Chapter 45

Kings Die Loudly

The Moretti estate burned brighter the second time.

Not accidental fire.

Not scattered retaliation.

War.

Pure, open war.

Gunfire shattered the front gates at exactly 11:42 p.m. while black SUVs stormed through the rain-soaked driveway beneath exploding security lights. The mansion erupted instantly into violence—automatic rifles cracking through marble halls, alarms screaming overhead, blood spreading once again across white floors built for wealthy monsters.

Kings never died quietly.

Luca stood inside the main hall watching the first bodies fall with terrifying calm.

Three captains dead already.

Two guards bleeding near the staircase.

One chandelier collapsing in shattered crystal across the entrance floor while Russian syndicate shooters breached the west corridor.

Beautiful chaos.

Luca adjusted the cuff of his black coat slowly before firing twice into one of Sergei’s advancing men.

Precise.

Cold.

The body collapsed backward across the marble floor.

Around him, the empire finally came apart properly.

Good.

If Luca Moretti died tonight, the world would remember it violently.

A captain stumbled toward him through smoke and gunfire.

“They’re inside the east wing!”

“Who?”

“Everyone!”

Fair answer.

The mansion had become a battlefield between too many enemies to count anymore.

FBI tactical teams breached the lower security entrance.

Russian syndicate soldiers stormed the wine cellar tunnels.

Mercenaries moved silently through upper balconies eliminating anyone still loyal enough to resist.

And somewhere inside all of it—

Adrian Volkov hunted like winter itself.

Luca smiled faintly.

Good.

He always preferred honest violence over betrayal disguised as morality.

Gunfire exploded upstairs.

More screaming followed.

Then the mansion lights flickered violently once before backup generators activated beneath deep red emergency illumination.

The estate transformed instantly into something infernal.

Blood-red hallways.

Smoke drifting beneath chandeliers.

Bodies scattered across marble like broken statues.

Luca stepped carefully over one corpse near the staircase.

Antonio Bellini.

Interesting.

The captain who begged Valentina for protection less than a week earlier now bled out quietly beneath the family crest built into the floor.

Cowards rarely survived revolutions.

Another explosion rattled the estate hard enough to crack stained-glass windows near the dining hall.

Luca’s phone vibrated once inside his coat.

Unknown encrypted line.

He answered calmly while firing another shot toward movement near the balcony above.

“Yes.”

A familiar female voice answered softly through static.

“Still dramatic, I see.”

Everything inside Luca went still.

Valentina.

Alive.

Close.

His mouth curved slowly into something dangerous.

“Hello, wife.”

Gunfire echoed violently somewhere behind her.

“Your men are dying fast.”

“They were expensive enough to deserve effort.”

“You always mistake loyalty for ownership.”

Luca walked slowly toward the grand staircase while bullets tore through walls nearby.

“And you always mistake defiance for freedom.”

Silence stretched briefly.

Heavy.

Personal.

Then Valentina spoke again.

“You should leave the estate.”

Interesting.

Not fear.

Warning.

Luca almost laughed.

“Concern doesn’t suit you anymore.”

“That isn’t concern.” Her voice sharpened slightly. “It’s strategy.”

Of course it was.

Everything between them had become strategy eventually.

Luca reached the second-floor landing just as another body crashed hard against the railing nearby.

Russian syndicate soldier.

Dead before hitting the floor below.

The mansion smelled like gunpowder and burning wood now.

“You know what fascinates me?” Luca murmured into the phone. “You finally became dangerous after leaving me.”

Another pause.

Then quietly:

“No. I became dangerous after surviving you.”

That landed harder than expected.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Before Luca could answer, movement flashed suddenly near the upstairs corridor.

Black clothing.

Tactical movement.

Volkov.

Adrian emerged through drifting smoke holding a rifle low beside his body while blood stained one sleeve dark beneath emergency lighting.

Alive.

Luca smiled openly now.

“There you are.”

Adrian’s expression remained empty.

Professional.

Deadly.

The phone line stayed open between Luca and Valentina while both men stared at each other across the burning hallway.

Poetic.

“You should run,” Valentina whispered quietly through the speaker.

Luca ignored her completely.

“Tell me,” he asked Adrian calmly, “was she worth destroying your entire life?”

Adrian answered instantly.

“Yes.”

No hesitation.

No shame.

The certainty inside the word hit harder than bullets ever could.

Luca’s smile disappeared slowly.

Then gunfire erupted.

Adrian moved first.

Always faster.

The hallway exploded into violence while marble shattered apart beneath rifle rounds and burning chandeliers collapsed somewhere downstairs.

Luca dove sideways behind a stone pillar as bullets ripped through the walls beside him.

Adrian advanced relentlessly through smoke.

Not emotional.

Not reckless.

Just lethal.

The wolf beneath the man fully unleashed now.

Luca returned fire sharply while retreating toward the private office wing.

The old estate groaned violently around them as fire spread through curtains and antique woodwork.

Kings die loudly.

Tonight the entire empire screamed.

Downstairs, FBI tactical units finally breached the central security hall.

Russian shooters executed remaining loyalists near the dining room.

Mercenaries switched sides midfight once Luca’s payment routes collapsed publicly.

Everything fractured.

Exactly as Valentina planned.

Luca reached the private office corridor just as another explosion shook the mansion foundations.

Then suddenly—

hands grabbed him from behind.

Knife against throat.

Cold metal.

A woman’s voice near his ear.

“Drop the gun.”

Luca froze instantly.

Valentina.

Of course.

He almost smiled despite the blade pressed against his neck.

“You always did learn quickly.”

She shoved him hard against the office doorway.

Gunfire echoed somewhere deeper inside the estate while fire alarms screamed overhead.

Valentina looked nothing like his wife anymore beneath red emergency lighting.

Black tactical jacket.

Smoke in her hair.

Eyes colder than winter.

Beautiful.

Terrifying.

Alive.

Luca studied her carefully while slowly lowering the handgun onto the marble floor.

“You came back for the house,” he observed quietly.

“No.” Her grip tightened slightly against the knife. “I came back for the ending.”

For one brief second neither moved.

Then Adrian appeared at the far end of the corridor.

Rifle raised instantly.

His eyes landed on Luca pinned against the doorway.

Then on Valentina.

Relief flashed across his face too fast to hide.

Wrong move.

Luca reacted immediately.

He slammed backward hard enough to drive Valentina into the wall while grabbing her wrist violently.

The knife clattered across marble.

Everything happened too fast afterward.

Luca dragged Valentina sharply in front of him while pulling a hidden handgun from beneath his coat.

The barrel pressed instantly against her ribs.

Adrian stopped cold.

The hallway fell silent except for distant gunfire and crackling fire somewhere below.

Luca breathed hard near Valentina’s ear while smoke drifted slowly through red emergency light.

“There it is,” he murmured softly. “The real weakness.”

Adrian’s rifle remained aimed directly at Luca’s head.

Steady.

Deadly.

But he couldn’t shoot.

Valentina felt Luca’s heartbeat hammering violently through the arm restraining her.

Not calm anymore.

Good.

For the first time since marrying him—

Luca Moretti was afraid too.