Chapter 5: Blood and Promises (Nico Valenti POV)

I’m standing in The Black Rose, glass crunching under my boots from the window that just got smashed. The brick’s on the table, a note tied to it with rough string. I grab it, my fingers working the knot loose, and pull the paper free. It tears a little as I unfold it. I read the words out loud, my voice low: “You can’t hide.” Luca’s behind the counter, his eyes wide, a stool tipped over where he bumped it. I shove the note into my jacket pocket and step toward him, my hands balling into fists.

“No one’s touching you,” I say, locking eyes with him. “I swear it.”

He nods, but he’s fidgeting, sweeping up glass with a broom even though we’ve got bigger problems. I pace the bar, my boots thudding on the wood floor, trying to think. That car outside, the note Luca found, now this brick—it’s all connected. Someone’s coming for us, and my gut’s screaming it’s Gia. She was here, eyeing Luca like he was hers.

I stop pacing and lean on the counter. “What did Gia do tonight?” I ask, keeping my voice even.

Luca sets the broom against the wall and grabs a rag, wiping his hands. “She was just… weird,” he says, stepping closer. “Kept touching my arm, saying I don’t belong here. Staring at me too long.”

My jaw clenches, and before I can stop myself, I slam my fist on the counter. A stack of coasters topples, scattering across the surface. Luca flinches, and I curse under my breath. “She’s got no right,” I mutter, rubbing my knuckles. The thought of her hands on him burns me up—sister or not, I don’t trust her.

“Hey,” Luca says, reaching out. His fingers brush my arm, light but steady. “I didn’t let her. I’m with you.”

His words hit me, cooling the fire in my chest. I look at him—those curls falling in his face, his eyes soft but sure. He’s too good for this mess, but he’s here, choosing me. I blow out a breath and pull my pocketknife from my belt, flipping it open. “Come here,” I say, nodding to the space beside me.

He steps around the counter, tilting his head. “What’s that for?”

“You need to learn this,” I say, holding the knife out. “Just in case.”

He takes it, his fingers clumsy, wrapping around the handle wrong. I move behind him, close enough that my chest brushes his back. I adjust his grip, my hands guiding his, showing him how to hold it steady. “Like this,” I say, my voice low in his ear. “Keep your thumb here.”

He tries again, his movements awkward but trying. “I’m terrible at this,” he says, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

“You’ll get it,” I say, stepping back to watch him. That smile of his—it’s like a light in this dark place, and it makes my chest ache. We lean against the bar, our shoulders touching, the knife resting on the counter between us. I pull my keychain from my pocket, a little metal cross I’ve carried forever, and rub it with my thumb, a habit when my head’s spinning.

A sharp meow cuts through the quiet, followed by scratching at the back door. Luca glances over, setting the knife down. “It’s that stray again,” he says, walking to the door. He cracks it open, and a scrawny gray cat darts past, weaving between his legs. Luca laughs, grabbing a saucer from the counter and pouring some milk from a carton in the fridge.

“Careful, you’ll adopt it,” I say, smirking a little.

“Maybe I will,” he shoots back, setting the saucer on the floor. The cat laps at it, tail flicking. Luca’s smile fades as he straightens up, his fingers twisting a curl behind his ear. “Nico, what do we do now? About the brick, the note… all of it?”

I cross my arms, leaning back against the counter. “We stick together,” I say. “I’m checking the bar tomorrow, seeing if Gia left anything behind. And I’m talking to Raf—he’s been too quiet.”

Luca nods, grabbing a sponge and wiping the counter, even though it’s spotless. “I can help,” he says. “I’m not just gonna sit here.”

I shake my head. “You’re staying out of the line of fire, Luca. That’s not up for debate.”

He stops wiping and looks at me, his jaw set. “I’m not helpless, Nico. I’m in this with you.”

I step closer, grabbing his wrist gently to stop his cleaning. “I know you’re not,” I say, my voice softer. “But if something happens to you…” I don’t finish, just let my hand slide to his, squeezing it.

He squeezes back, his thumb brushing my knuckles. “Okay,” he says, but I can tell he’s not happy about it. We stand there, the bar quiet except for the cat’s soft purrs and the hum of the fridge. I’m about to say something else when Luca pulls away, grabbing a stack of napkins and straightening them, his hands moving fast like he’s nervous again.

“Let’s clean this up,” I say, nodding to the broken glass by the window. I grab a dustpan from under the counter, and we work together, sweeping shards into a pile. Luca holds a trash bag open, and I dump the glass in, the pieces clinking against each other. We board up the window with a piece of plywood from the storage room, hammering nails in with a rusty hammer Luca finds behind the bar.

“Think it’ll hold?” he asks, tapping the plywood with his knuckles.

“Better than nothing,” I say, tossing the hammer onto a table. I check my watch—1:04 a.m.—and rub my keychain cross again, feeling the weight of the night. “You should get some rest,” I tell him, nodding to the stairs that lead to the bar’s small office, where there’s a cot.

“I’m not tired,” he says, but he’s yawning as he grabs a broom again, sweeping the last bits of dust. I smirk, shaking my head, and head to the sink to wash my hands. The cold water stings my knuckles, scraped from earlier.

I’m drying my hands on a rag when Luca walks over, leaning on the counter beside me. “You think it’s really Gia?” he asks, his voice low.

I toss the rag down and cross my arms. “She’s got motive,” I say. “She’s been jealous since she saw us. But I need proof.”

He nods, picking up a coaster and spinning it on his finger like a kid. “Just… be careful, okay?”

“Always am,” I say, but we both know that’s not true. I’m about to pull him close again when my phone buzzes on the counter, the screen lighting up with Raf’s name. I grab it, my thumb hovering over the answer button. I hit it and put the phone to my ear.

“Nico,” Raf’s voice comes through, shaky, almost a whisper. “They know it’s you. Run.”

The line goes dead, just static. I stare at the phone, my grip tightening, Raf’s words echoing in my head.