His Ruthless Claim (Devils in Armani Suits #2)

12. Skye

12

SKYE

" I didn't even know you could get banned from a coffee shop." Kendra raises her brows.

The low lighting of Kendra's dining room casts a warm glow across the faces of my closest friends as we share plates of spicy Thai takeout. Jazz lounges in her chair, her curls piled high in a messy bun that somehow looks effortless. I take a sip of wine, savoring the rich cabernet.

Mikayla giggles. "Apparently, if your girlfriend is sleeping with one of the guys that works there and you come in to fight him, you can."

We all laugh as Mikayla shakes her head. My stomach starts to twist, but I know I need to do this. I need to say something before it gets too far.

"Speaking of interesting customers," I say, pushing my empty plate aside. "That guy I mentioned? He's been coming to the boutique more frequently."

Jazz's wine glass freezes halfway to her red-stained lips. Her shoulders tense, the relaxed posture vanishing in an instant.

Mikayla shrinks back at Jazz's reaction. Her wide eyes dart to Kendra, who straightens in her chair, perfectly manicured nails drumming against the dark wood table.

And this is why I was living in denial. But I know I can't keep doing that, and I'd honestly rather hear the truth from Jazz.

"What guy?" Jazz's voice comes out tight as she sets down her glass with deliberate care. The crystal makes a soft clink against the table.

"You know, the one I told you about last week. Tall, dark, expensive suit." I lean back, crossing my legs. "You said you had an idea who he was…"

The comfortable buzz from the wine evaporates as Jazz's expression hardens. Her fingers trace the stem of her glass, a tell I recognize from years of friendship. Something about this man has her on edge.

"Skye." Jazz's tone carries a warning I've never heard before. "How often exactly has he been coming by?"

The playful atmosphere that filled the room minutes ago has vanished completely. Even sweet Mikayla looks troubled, her usual smile nowhere to be seen.

"Three times this week." I meet Jazz's intense gaze. "He's never told me who he is, but I think…" So much for limbo. "I think I need to know."

Jazz carefully places both hands flat on the table, her phoenix tattoo visible against her wrist.

"His name is Luca Mantione." Jazz's words hit the table like ice. "And he just took over as don for the Mantiones."

My stomach drops as memories of those unnervingly empty blue eyes flash through my mind. The way he'd move through my boutique with precise, calculated steps. How he'd examine items with methodical attention while never betraying a hint of actual interest.

"He's a don?" My voice comes out steadier than I feel.

I had a suspicion after listening to all those women. But speculating and knowing feel so different.

Jazz nods, her fingers tracing the phoenix on her wrist. "The old Don died three weeks ago. Heart attack, they say." Her tone suggests she believes otherwise. "That's when Luca started showing up at your shop more frequently, right?"

I think back, counting the visits. "Yeah, actually. He came in a few times, probably the two weeks before the funeral. Now it's..." The realization makes my chest tight. "Almost every day."

"Could he be marking territory?" Kendra's marketing expertise bleeds into something darker. We all know how the underbelly of the city works, even if it's just the basics. "The boutique's location-"

"Is right between two neighborhoods." Jazz cuts in. "And when there's a power shift…"

Mikayla pushes her plate away, looking pale. "Should Skye close the shop?"

"No." I surprise myself with how quickly I answer. "He's never threatening. Just..." I remember the way he'd examined a silk scarf yesterday, those long fingers testing the fabric with scientific precision. "Empty. Like he's playing at being human."

"That's what makes him dangerous." Jazz leans forward, her voice dropping. "His father was old school - all heat and violence. But Luca?" She shakes her head. "He'll slice your throat and not even blink. No emotion. No hesitation."

The wine turns sour in my mouth as I recall our brief interactions. His perfectly measured responses. That dead-eyed stare that seemed to catalog every detail while revealing nothing.

But I swear I see emotion in him sometimes. I swear that I can get him to crack.

"Three days after his father died," Jazz continues, "three of Don Mantione's closest associates disappeared. Their bodies haven't been found." She meets my eyes. "Luca's been changing things. And everyone who has met with him says he's just as cold as ever. Nerio was sent to talk with him for the Buetis and even he's unnerved by Luca. You can't have him around-"

"Look," I lean forward, my amber necklace catching the light. "The boutique's become something of a safe zone. The wives, girlfriends - they come to shop, to gossip. No one causes trouble because everyone needs somewhere neutral to spend their blood money."

"That's exactly what worries me." Jazz's curls have started to escape her bun, framing her face in wild spirals. "You're too close to this."

I trace the rim of my wine glass. "Last month, Rosa Cappalletti dropped thirty grand on designer handbags while complaining about her husband's new mistress. Two days later, that same mistress got caught in a police raid that shut down her massage parlor."

"Jesus, Skye." Kendra's perfectly lined eyes widen.

"I didn't do anything with the information. I just..." I shrug, the silk of my blouse rustling. "I listen. They talk. The boutique's become their confessional."

"And what happens when someone decides you've heard too much?" Jazz's voice carries an edge of fear I'm not used to hearing.

