Submitting To The Devil - The Devil's Snare - Book 2

Chapter Sixty Nine

Niko

"Let's take a stroll; guide me back to the hotel," Luca urges, his tone firm as he steps off the boat and strides purposefully through the bustling docks.

"I should remain close, just in case..." I hesitate, glancing back at the water's shimmering surface.

"Niko, we both know she's gone," he replies, frustration flickering in his eyes. "I need clues; I need leads. Staying here would be a waste of time. What's going on with you?"

The salty air fills my lungs as I watch him, realising his unwavering determination. The vibrant colours of the market stalls are just opening, and the distant sounds of laughter seem to fade into the background as I weigh his words.

"There's nothing wrong with me, Luca."

"Bullshit, and you know it," he scoffs, his eyes narrowing with intensity. He strides away, trailing an unspoken challenge, knowing full well I would follow—because I always do.

"Bianca's her own woman, you know that. She's headstrong and..." My words falter as I grapple with my thoughts, the truth tangled in the complexities of our situation.

"You're in love with her," Luca suddenly halts, and I find myself colliding with the solid weight of his back.

"I... am. What of it?" I retort, a mix of defensiveness and vulnerability lacing my tone.

"Fuck, that makes total sense. Complete sense," he mutters to himself, shaking his head before resuming his pace.

"What?!" I call out, my feet quickening to catch up with him.

"I make stupid decisions too, when it comes to Emma," Luca admits, his voice low but charged with raw honesty. "The difference is I know what's right, what's moral, and yet I still make choices that don't align with that clarity when I feel threatened by her safety or by her choices. Your behaviour makes sense, and so does hers."

"Him taking her was not my fault," I assert, though uncertainty creeps into my voice.

"He didn't take her, Niko. She left because she loves you."

"No, she doesn't." The words slip from my lips, remembering how she struggled to even accept the words that flew from my mouth, let alone repeat them back to me, but a flicker of doubt ignites deep within me. Does she? Does Bianca love me back?

"Yes, she does. Why do you keep allowing stupid narratives to live in your mind? You're normally so sure of yourself."

"Because I was dealt a shitty hand," I reply, my frustration bubbling over. He pulls out a cigarette and offers me the box, igniting his own before handing me the lighter.

"Or you can't accept that someone loves you, that to her you are worth everything," he shakes his head.

"I thought you gave up," I murmur, sensing the tension thickening between us as I avoid admitting that I find it hard to believe I'm loveable.

"Emma's not here, and honestly, I'm stressed as fuck. I've left my wife back home. She's safe. Their safe for now, but for how long? I'm hundreds of miles away if anything goes south."

"That's how I feel. I should be on the boat," I shrug, the weight of my helplessness pressing down on me.

"You know she isn't going to be walking back onto that boat; come on, Niko. Christ, you're my number one. You're better than this naïveté."

"She left of her own accord, according to you. So what's to say she won't come back to me, too?" Even as I voice my thoughts, I hear the idiocy in my own words echoing back.

"You've pulled me out of some real shit, Niko. I just don't understand why you'd allow yourself to sleep knowing the high stakes."

"Touche."

Silence envelops us as we walk, the sound of our footsteps blending with the hustle of the street. I catch sight of Luca's men trailing behind us—a formidable group of ten, armed to the teeth as always. And here I am, equipped with a single gun once again. If it comes down to it, I've only six shots to protect Luca.

Damn it, he's right. What the hell is going on with me?

"Alright, walk me through the day. What happened after you called me?" he asks, his gaze piercing and expectant as we pause at the street where I reached out to him just yesterday afternoon.

I recount every detail, the tension palpable as I relay the urgency of the call and how I had used Rossi's bank account to secure the entire floor we believed would keep us out of harm's way. I describe the chaos of the shootout—my choice to shoot Densel in the neck, knowing he was wearing a vest. How we had scrambled down the side of the building, narrowly escaping bullets as Bianca and I clung to the fire stairs. We ultimately descended into the shadowy depths of the sewer system, navigating our way toward the ocean, perilously close to the docks.

Luca makes me repeat myself three times, his focus unwavering. Finally, he strides into the hotel with an air of authority, as if he owns the place; our men follow behind, an intimidating phalanx with weapons drawn, ready for anything. At the front desk, Luca approaches the young woman, his demeanour shifting to one of stern command.

"I need access to floor three," he demands, every syllable coated in a palpable intensity.

"Of-course, Mr. Moretta," she stammers, clearly unsettled by his presence. She calls over a manager, who shows us upstairs, hoovering back with sharp eyes and staying back when our men sift through the two rooms we occupied.

"So you got him," Luca observes, his fingers trailing over the wall, where splatters of crimson paint the surface in a violent, diagonal arc. "You aimed for his jugular, then?"

"Yes," I reply, my voice steady.

"Would have been better off aiming between the eyes." His tone carries an edge of critique.

"He's taller than me," I protest, the memory of the cramped peephole flashing in my mind, offering a distorted view of the scene. "And that angle didn't exactly give me a clean shot, Luca."

"That's never stopped you before, Niko," he counters, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

I swallow hard, fighting to keep my composure. He's right; normally, I wouldn't hesitate, wouldn't second-guess myself. Yet that day, every choice I made was laced with caution, the sole desire to stay beside Bianca, to survive. He knows this inability to act was eating at me even if I hadn't accepted it at that moment.

"I want every staff member from that night questioned," he commands, his voice icy and authoritative. "Get me their names and ensure they're here today."

"Of course," the manager nods, his eyes darting nervously before he retreats toward the lift for a private conversation.

"Listen, Niko," Luca advises, his expression turning serious. "You need to make the decision that saves Bianca, even if it costs you your life. Just like you would for me. Time isn't a guarantee. Live each day as though it's your last. Just tell her you love her; she'll find a way to forgive you. And if she doesn't, at least you'll know you did what you had to in order to save her."

"It's easy for you to say," I respond, frustration bubbling beneath my calm exterior. "You're always fighting with my sister."

"And yet," he says, an earnest gleam in his eyes, "she's in my arms, warm in my bed at the end of every day. I'd face death content, knowing she still lays where she belongs, even if I'm not there to hold her. That our men would envelop her and allow her to mourn and heal and would hold her high when she was ready to lead them." He grips my shoulder, forcing me to meet his gaze, the weight of his unyielding conviction tethering me to the moment.

He's right, god, he's utterly right; we would do that.