7. Luca
7
LUCA
I drum my fingers against the scarred oak table, studying the abandoned warehouse's rusted support beams. Dim light filters through broken windows, casting long shadows across my inner circle's faces. Bas spreads surveillance photos while Mickey and Carmine flank the exits. Ace keeps watch outside.
My thumb brushes over my grandfather's watch - again. The silver band catches what little light penetrates this shithole. I stop the motion immediately, jaw clenching at my lack of control. Skye's interest in the timepiece lingers in my mind like an infection I can't shake, making me all too aware of it now. The way her amber eyes had locked onto it, how I'd wanted to tell her about it...
"Boss?" Bas's gravelly voice cuts through my thoughts. "These came in from our guy watching the Cappalletti territory."
I lean forward, scanning the grainy images. Most show their usual operations - money drops, protection collections. Then my gaze catches on a particular set. Enzo Rossi outside Giovanni's shell house. His tattooed arms are crossed, stance rigid with barely contained rage as he faces off with Alfonso Figarello. Well, well. Looks like he isn't so happy with the family after all - glad to see it's a point I can keep pushing to get my way.
"When were these taken?" I keep my voice neutral, but my mind races with possibilities.
"Yesterday afternoon. Our guy says Enzo stormed out right after, nearly took the door off its hinges."
Interesting. Enzo's normally unflappable - seeing him lose composure means something significant is brewing within the Cappalletti ranks. Discord we could potentially exploit.
"Track his movements," I order, sliding the photos back. "I want to know everywhere he goes, everyone he talks to."
"Already on it." Bas nods. "What about your father's schedule for next week?"
My hand stills completely on the watch. "Everything's in place. No changes needed." I've planned this for too long to let anything derail it now. The old man's time is running out, just like my mother's did in that car.
Mickey shifts, boots scraping concrete. "The Cappallettis catch wind of this internal power shift, they might try something."
"Let them try." I meet his eyes with an empty smile. "They'll learn what happens when you cross a Mantione - the new generation of Mantione."
"Got it, boss. We'll make them pay."
The memory hits without warning - red wine spreading across pristine white tablecloth, my father's fingers digging into my shoulder as he towers over me. "I'll make you pay for that, you worthless little shit. You couldn't even hold a glass right. Just like you couldn't save her."
I blink, forcing the image away with mechanical precision. Dwelling on the past is inefficient. My phone vibrates against the table, and I recognize the number lighting up the screen - the burner I gave him.
Need to meet. Urgent. Usual spot.
Enzo's always been different from the other Cappalletti soldiers - sharper, more ambitious. The photos of his confrontation with Alfonso suggest he's finally reached his breaking point.
My thumb traces the smooth silver of my mother's watch, its steady ticking a counterpoint to my racing thoughts. Eight-year-old me had clung to this watch in that hospital waiting room, while nurses whispered and my father raged. Now it grounds me, helps maintain the careful mask I've crafted.
"Bas." I don't raise my voice, but he straightens immediately. "Get me everything on Enzo's recent movements. Family connections, gambling debts, side businesses - especially anything Alfonso might have shut down."
"Already compiling it, boss." He slides a folder across the table. "Seems Figarello's been blocking several of Enzo's expansion attempts. Real estate deals, protection rackets - all killed before they got off the ground."
Perfect. A man with crushed ambitions is a man ready to switch allegiances. I stand, adjusting my suit jacket with precise movements. "Have Mickey trail him to the meeting point. I want eyes on every possible approach."
This could be the crack in the Cappalletti foundation I've been waiting for. One well-placed lever, and their whole structure might just crumble - leaving space for a new order. My order.
The watch catches the light as I check the time. Mother always said timing was everything. I've learned to be patient, to wait for the perfect moment to strike. Just like I've waited to make my father pay for every drunken rage, every bruise, every night I spent reliving her death while he blamed me for surviving.
After the meeting with Enzo proves enlightening - he is pissed at Alfonso and the Cappalletti Don, enough so to tell me to make him an offer and he'll rip away the one piece of leverage they have over me - I take a deliberate detour past Calloway's Boutique. The late afternoon sun catches the polished storefront windows, but it doesn't obscure my view of her inside.
Skye moves through her shop with practiced elegance, her sleek black waves bouncing as she adjusts a display. Her amber eyes light up when she greets a customer, genuine warmth radiating from her smile. It's... unsettling. The way she commands attention without force or fear.
I check my watch - the same one that had captured her attention days ago. Her fingers had twitched toward it before she caught herself, showing rare self-control. Most people grab what they want without thought of consequences.
A group of women cluster around her, hanging on her every word as she pulls pieces from the racks. Her slim figure moves with fluid grace between the displays, light brown skin glowing under the boutique's carefully curated lighting. She gestures animatedly, those perfectly manicured nails flashing as she explains something about fabric or cut.
