His Ruthless Claim (Devils in Armani Suits #2)

17. Luca

17

LUCA

I drum my fingers against the mahogany conference table, scanning the security reports spread before me. Mickey shifts in his chair, his usual confident smirk replaced by uncertainty as he presents the daily briefing.

"The new crew is bringing in the numbers we need. No suspicious activity except-"

My attention drifts to the antique silver watch on my wrist. The hands tick past three, the same time she stepped outside to take a phone call yesterday, laughing into her phone while gesturing with perfectly manicured hands.

"Boss?" Bas clears his throat. "About the shipment coming in-"

"Continue." I keep my voice flat, controlled. The way I always do. The way that makes people think twice before questioning me.

Carmine slides another folder across the table. "We've got three potential issues with the dock workers. And that boutique-"

My fingers still against the wood. The watch feels heavier somehow. I find myself touching the worn silver edge, remembering how Skye's amber eyes lit up when she noticed it yesterday. How she'd tilted her head, studying it with genuine interest rather than the usual fear my presence inspires.

"Some of the other families are asking questions." Ace's words snap my focus back. "About our presence in the neighborhood."

"Not surprising." I try not to let it show that I hate the idea of her being targeted.

Mickey exchanges glances with Bas. "Want us to send a message?"

"No." The word comes out sharper than intended. Another crack in my carefully constructed facade. I never lose composure. Never show emotion. Yet here I am, betraying eight-year-old Luca's hard-learned lessons because some boutique owner with clever eyes and a sharper tongue has lodged herself in my thoughts.

"You sure?" Carmine leans forward. "It's not like you to let someone-"

"I said no." Ice coats each word. "Continue with the dock situation."

But even as they resume their reports, I catch myself checking the watch again. Calculating the minutes until she closes shop. Wondering what questions she's been asking about me.

This loss of control is unacceptable. Yet for the first time since watching my mother die, I find myself powerless to stop it.

My hand finds my watch again, thumb sliding over the worn silver face as I check the time. I'd rather be there with her than sitting through this. But there's so much for me to do, to fix that my father left behind.

If only I could think about anything but her.

Mickey's eyes track the movement. In fifteen years, he's never seen me fidget. "Boss, with respect... you've been different lately. This much attention on one boutique-"

"You questioning my decisions?" Ice fills my veins, spreading through my chest until even I can't feel anything. The temperature in the room drops as I rise, slow and deliberate.

"No, I just-" Mickey takes an instinctive step back, bumping into Carmine. Both men pale.

"Then explain why you're still talking." My voice comes out dead calm. The kind of calm that makes even hardened killers remember why Chicago's underworld whispers about the Don's emotionless son.

"Sorry, boss." Mickey's throat bobs. "Won't happen again."

I adjust my watch band, the familiar motion usually centering me. Instead, I see Skye's eyes dropping to it, the way she admired it that first day. The memory sends an unfamiliar jolt through my chest.

"We keep guards on the door like I said." I keep my tone flat despite the strange tension coiling inside me. "If people talk, I don't give a shit."

The men exchange looks that scream confusion and concern. I've never showed interest in protecting anyone outside the family. Never cared enough to notice.

I don't like it either.

I'm done with this, though. I stand, turning before anyone can even react. The afternoon sun is sinking and I know that she'll be alone soon. I can't even resist as I head for my car instead of my office.

I stride into Skye's boutique just as she's flipping the sign to "Closed." The bell chimes, announcing my presence. Her back stiffens for a heartbeat before she turns, those amber eyes lighting with recognition.

"Luca." She arches one perfect eyebrow, her lips curving into that sharp smile that's been haunting my thoughts. "I see you can't read as well as you can't listen."

Amusement trickles through me. No one has ever talked to me like that, and I love it when she does. "I think you forget that rules just don't apply to me."

Her eyes slowly peruse my frame, and I swear I see the same hunger in her gaze that I feel. I know that this attraction is not one sided. The obsession… Well, I don't think she feels anything remotely close to what I do.

Skye shrugs. "Well, I hate to disappoint, but we're closed."

I lean against the counter, watching as she counts the register. Her fingers move with practiced efficiency, sorting bills into neat stacks. "We both know I'm not here to shop."

"Do we?" That teasing lilt enters her voice. She glances up through dark lashes. "And here I thought you just couldn't get enough of my excellent customer service."

