic flooding her eyes.
"It means we need to move quickly," the doctor said calmly. "Sienna, you need to push when we tell you."
"I can't," she sobbed. "It hurts—I can't—"
"Yes, you can," Luca said fiercely. "You're stronger than this. Stronger than anyone I know."
She looked at him like he was the only solid thing left in the world.
"Don't leave," she whispered again.
"I won't."
Time stretched and snapped.
Push, breathe, scream.
Sienna's cries tore through him. Luca had faced bullets, death threats, men begging for mercy—but nothing had ever made him feel this helpless.
Then—
A thin sound, Fragile, barely there.
The room froze.
The doctor lifted a tiny, squirming body. "We have a baby girl."
Luca's knees nearly gave out.
Sienna sobbed, laughter and tears mixing. "She's—she's crying—"
"But she's very premature," the doctor added gently. "We need to take her to the NICU immediately."
They didn't even hand her over. Just wrapped her quickly and rushed her out.
"Wait—" Sienna cried. "I didn't see her—"
Luca kissed her forehead. "I'll see her, i'll stay with her. just rest."
Her eyes fluttered, exhaustion dragged her under before she could answer.
Hours passed.
Sienna slept, pale and still. Luca sat beside her, one hand never leaving hers, watching her chest rise and fall, terrified every time it slowed.
A nurse finally came.
"She's stable," the nurse said. "But the baby—"
Luca stood. "Take me to her."
The NICU felt unreal.
So quiet, sterile, and too fragile.
Their daughter lay inside an incubator, impossibly small, skin translucent, chest fluttering under the weight of wires and tubes. Luca pressed his hand against the glass, his throat tightening.
"She looks like you," he whispered. "She's fighting."
A nurse explained the machines, the risks, the waiting.
Critical, Uncertain.
Hopeful—but cautious.
Luca nodded through it all, barely hearing. He leaned closer to the glass.
"I killed him," he whispered. "Marco is gone. You're safe now. Both of you."
The baby didn't move.
His phone vibrated.
Unknown Number.
His blood turned to ice.
He stepped away and answered.
"You really think it's over, Luca?"
The voice slid into his ear like poison.
"No," Luca said slowly, rage boiling under the fear. "You're dead."
A low laugh. "You killed the wrong man."
The call ended.
Luca stared at the phone, heart pounding, then back at his daughter fighting for every breath.
The war wasn't over.
It had only just begun.