My jaw clenches. This is becoming a pattern - these unnecessary detours, these moments spent watching her work. It's inefficient. Dangerous even. Yet I find myself noting how her staff straighten when she passes, not from fear but something like admiration. How customers lean in close, treating her words like precious secrets rather than sales pitch.
The diamond in her nose catches the light as she throws her head back laughing at something a client says. The sound carries faintly through the glass, musical and unrestrained. I can't remember the last time I heard genuine laughter that wasn't nervous or forced.
A delivery truck blocks my view momentarily. When it passes, she's at the register, those sharp eyes scanning the street. For a fraction of a second, our gazes lock. Something flickers across her expression - recognition, interest, wariness. Smart girl.
I turn away, adjusting my suit jacket with mechanical precision. This... distraction needs to end. I have a family to destroy, an empire to build. I can't afford to waste time studying the way light plays across her cheekbones or how she commands a room without violence.
Yet as I slide into my car, I know I'll be back tomorrow. Same time. Same calculated coincidence.
At least I force myself away and get back to work. I've held onto some modicum of control, though by the time I get to my office, I already feel the pull to go back to her.
I don't fucking understand it, and it's causing something to itch beneath my skin. I do not care for being out of control.
I scan the latest reports scattered across my desk, jaw tight as I process the implications. Enzo's meeting confirmed what these documents show - the Cappalletti family is fracturing from within. Alfonso's iron grip is causing more than just Enzo to question their leadership.
My phone buzzes. Another update from Bas: three more of Giovanni's men spotted meeting in locations outside their usual territory. The pieces are falling exactly where I need them.
I check my watch - 2:15 PM. Skye will be back from lunch by now.
"Fuck." The curse slips out before I can stop it. I shouldn't know her schedule. Shouldn't care that she wears a different shade of nail polish each day or that her laugh carries across the street when she's particularly amused.
Mickey enters without knocking, another stack of papers in hand. "Your father's security detail changed their rotation again."
"Put it with the others." I don't look up from the surveillance photos, but my fingers brush against my watch band. "Any movement from the Bueti family?"
"They're watching the chaos unfold, just like we predicted. Lorenzo's keeping his distance, waiting to see who comes out on top."
Smart man. But his caution won't save him when I'm done reshaping this city.
2:30 PM now. She'll be arranging the window display, those elegant hands adjusting mannequins with practiced precision.
I stand abruptly, straightening my jacket. "Have Carmine track Alfonso's movements tonight. I want to know every breath he takes."
"Where are you headed?" Mickey asks, though his knowing look suggests he already knows.
I don't answer, striding past him. This... fixation with Skye Calloway is becoming a liability. Each time I pass her shop, I tell myself it's strategic surveillance. Yet I find myself cataloging useless details - how her amber eyes narrow when she's helping select the right outfit, the way she touches that small diamond stud on her nose when deep in thought.
The reports can wait an hour. I need to assess potential weaknesses in the Cappalletti territory anyway. If that assessment happens to take me past a certain boutique... it's merely efficient route planning.
Until I spend two hours in the boutique, feeling oddly…light around the only woman who looks at me like I'm anything but a don's son.
The city lights blur beyond my office window, casting strange shadows across the stack of files detailing Enzo's movements. Each photo, each document builds a clear picture - he's a man desperate to break free from Alfonso's suffocating control.
My reflection stares back at me, ice blue eyes empty as always. Father hates that - how I never show proper emotion, never showed proper fear when he'd strike me. Once, my eyes lit up with excitement like everyone else.
Now, it's a dull memory so long gone it might as well not be my own.
I catch myself stroking the silver watch band again, the familiar weight against my wrist both comfort and weakness. Maria's file sits open on my desk, the surveillance photos showing her safe, unharmed, and always with Enzo. Which will make this even easier.
The timing needs to be perfect. Enzo's flailing loyalty makes me unsteady. I can manipulate it, but I can't trust it. One wrong move and he could expose everything to Alfonso or someone even worse.
But handled correctly, he could be the key to ripping away the only thing the Cappalletti family has on me. And Maria... getting her away from Lorenzo is important. I need her safe. She's real family.
My mother's voice echoes in my head: " Control isn't about moving fast, piccolo. It's about moving all the pieces together, like conducting an orchestra ."
I stand, adjusting my suit jacket with mechanical precision as I study the Chicago skyline. Skye's boutique is dark now, but I can picture her there, commanding attention without effort. Such a stark contrast to the violence that defines my world. Perhaps that's why I can't stop watching her - she wields a different kind of power, one that doesn't leave blood on the streets.
"Time to conduct," I murmur, thumb brushing over the watch face one final time. Enzo's wavering decision, Maria's situation, Skye's unexpected influence - all pieces on my board now. Mother always said patience was everything. I've waited years to take what's mine. I can orchestrate these new elements just as carefully.