"That's why Luca's different." The words slip out before I can stop them. "He doesn't talk. Doesn't share. Just watches. Like he's trying to solve a puzzle."

"Or figure out if you're a threat." Mikayla's soft voice trembles.

"No." I straighten my shoulders, meeting each of their concerned gazes. "He's curious. I can tell by the way he moves through the store. How he examines everything but focuses on nothing. It's like..." I pause, searching for the right words. "Like he's studying human behavior through a microscope."

"That's not better, Skye." Jazz's phoenix tattoo catches the light as she reaches for the wine bottle. "Men like Luca don't get curious. They get calculating."

But I think about those ice-blue eyes, devoid of warmth yet somehow magnetic. The precise way he handles merchandise, as if testing the reality of each item. How he'll stand perfectly still, watching interactions between customers with scientific detachment.

"Maybe." I take another sip of wine, letting the rich flavor roll across my tongue. "But I think there's more to it than that."

None of them seem convinced. And not too long after, I decide to leave. I can't stand the tension I caused, especially when I'm not sure if I'm really being too trusting when it comes to him.

Back in my apartment, I curl into the window seat overlooking the quiet street below. The city lights paint shadows across my silk robe as I twist my amber necklace between my fingers, mind racing through every encounter with Luca Mantione.

That first visit over a month ago. The way he'd entered my boutique like he owned it, those expensive Italian leather shoes silent against the hardwood floors. No browsing, no hesitation - he'd moved with surgical precision through my store like he knew the layout. I remember how he'd touched each item methodically, testing weight and texture while revealing nothing in those empty blue eyes.

The silver Rolex on his wrist had caught my attention - not because of its obvious value, but because of how often he'd touch it. A tell, I'd thought at the time. Now I wonder if it's something else entirely. A reminder? A warning?

I take a slow sip of chamomile tea, but it does nothing to settle my nerves. Three weeks ago, he'd spent forty-five minutes examining a collection of Italian silk shirts. His long fingers had moved over each one with scientific detachment, like a coroner cataloging evidence. When he finally selected the black Armani, his movements were precise, calculated. No joy in the purchase, no satisfaction - just cold efficiency.

The same day his father's associates vanished.

My skin prickles as I recall how the other customers had practically pressed themselves against the walls when he'd approached the register. Even Giovanna Rosetti, who normally commanded any room she entered, had frozen mid-sentence, her perfectly painted lips snapping shut.

But I hadn't known then. Hadn't recognized the power he wielded with those measured steps and dead eyes. I'd suspected but more than anything I'd just found him fascinating - a puzzle of perfect control wrapped in bespoke suits. I'd even teased him about his methodical shopping habits, earning the briefest flicker of... something... in that arctic gaze.

" You're either the pickiest shopper I've ever met, " I'd said, " or you're counting threads for quality control. "

His response had been characteristic - a slight tilt of the head, those empty eyes studying me like I was an equation he couldn't quite solve. No smile, no frown. Just that unnerving focus that made my pulse jump despite my best efforts to appear unfazed.

God, I'd been playing with fire without even knowing it was lit.

The thought stays with me until I open up the shop the next morning. Soft light streams through the boutique's front windows, catching on designer sequins and casting prisms across the walls. I adjust a Versace dress on its mannequin, my movements deliberate despite the tension coiling in my stomach.

"He's different from his father," Mrs. Bianci whispers as I help her into a Saint Laurent blazer. Her eyes dart to the door before continuing. "Antonio was all fire and rage. But Luca?" She shivers. "Ice runs through that boy's veins."

I nod, cataloging the information while pinning the blazer's sleeve. "How so?"

"I saw him at Mario's funeral - Don Antonio's oldest friend." She crosses herself. "Luca sat through the entire service without moving. Not one tear, not one word. Not even a fake smile to the family. Just watched everyone like he was taking notes."

The bell above the door chimes. Sophia Rosetti sweeps in, dripping in diamonds despite the early hour. Mrs. Bianci's mouth snaps shut.

I spend the next hour gathering pieces of the puzzle. Luca's been systematically dismantling his father's inner circle. Clean. Quiet. Efficient. No bodies, no evidence - just key players vanishing into thin air.

By ten, my hands move steady as I arrange a new shipment of silk scarves. The air feels charged, like the moment before lightning strikes. He'll come today - he always does after I receive new Italian imports.

The soft chime of the bell sends Mrs. Bianci and Sophia scurrying out with the expectation I’ll be sending their choices to their homes. The temperature seems to drop as Luca enters, each step measured and precise. His black suit is immaculate, the silver Rolex gleaming at his wrist. Those empty blue eyes scan the store with clinical detachment before landing on me.

I straighten my spine, letting my fingers trail along the silk scarves. His gaze tracks the movement, studying my hands like they're specimens under glass. The usual fear doesn't come. Instead, a different kind of thrill races through my veins.

"The new Zanotti collection arrived," I say, my voice carrying across the quiet store. "Though I suspect you're not here for Italian leather today."

His head tilts slightly - the only indication he's heard me. But something shifts in those arctic eyes as he moves closer, each step a carefully calculated advance.

Game on.