The Devil You Made Me

The rain had turned the streets into rivers of blood and smoke. Luca's boots splashed through the puddles as he carried Evelyn's barely conscious body, his arms trembling not from exhaustion, but from sheer rage.

Behind him, Dante covered their escape, gunning down anyone reckless enough to follow. The car was parked a block away, hidden in the shadows of a burned-out warehouse. They just had to make it there.

Evelyn's breath was shallow against Luca's chest. He could feel the heat of her blood seeping into his shirt. Too much blood.

"Hang on, baby," he whispered, more to himself than to her.

Dante ran beside him, swearing under his breath. "They're not letting up. Who the hell sent this many guys?"

Luca already knew the answer. He didn't need confirmation.

Vincenzo.

His father's reach stretched farther than he'd ever imagined. And now, it was clear: the bastard wasn't just trying to kill him. He was trying to take her from him too.

And that?

That was a mistake.

A black van screeched onto the street ahead, cutting off their path. More men poured out, guns raised.

"Shit," Dante spat. "No way around them."

Luca carefully lowered Evelyn against the wall of a ruined shop, brushing a blood-streaked strand of hair from her face. Her eyes fluttered open, barely focused.

"Stay awake," he ordered softly. "I need you to stay with me, Evelyn."

Her lips parted, as if to respond, but nothing came out.

Luca turned away, his vision darkening with something primal. He pulled his gun, checking the magazine. Half-empty. Not enough.

Dante glanced at him, then at the incoming men. He sighed. "Guess we're doing this the hard way."

Luca didn't answer.

Instead, he stepped forward.

The first shot was precise—straight through the skull of the man closest to him. The second followed half a second later, a bullet tearing through another's chest.

Then, the real fight began.

Gunfire lit up the alley, flashing like lightning in the storm. Dante moved like a ghost, weaving through the chaos, a knife in one hand, a pistol in the other.

Luca wasn't as graceful.

He was ruthless.

One of Vincenzo's men lunged at him with a blade. Luca caught his wrist, twisting it until the sickening snap echoed through the night. Before the man could scream, Luca drove his own knife into his throat.

Another came at him. Luca shot him point-blank.

Then another. And another.

He fought like a man possessed, like the devil Vincenzo had tried to create.

And he didn't stop.

By the time the last man hit the ground, Luca was soaked in blood, his chest heaving. The storm still raged, but the streets were silent.

Dante exhaled sharply, wiping blood from his brow. "Jesus. You really went off."

Luca didn't respond.

He turned back to Evelyn, dropping to his knees beside her.

Her breathing was weaker.

His hands shook as he pressed against her wound again. "Evelyn. Stay with me. We're almost out."

Her eyelids fluttered. "You're… covered in blood."

His lips twitched in something that wasn't quite a smile. "Not mine."

A small, pained chuckle left her lips before she grimaced.

Dante checked his watch. "We need to get her to a doctor. Now."

Luca didn't hesitate. He lifted her again, ignoring the pain lancing through his own body.

"Then let's go."

As he carried her into the night, only one thought burned in his mind.

Vincenzo had made a mistake.

And he was going to make him pay.

---

Next Chapter: No God, No Mercy