My jaw tightens at her playful tone. I should find it irritating. Instead, something unfamiliar stirs in my chest. "Let me walk you home."

"Mmm." She closes the register with a decisive click. "Worried about my safety? Or just looking for an excuse to spend more time with me?"

"Both." The honesty surprises even me. I never admit to wanting anything.

Skye's movements pause, just for a moment. Then that clever smile returns as she grabs her designer bag from behind the counter. "Well, it would be a very short walk. I live upstairs."

"I know." The words slip out before I can stop them.

"Of course you do." She doesn't sound surprised or scared - just amused. "Been keeping tabs on me, Luca?"

I should lie. Should maintain distance. Instead, I find myself watching the way her sleek black hair catches the fading sunlight as she moves around the counter. "Yes."

She stops beside me, close enough that I catch the subtle scent of her perfume. "Most women would find that creepy."

"But not you."

"No." Her amber eyes meet mine, fearless. "Not me."

Her eyes drift to my wrist as we stand in the dimming light of her boutique. "You know, you touch that watch constantly. Like it grounds you somehow." She takes a half step closer. "Was your grandfather… special to you?"

My entire body goes rigid. The familiar weight of the silver against my skin suddenly feels like it's burning. Images flash - twisted metal, my mother's blood-stained hands pressing the watch into mine, her last whispered words.

"I'm sorry." Skye's voice softens, loses that playful edge. "I shouldn't have-"

"My mother gave it to me." The words scrape out of my throat before her smile can fully fade. I never talk about that. Never wanted to. But watching her confidence dim makes something in my chest ache. "It was her father's. She..." My fingers find the worn edge again. "She gave it to me right before she died. She was important to me, and she loved her dad. So, in a way, yes. He was special to me."

Skye's hand hovers near mine for a moment, not quite touching. When she speaks, there's no pity in her voice. Just that same genuine interest she shows in everything about me. "She must have loved you very much."

"Yes." The word comes out rough. I force my fingers to still against the watch face.

Her smile returns, softer this time but no less brilliant. "Thank you for telling me."

I find myself studying the way the setting sun paints gold highlights in her dark hair, how it makes her amber eyes almost glow. She's close enough now that I could reach out, touch her face. The urge to do so is foreign, unsettling.

But for the first time since I was eight years old, watching my mother's life slip away, I want to reach for something I can't control.

The sound of shattering glass pierces the moment. Shouts and the distinctive thud of fists meeting flesh erupt outside the boutique. Before I can process the threat, my body moves on instinct, pulling Skye behind me.

Well, this was unexpected but very convenient for me.

"Stay here." My voice drops to that deadly calm that makes grown men tremble.

"Like hell." She grabs her phone, already dialing. But I catch her wrist, gentle yet firm.

"My men have it handled." Through the window, I watch Bas and Mickey drag two bleeding men apart while Carmine blocks curious onlookers. The metallic glint of brass knuckles catches the streetlight.

Skye peers around my shoulder, her breath warm against my neck. "That's the third fight this week."

I turn to face her, keeping my body between her and the window. "You've been counting."

"Hard not to when it's right outside my home." Her amber eyes narrow. "Almost like someone's trying to make a point."

Smart girl. Too smart. But this time, I had nothing to do with it.

"This is why I'm concerned." I touch my watch again, an unconscious tell I need to eliminate. "Come stay with me. Just until I handle this situation."

"You mean until you figure out who's trying to intimidate me?" That sharp smile returns, but there's steel beneath it. "I don't run, Luca."

"I'm not asking you to run." My fingers brush her cheek before I can stop myself. Her skin is soft, warm. "I'm asking you to let me protect you."

"I can protect myself."

"I know." And I do. Everything about her radiates capability. It makes her more fascinating. "But you shouldn't have to. Not when I-" I catch myself, jaw clenching.

Her hand covers mine where it rests against her face. "When you what?"

The words stick in my throat. Emotions are weakness. Caring gets people killed. I learned that at eight years old, watching my mother bleed out beside me.

But something in Skye's steady gaze cracks the ice I've spent two decades building. "When I can't stop thinking about you. When the thought of anything happening to you makes me-" I break off, unfamiliar with this loss of control.

"Makes you feel something?" Her voice softens, knowing.

"Yes." The admission costs me, but her smile is worth it.

"Okay." She squeezes my hand. "I'll stay with you. But only because that expression actually made you look human for a second."