22. Skye
22
SKYE
I study Luca across the breakfast table, noting the rigid set of his broad shoulders beneath his crisp white dress shirt. His jaw tightens as he scrolls through his phone, those ice-blue eyes focused with lethal intensity. The Maria situation weighs on him, though most wouldn't notice the minute tells in his controlled demeanor.
"You'll get her soon." I take a sip of coffee, keeping my voice steady. "I have no doubt that your plan will work flawlessly."
His gaze flicks to mine, empty yet somehow burning. "I know."
The drive to the boutique is quiet, Luca's knuckles white on the steering wheel. His two men trail us in a black SUV, my shadows for the day.
The boutique fills quickly with the usual parade of mafia wives and girlfriends, all dripping in designer labels and whispered secrets. I float between them, carefully casual as I adjust hemlines and suggest accessories.
"You know, I hear that everything has been stirred up since the young Don took over. People are jumpy." Mrs. Catalano asks while trying on a silk blouse. "Tommy's been in meetings all week about it."
I hum noncommittally, pinning the sleeve. "The cut suits you perfectly. Though perhaps in the navy..."
The conversations flow like wine at Sunday dinner. I catch fragments about warehouse deals, whispers of territory disputes, careful mentions of names and places. Each detail I file away, building a mental map of Chicago's underground pulse. Before, I tried not to listen too much so I wouldn't get in trouble. Now…I'm an informant.
When Luca picks me up that evening, I wait until we're alone in his bedroom to share what I've learned. "The Rossis are moving product through the old meat packing district. There's talk about a new operation starting next week."
His eyes sharpen. In one fluid motion, he crosses the space between us, fingers threading through my hair as he pulls me against him. His kiss is brutal, possessive, tasting of mint and danger. My toes curl against the hardwood floor as heat floods my system.
He breaks away, thumb tracing my lower lip. "Good girl."
The praise shouldn't affect me like this, shouldn't make my skin buzz with electricity. But there's something addictive about being useful to someone like Luca Mantione, about being the only one who gets to see even these small cracks in his perfect control.
The next day is more of the same. I'm careful not to ask questions, not to look too interested.
"The emerald would complement your skin tone beautifully," I say, draping the silk dress across Mrs. Figarello's shoulders. The underboss's wife preens in my three-way mirror.
"Alfonso mentioned Marco's been making waves." She adjusts the neckline. "Always thought that boy had more ambition than sense."
I pin the hem, careful to keep my voice light. "Oh?"
"Mm. Not just there. Tommy saw him meeting with some of Lorenzo's people last week. At that little café on Monroe." She clicks her tongue. "Alfonso's furious - says the boy's playing both sides."
I gather more details as I work, piecing together Marco's movements like a puzzle. When Luca arrives that evening, I wait until we're in his car to share.
"I hear that Nerio's right hand man is meeting with Bueti and Cappalletti enforcers. Three meetings in the past week, all in public places." I cross my legs, the leather seat cool against my skin. "I'm sure it's just because of everything that went down with Jazz, though."
Luca's fingers flex on the wheel, the only sign my intel affects him. He still struggles with words. At a red light, he turns those empty blue eyes on me. The intensity makes my breath catch.
The moment we enter his bedroom, he has me pressed against the wall. One hand grips my hip while the other slides into my hair, tugging until my throat is exposed.
"Such a clever girl," he murmurs against my neck. His teeth graze my pulse point. "Always watching, always listening."
I gasp as he lifts me, wrapping my legs around his waist. The controlled violence in his movements sets my blood on fire. This is how he shows emotion - through touch, through claiming.
His kiss is bruising, possessive. I rake my nails down his back, drawing a low growl. He carries me to the bed, laying me out like an offering.
"Tell me everything you learned today." His voice is dark velvet as he slowly unbuttons my blouse. "Every detail."
I arch into his touch, understanding the game. Information is currency, and tonight, I'll make him work for every piece.
I trail my fingers along Luca's arm as we enter the gallery, admiring how the crisp black suit accentuates his lean muscle. When I asked him to come to Mikayla's art show with me, I was a little surprised he said yes. I know that he's busy and we've never actually been seen out together. But he was all too happy to escort me - and let me dress him.
The space buzzes with conversation and clinking glasses, Mikayla's vibrant paintings drawing clusters of well-dressed patrons. I know that this means a lot to her. She's spent so long scraping by in the coffee shop while she tried to get these showings.
"This is actually nice," I murmur, accepting a glass of champagne from a passing server. "You clean up well for these normal events."
His lips quirk slightly, those ice-blue eyes scanning the room with predatory awareness. "Nothing about tonight is normal."
Jazz waves us over, stunning in a burgundy dress that hugs her curves. Nerio stands possessively close behind her, his gray eyes tracking every movement in the room. The way he watches Jazz reminds me of how Luca watches me - like a predator fixated on its prey.
"Girl, you look incredible." Kendra joins us, gesturing at my black cocktail dress. "And with this fine specimen on your arm..."
