His Ruthless Claim (Devils in Armani Suits #2)

29. Luca

29

LUCA

I stare at the screen, watching the grainy security feed of Skye locking up her boutique for the night. My men's daily reports sit untouched on my desk - I already know every detail of her movements. The familiar ache in my chest intensifies as she steps onto the sidewalk in those ridiculous heels she loves, her black hair catching the streetlight.

"We have eyes on her, boss." Ace's voice crackles through my phone.

I don't respond, just end the call. My fingers trace the rim of my whiskey glass, the amber liquid untouched. Three weeks since she walked out. Twenty-one days of maintaining my distance while ensuring a rotating security detail shadows her every move.

The footage switches so I can see her through her apartment window. I shouldn't watch, but I can't stop myself. At least she does have the option to shut me out if she wanted to by closing the blinds. It's pathetic - this weakness she's created in me. I never needed to monitor anyone this closely before. Never felt this...hollow when someone left.

My phone buzzes with another update.

She ordered takeout again. Thai food this time.

Yes. I've resorted to getting every little detail about her like this.

I remember how she'd steal bites from my plate, her quick wit cutting through dinner conversation. The way she'd try to make me laugh, those amber eyes dancing with mischief. Now my kitchen feels too quiet, the house too empty.

"I did it to protect you," I mutter to the empty room, the words bitter on my tongue. But I know better. I orchestrated that attack because I wanted her here, under my control. Where I could watch her, touch her, keep her.

The security feed shows her settling onto her couch with her dinner. I should turn it off. Instead, I pour more whiskey and watch her curl up with a book. My hand clenches around the glass. This distance - this space she demanded - it's driving me fucking insane. But for the first time in my life, I'm respecting someone else's boundaries.

Even if it's killing me.

The door opens behind me and Maria's perfume drifts into my office. I don't turn around.

"You look like shit." She perches on the edge of my desk, her curls falling over one shoulder as she peers at the security feed. "This isn't healthy, Luca."

"I'm monitoring a security situation."

"You're stalking your girlfriend because you fucked up." Maria's warm brown eyes narrow. "Have you even tried talking to her?"

"She made her position clear." I switch off the monitor, unable to watch Skye anymore. "She needs space."

"Because you manipulated her instead of being honest." Maria's voice softens. "Just like Uncle Anthony did with Aunt Sofia."

My jaw clenches. "Don't."

"Your mother would want you to be happy." She reaches for my hand but I pull away. "You're so scared of losing control that you're pushing away the one person who makes you feel something."

"I'm not scared." The words taste like ash.

"Really?" Maria leans forward. "Then why orchestrate an attack instead of telling Skye you were worried about her safety? You told her she wasn't safe, not that you were worried. You never really even gave her an option. Why not admit you wanted her close because you care about her?"

"I don't-"

"Bullshit." She cuts me off. "I was there after Aunt Sofia died. I watched you shut down, build these walls. But Skye got through them, didn't she? And that terrifies you."

The whiskey burns as I drain the glass. "She's safer without me."

"Like your mom would've been safer without your dad?" Maria's words hit like a punch. "You're not him, Luca. And Skye isn't your mother. Stop punishing yourself for something that wasn't your fault."

My hands shake as I set down the glass. Eight-year-old memories flood back - metal crushing metal, my mother's blood on the dashboard, her final breaths beside me. The helplessness. The rage.

"I couldn't save her." The admission rips from my throat. I've been trying to do everything I could to save Skye instead, and that backfired, too.

"You were a child." Maria's fingers brush my shoulder. "But you're not helpless anymore. And pushing Skye away won't protect either of you."

Maria's words echo in my head as I face the weekly family meeting. The usual faces fill my study - old guard captains who served under my father mixed with my own chosen men. Tension radiates through the room, evident in their stiff postures and careful expressions.

I adjust my Rolex, the weight of my mother's legacy heavy on my wrist. "The Syracuse operation needs new oversight. Bas, put someone on it."

He stares at me for a minute. I've been overseeing the operation, not wanting anything to go wrong. But at this point, I need to step back. To let my men do their work and put some trust in someone.

