Page 91 of That Time I Accidentally Took Over the Mafia

None of them are aware Luca is watching. Waiting.

In a flash, he moves his arms, then goes still again, melting back into the darkness.

It’s a motion so practiced it could be a dance—fluid but deadly. Every step is calculated, every movement precise. It’s as if the whole house holds its breath, frozen in time, the tension thickening the air.

The silence in the house is broken only by the softest thuds as their bodies fall to the floor. No struggle, no noise. They just drop without a sound, their blood pooling beneath them.

I can’t breathe, my throat tightening at the sudden violence. I want to look away, but I can’t. I have to watch.

Something dark moves on another screen. It’s Luca. He’s already left that room and is moving through the house he knows so well. His eyes stay fixed on the next target, a deadly calm taking over him. Another attacker comes into view. Another quick slash of his blade. Another body.

I sit frozen in the safe room, my heart racing, my hands shaking as I watch him. There’s no hesitation in him. No mercy.

He rounds a doorway into a room. An arm shoots out with a blade aimed for his throat. He grabs the wrist, bending it with a sickening crunch. Luca’s blade disappears into the attacker’s chest twice, as fast as a cobra striking.

Luca pulls his gun, the silencer making the bullets whisper across the room as he shoots two attackers climbing in through the room’s windows.

Someone from the hallway lands a punch to Luca’s lower back. He bends with the pain for only a second before turning and slicing the throat of his victim. The body falls, and the now-familiar dark pool of blood seeps across the floor. Luca is careful not to step in it as he moves on.

They aren’t trying to kill him. They’re trying to capture him.

That awareness is more terrifying than the swarm of attackers. Because catching him will end in torture—likely long and painful before he’s graced with death. And likely with me at his side.

My stomach coils, bile rising in my throat. I nearly puke and grab the small trash can under the desk, but it subsides.

My breath catches in my throat as I glance at the red lightbulb again, still glowing steadily in crimson blood—just like the blood being spilled all over the house.

Enzo and Jax are still at the murder barn, unaware of the hell breaking loose here. They don’t know Luca needs help. They don’t know the entire house is crawling with enemies.

Desperation claws at my chest, but I fight it. I can’t panic. I have to focus. I have to stay calm. But how can I? Luca is out there, alone, and I’m here—watching him fight, unable to do anything but clutch my fucking spatula.

I glance back at the security monitor, my gaze locking on Nico, still staring at the same camera, his eyes fixed on the screen, completely detached. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was watching the whole thing like it was some kind of sick game. His face is masked, giving nothing away.

I don’t trust this. Why is he just standing there?

Looking away, I turn my attention back to the feed, my eyes searching for Luca.

He’s crouched in the corner of his office—the very one where we ate pasta only hours ago.

Four attackers are closing in on him, and he has no way out except through them.

Two of them come in first, and Luca hurls our lunch bowls at them like frisbees. Each shallow bowl strikes them in the throat. They double over, clutching their necks and gasping.

With two fluid pulls of his trigger, Luca drops the two attackers behind them. Then the two choking join the pile of bodies collecting on the floor.

Luca steps over them casually, checking his gun and loading a new clip.

He looks into one of the cameras, and my heart stops as my fingers reach for the screen. He winks, giving me a small smirk before continuing his hunt.

Bodies drop in his wake as he moves with quiet precision through the farmhouse, which now looks more like a slaughterhouse. There must be no fewer than two dozen bodies strewn across the house.

He’s making his way across the living room when he stops—just freezes, his gaze focused as if listening intently. And I seewhy as I look at the other cameras. Six more are headed for him, and he’s out in the open.

They come in firing, and Luca is forced to jump behind a sofa. He rises just enough to kill three with efficient shots to the center of their foreheads.

One falls with Luca’s knife sticking out of his chest, its last beat taking place around his blade before it stops forever.

The last two attackers come at him from both sides, forcing a two-on-one fight. Luca holds his own, taking some hits but dodging most and landing even more on both of them.

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