I throw my head back and laugh. But as I turn, I catch Elliott across the room, his dark curls falling into his eyes as he studies one of Mikayla's larger pieces. To my surprise, Luca gives him a slight nod of acknowledgment. I know he's Mikayla's friend and that he helped Nerio with something he needed - so he must be mafia, which was a surprise given Mikayla - but that's it. He's never been around us otherwise.
"You know him?" I ask.
"He's useful." Luca's hand settles on my lower back, thumb stroking circles against my spine. "Keeps things running smoothly."
When Luca steps away to take a call, Jazz and Kendra pounce.
"Girl, the way that man looks at you..." Kendra fans herself dramatically. "Like he wants to devour you whole."
Jazz smirks, sipping her champagne. "The few times I've seen him, he's never acted like this. Usually he's just..." She shudders. "Empty. Cold. But with you? There's something there."
"He's still empty and cold," I say, but warmth spreads through my chest. "He's just... selective about who he shows interest in."
"Selective?" Kendra snorts. "Baby, that man is obsessed. The way he touches you, like he's marking his territory? Classic possessive mafia man behavior."
I watch Luca through the gallery windows, his rigid posture radiating controlled power even during a simple phone call. He catches me looking and his eyes darken with heat.
"Maybe I like being possessed," I murmur, making Jazz choke on her champagne.
When he comes back in, I slide my hands up his chest and smile. He wraps an arm around my waist, dipping his head to whisper in my ear. "I need to go home to meet with the guys."
I know now there are only four guys he trusts to even let into our home.
I nod. "Then let's go."
I say goodbye to everyone as he has the car brought around. When I come out, he settles me in the car, and I bite back a grin as he leans in to buckle me in. Everything about him excites me now.
The drive home passes in comfortable silence, Luca's hand resting possessively on my thigh. When we arrive, he surprises me by catching my wrist as I move toward the stairs.
"Come to my office." His ice-blue eyes hold mine. "Stay with me during the meeting."
I arch an eyebrow. "You sure? Isn't it supposed to be all secret mob business?"
His thumb traces circles on my pulse point. "You're mine. That makes you part of it."
I should argue that I'm his. But I don't.
The office door opens to reveal his inner circle already assembled. Bas lounges in a leather chair, dark eyes alert despite his relaxed posture. Mickey paces by the window, while Carmine and Ace hover near the desk, examining papers spread across the surface.
Luca settles into his chair, pulling me into his lap like it's the most natural thing in the world. I curl against him, breathing in his cool mint scent as his arm wraps around my waist.
"The Rossis made their move," Bas says, watching us with knowing eyes. "Three warehouses hit last night."
"Sloppy work," Mickey adds, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Left evidence everywhere."
"Begs the question if they are trying to distract rather than do damage."
Luca's fingers stroke up and down my spine as he listens, the gentle touch at odds with the coldness in his voice. "Show me the locations."
Carmine spreads a map across the desk. Red marks dot the paper like bloodstains. As they discuss strategy, Luca's hand never stops its rhythmic caress of my back. The constant contact feels possessive, grounding.
"We could take the docks," Ace suggests, pointing to the harbor. "Cut off their supply line."
"Too obvious." Luca's chest rumbles against my side as he speaks. "We'll hit their legitimate businesses first. Bleed them slowly."
I study the way his men defer to him, their respect evident in every gesture. There's no hesitation about my presence, no sideways glances or tension. I've been accepted into their dark little family, marked as untouchable by Luca's claim on me.
His fingers tangle in my hair as they discuss surveillance details, the gentle tugs sending shivers down my spine. Even deep in strategy, he needs this connection, this reminder that I'm here, that I'm his.
After the guys filter out, I stay curled in Luca's lap, his fingers still tracing patterns on my spine. The office feels different now - quieter, more intimate. His ice-blue eyes stare into the middle distance, mind clearly churning with plans. Of what's coming tomorrow.
"It's admirable," I say softly, "how far you're going to find Maria."
His jaw tightens. "Family is important."
The words tumble out before I can stop them. "Is that why you killed your father?"
His hand stills on my back. For a moment, the silence stretches razor-thin. Then he shrugs, the movement casual despite the darkness in his eyes. "He was unfit to lead. A drunk bastard who couldn't handle his position."
I trace the sharp line of his jaw with my fingertips. "There's more to it than that." Not that I'm defending him. I just…want to know Luca's side.
Luca catches my wrist, thumb pressing against my pulse point. His voice comes out flat, emotionless. "I was eight when my mother died. Car accident. We were driving home from school when someone forced us off the road."
My breath catches as his grip tightens fractionally.
"The car rolled down an embankment. I was trapped, pinned in place. She was still alive, bleeding out slowly beside me." His eyes remain empty, but his other hand fists in my dress. "It took emergency services three hours to reach us. I watched every minute of her death."
"Luca..." I whisper, but he continues mechanically.
"My father blamed me for surviving. Said I should have found a way to save her. Every time he got drunk, he'd remind me how I failed her." His lips curve in a cold smile. "So yes, I killed him. Watched the life drain from his eyes just like I watched hers fade. The difference was, I enjoyed his death."
I stare at him in absolute shock.