I never really have before. And maybe Maria's right and I need to let go of the past a little.

"The gambling rings in the south side too." The words taste foreign on my tongue. "I'm restructuring our hierarchy."

Murmurs ripple through the room. Carmine leans forward in his chair. His tattooed hands clench on his knees. "Boss?"

"Ace takes Syracuse. Carmine gets the south side territory." I meet each man's gaze, noting the shock, the wariness. They're waiting for the trap, the test. I've never willingly released control of anything. "Full autonomy on day-to-day operations. Weekly reports only."

The tension bleeds from Bas' shoulders first. He's known me longest, and I wonder if he can see what I'm thinking. Carmine and Ace still look skeptical.

"What about the docks?" Mickey asks.

"You're handling those now." I rest my elbows on the desk, studying their reactions. The relief is palpable, spreading through the room like a physical force. I've been suffocating them all with my need for control, just like I suffocated Skye.

"Any other changes?" Ace's voice carries a note of hope I've never heard before.

"Several." I outline the new structure, watching years of tension melt from their faces. I've been so busy maintaining perfect control that I missed how it was breaking everything around me.

The meeting disperses, but I remain at my desk, fingers tracing the worn silver edge of my Rolex. Each tick echoes through my chest, a steady rhythm that used to remind me of trapped metal and burning gasoline. Now it speaks of something else - possibility, change, the chance to break cycles I never thought I could escape.

I press my thumb against the watch face, remembering my mother's smile as she fastened it around my small wrist. " Your grandfather wore this when he chose love over duty ," she'd said. " Sometimes the bravest thing we can do is let go ."

The irony twists in my gut. I'd held onto control so tightly I'd strangled everything good in my life, just like my father did after we lost her. Every tick of this watch marked another moment I chose fear over trust, power over connection.

My phone lights up with the security feed. Skye's leaving work early today, her slim figure wrapped in a cream dress that makes her skin glow. She pauses outside the boutique, amber eyes scanning the street. It reminds me so much of that first night. Of the first time our eyes connected and I was fucking gone.

The watch ticks against my pulse. My mother would've loved her - would've recognized that same fierce spirit she carried. Instead of following my father's path of possessive control, I could honor my mother's memory by choosing differently. By being worthy of the woman who makes me feel something besides emptiness.

The watch ticks. Skye slides into her car. My chest aches with an unfamiliar feeling - not the usual void, but something warm and terrifying. Something worth fighting for.

The reports keep coming in over the days, a steady stream of updates that should focus on security but increasingly drift into details about her life. I find myself hungry for every scrap of information, analyzing not just her safety but her state of mind.

She smiled today, boss. Real big when that regular customer brought her coffee.

Mickey's text hits different than his usual updates. I think my boys have been worried about her, too. The knot in my chest loosens slightly.

Another ping.

She's laughing with her friends at lunch.

Each message paints a picture - Skye thriving, living, existing in a world without my suffocating presence. The surveillance that started as a means of control has become a window into her happiness.

"You're torturing yourself." Bas drops into the chair across from my desk, his weathered face creased with concern. "Just go see her."

I don't even look up from the picture Mickey sent with his lace message.

"Christ." Carmine appears in the doorway, broad shoulders filling the frame. "You've got twenty guys reporting her every move and all you care about is if she enjoyed her fucking sandwich?"

"Watch yourself." The warning slips out automatically, but lacks its usual edge.

"She's good, Luca." Bas leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Safe. Happy even. But she'd be happier with-"

"Don't." I cut him off, staring at her picture. I've never felt such an acute ache before and it fucking hurts . Forget an itch. I feel like I'm drowning without her.

"You're different with her." Mickey's voice carries an unusual gentleness. "That's not a bad thing."

I don't respond, just staring at her head tipped back and her face lit up in that beautiful smile. One that will never be turned on me again.

"Boss." Bas tries again. "We've known you since-"

I wave him off, unable to handle their concern. Unable to process how my need to control her movements has shifted into this desperate hunger for proof that she's okay without me.

The irony doesn't escape me. I finally learned to let go, only to find myself more consumed than ever.