Love Like a Loaded Gun

Luca was awake, but the weight of what had happened still hung over them like a dark cloud.

Evelyn sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers lightly tracing the fresh bandages wrapped around his chest. The wound was deep, too close to his heart. Too close to a reality she never wanted to face.

"You're staring," Luca murmured, his voice rough from exhaustion.

She didn't deny it. She had almost lost him. She had every right to stare.

"You scared me," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Luca's gaze softened. He reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers. "I'm still here."

"But what if next time, you're not?"

Silence.

His grip on her tightened, like he was afraid she'd slip away first.

"I don't plan on dying anytime soon, Evie."

"But you don't plan on living safely either."

Luca smirked, and it was so him—cocky, reckless, infuriatingly charming—that it made her chest ache.

"Safe is boring," he teased.

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "I hate you."

Luca's smirk faded. "No, you don't."

And the way he said it—low, certain, like a fact—left her breathless.

Because he was right.

She didn't hate him. She never had.

Evelyn sighed, leaning her forehead against his, closing the space between them. Her heart was racing.

Luca's fingers trailed up her arm, slow and deliberate. "If you keep looking at me like that," he murmured, "I won't be able to stop myself."

Her breath hitched. Neither would she.

A sharp knock on the door shattered the moment.

Dante.

"Sorry to ruin whatever this is," he said, stepping inside. "But we have a problem."

Luca groaned, running a hand down his face. "Can't I almost die in peace?"

"No," Dante deadpanned. "Because we're all going to die if we don't move. Now."

Evelyn sat up straighter, her stomach twisting. "What happened?"

Dante's expression darkened.

"They found us."

—

Next Chapter: Run or Burn