Chapter 10 - The Open Horizon
The fire aboard the Severodvinsk was brought under control within an hour by the Seattle Fire Department’s marine units, while Dante’s clean-up crews quietly erased any trace of mafia involvement before federal investigators arrived.
Dante found me sitting on the edge of the pier wrapped in a wool blanket, staring blankly at the dark waters where the coast guard searchlights swept back and forth across the waves.
My phone buzzed in my lap.
It was Dr. Marchetti from the estate.
“Miss Carter,” the doctor’s gentle voice came through the line. “Protocol Omega was successful. Martha was detained without injury. Emma is safe. She is in the main living room with Mrs. Chen, eating ice cream. She has no idea anything occurred.”
A broken sob escaped my lips. Emma was safe. My daughter was alive.
The nightmare was over.
And yet, sitting on that cold concrete dock, my soul felt hollowed out, empty and bleeding.
“Ask him who pressured the banks… Luca’s father destroyed his credit… You’re his penance.”
Jake’s dying words echoed through my skull, repeating like a toxic prayer.
Was it all a lie?
The rescue at the diner. The $250,000 salary. The tender touches in the dark library. The kiss before the battle. Was it real love, or was it merely the crushing guilt of a mafia prince trying to wash the blood of my father from his hands?
“Miss Ava,” Dante murmured, kneeling beside me, his scarred face grim. “We found Jake Martinez.”
My head snapped up. “Where?”
“His body washed up on the riprap rocks near the grain terminal ten minutes ago,” Dante said quietly. “Cervical fracture from the fall. He is dead.”
I closed my eyes. Jake Martinez was finally gone. The phantom that had terrorized my youth, stolen my inheritance, and hunted my baby was reduced to a corpse on the rocks.
“And Luca?” my voice broke on his name, desperate and terrified. “Did you find Luca?”
Dante looked out over the churning black waters of the sound. He didn't answer immediately.
“The current was running six knots toward Bainbridge Island,” Dante said, his voice heavy with grief. “The water is forty-two degrees. Even a strong swimmer cannot survive more than thirty minutes.”
“No,” I whispered, shaking my head violently. “No, no, no! He wouldn't die like that! He promised me!”
“We have four boats searching the coastline,” Dante said, offering his hand to help me stand. “Come back to the estate, Miss Ava. You need to be with your daughter.”
Three days passed.
The rain over Seattle finally ceased, replaced by a cold, crisp December sunlight that made the snow-capped Olympic Mountains gleam on the horizon.
I stood in the grand library of the Castellano estate, dressed in a simple dark coat, holding Emma’s small hand. Mrs. Chen stood near the doorway, holding Emma’s yellow bunny and two small suitcases.
The estate was eerily quiet. The guards still patrolled the gates, but their faces were grim, their movements subdued. Without Luca, the vast empire seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the wolves to circle.
Dante walked into the library, holding a thick manila folder.
“The car is ready, Miss Ava,” he said respectfully. “A private jet is waiting at Sea-Tac to take you and Emma to Switzerland. Mr. Castellano set up a blind trust in Zurich six months ago in your name. You will never have to work another day in your life. You will be entirely safe.”
I looked at the folder. Inside was a Swiss passport, deed transfers, and bank routing numbers for more wealth than my family had possessed in three generations.
“Did he do it, Dante?” I asked quietly, looking the giant enforcer dead in the eyes. “Did Luca’s father destroy my family?”
Dante paused. His jaw tightened.
“Old man Castellano was a ruthless bastard,” Dante admitted, his voice rough. “He crushed anyone who didn't bow to him. When your father refused to license his code, the old man called in every loan shark and corrupt city councilman in Washington. He ruined your father.”
A tear slid down my cheek. “And Luca knew?”
“Luca was nineteen years old,” Dante said firmly. “He fought his father over it. That was the night Luca took his first bullet—defending an honest businessman’s right to say no to the mafia. Luca couldn't save your father, Miss Ava. But when he found out who Jake had targeted… when he saw you in that diner, breaking your back to feed your baby…”
Dante stepped closer, his dark eyes fierce with conviction.
“Luca didn't save you out of guilt, Miss Ava. He saved you because you were the only thing in his entire godforsaken life that reminded him of what it meant to have a soul.”
My breath caught in my throat.
Emma tugged on my hand. “Mommy, look!”
She pointed toward the floor-to-ceiling glass window overlooking Elliott Bay.
Down at the private marina dock, three hundred yards below the estate cliff, a sleek wooden Italian speedboat was tied up to the slip.
Standing on the wooden dock, his back turned to the house, was a tall man wearing a heavy dark wool coat.
His left shoulder was heavily bandaged beneath his coat. His posture was stiff, favoring his left leg.
My heart detonated against my ribs.
“Luca,” I gasped.
I dropped the folder. I let go of Emma’s hand, turning to Mrs. Chen. “Watch her!”
I sprinted out of the library, down the glass stairs, bursting through the French doors of the terrace into the biting winter air. My ankle didn't hurt. Nothing hurt.
I ran down the stone steps winding through the evergreen trees toward the shoreline, my coat flying behind me.
“Luca!” I screamed, my voice carrying across the salt water.
The man on the dock turned slowly.
His face was pale, gaunt, marked by fresh stitches across his cheekbone and dark circles beneath his dark espresso eyes. But when his gaze locked onto mine, that faint, breathtaking smirk touched the corner of his lips.
I hit the wooden dock at full speed, throwing my arms around his neck, burying my face in his chest.
Luca grunted softly at the impact, his arms wrapping around my waist, lifting me off my feet, burying his face in my hair just as he had in the bunker. He smelled of salt, antiseptic, cedar, and survival.
“You’re alive,” I wept against his neck. “You’re alive, you bastard.”
“I made a promise to an archival assistant,” Luca murmured against my skin, his deep voice vibrating through my bones. “I believe she ordered me not to die.”
I pulled back, searching his face, my hands framing his stubbled jawline. “I know about my father, Luca.”
The humor vanished from his eyes. His gaze darkened with immense, painful regret.
“Then you know what kind of blood runs in my veins,” Luca whispered, his hands loosening slightly on my waist, as if preparing to let me go. “You have the jet. You have the money. You and Emma can disappear to Europe. You never have to see my face again.”
I looked at him—this terrifying, broken, magnificent man who had bled for me, who had killed for me, who had jumped into the abyss to protect my child.
Behind us, up at the crest of the hill, Emma and Mrs. Chen were standing by the terrace railing, waving down at us in the sunlight.
Out on the bay, three black speedboats belonging to the remaining Castellano lieutenants were patrolling the perimeter, waiting for their king’s command.
A new war was brewing in Seattle. The Petrovs would seek vengeance. The feds would keep digging. The shadows of the underworld would never truly disappear.
I reached up, took Luca’s scarred face in my hands, and pulled his lips down to mine.
The kiss was fierce, salty with tears, and completely unyielding.
When I finally pulled back, our foreheads rested together, our breath mingling in the cold Pacific air.
“I’m not going to Europe, Luca,” I whispered, my eyes burning with quiet, unshakeable defiance.
Luca stared at me, his dark eyes wide with disbelief, hope, and dangerous hunger.
“This world will consume you, Ava,” he warned softly.
I looked out over the dark, gleaming waters of the harbor, then back into the eyes of the most feared man in Seattle.
May you like
“Then we’ll consume it first,” I said.
A slow, lethal smile broke across Luca Castellano’s face as he took my hand, turning toward the open horizon where our war had only just begun.
