That Time I Accidentally Took Over the Mafia (Accidental)

Chapter 35

I walk into Luca’s office, balancing two bowls of pasta. I set one down in front of him, and he doesn’t move for a second, still staring at the computer screen. His fingers hover over the keys, frozen.

He closes his eyes, and I know exactly what’s happening. Every memory of us cooking this very thing together floods back to him, and I can practically feel the weight of it in the room. It’s painful.

“It’s just pasta,” I lie, trying to make light of it.

“No,” he whispers, eyes still shut tight, as if letting the moment wash over him. “it’s not.”

“I know it’s not,” I reply quietly, my voice soft.

I sit down in the chair across from him and stretch my legs, resting my feet on the adjacent chair. I spear a few pieces of penne and eat, the comforting familiarity of the dish grounding me.

Luca leans back in his chair, grabs his bowl, and turns toward me. We eat in silence, neither of us in a hurry to break it.

The encounter in the hallway yesterday afternoon still lingers, like a bruise I don’t know how to treat. It was explosive, but not in the way I had hoped. The rush of emotions—anger, pain, longing—still stings in the back of my throat. I can see it now, that young man who once gave me everything, tucked in the way Luca holds himself now. Deep down, I know he's still in there. That 23-year-old college kid who took all my firsts—the first love, the first heartbreak. He’s still sitting here, just like he was that day he ran away from me.

The last six years feel like a void between us. But today, right now, it’s like none of it happened. I’m here, and I’m ready to finally understand why he left.

Taking his empty bowl I place it in mine, sitting our dishes in the seat I just occupied.

Closing the laptop behind me, I slide it back and sit on his desk. I set a pack of playing cards from my back pocket down next to me and tap them twice.

“It’s your shuffle.”

Luca’s forearms are resting on the chair’s arms, fingers clasped in front of him. He cracks his knuckles slowly, his gaze fixed on the deck of cards. His expression is neutral, but I can see the storm brewing in his eyes, swirling with conflict.

“So, this is how we’re going to do it?” His voice holds the weight of unspoken words, but he doesn’t say them.

I nod once, a simple gesture, but it carries everything. “Yes.”

His eyes flick to me, then back to the cards. Without another word, he sighs and picks up the deck, shuffling with the practiced precision I remember so well. He was always good with cards—spending hours shuffling, perfecting tricks until they flowed seamlessly.

I was always fascinated with his hands. The deft movements of his fingers across his keyboards. The elegant mastery over the way he handles these flimsy cards. How they felt holding me, drawing out the first stirrings of pleasure from my body.

And here he is now, still flawless, handling the deck with the ease of someone who’s been doing it his entire life.

I raise an eyebrow at him, watching as he flicks the cards between his hands. A tiny, fleeting smile tugs at one corner of his mouth. It’s not much, but it’s enough to make my heart flutter with hope.

The smile doesn’t last. The walls go up again, and I can feel the tension in the air like static before a storm. But it’s a start, I think. A crack in the armor that I want to shatter.

This is a game we used to play when we were getting to know each other. If I pulled an even card, I got to ask a question. An odd card meant Luca had his turn. And the face cards… well, those meant we got to get even more personal. Black for me. Red for Luca. We can ask for anything we want. A kiss, a touch… something more.

A simple game, but one that somehow always managed to make us dig a little deeper into each other’s souls.

Luca sets the deck down, sliding it closer to me. “Go ahead.” he says, his voice almost tight.

I touch the first card, feeling the cool against my fingers as I flip it over.

Two of hearts.

I stare at the card, my question already clear in my mind. “Why did you run away from me?”

It’s simple, but the question hangs between us, laden with the years of hurt, longing, and confusion. The moment stretches, Luca’s silence suffocating the air around us as he looks at me, his jaw tightening.

Luca’s breath hitches slightly, his gaze shifting downward as if the weight of what he’s about to say is too much to bear. He’s been carrying this for six years, and the words seem to strain his chest as he speaks, each one slow and painful.

“I hacked into the mob’s network. It was–a prank really—just fucking around, you know?” He shakes his head, swallowing hard. “I found a hit on someone, and the payout was ridiculously high. Way more than the usual. I knew something was wrong about it. No one in their right mind would turn down a job like that for that kind of money.”

I close my eyes, knowing it was about me.

He pauses, his fingers thrumming on the desk, but he doesn’t look at me, still looking down. “I traced it to a meeting location and dug around on who lived there. The cyber-protection was a fucking fortress, and I couldn’t get inside with my computers. I needed to know who the hell was getting hit.”

His voice cracks just slightly as he says the next part. “The second you walked into that room, Lenny... I knew. I knew you were the target. You were the one they were going to kill.”

His jaw tightens, and I can feel the regret rolling off him like a palpable force. “I couldn’t let that happen. I had to do something. I had to stop it. I didn’t care what it meant—I just couldn’t let you die.”

I’m quiet for a long time, my breath catching in my throat. It feels like a thousand different emotions are crashing into me at once. Fear, pain, confusion. But the one that cuts the deepest is the silence.

“But you stayed away. Even after that night, even after all of it, you never came back.” My chest aches as I stare at him. “You just… disappeared. You didn’t–you didn’t come back for me.”

Luca’s eyes close, and he rubs his hand over his face, frustration evident in his movements. “One question, one answer, Lenny,” he says quietly, his voice tinged with something darker than regret. “Those are the rules.”

My mouth opens, but I stay quiet for a beat, trying to steady my thoughts.

He pulls a card from the deck, his fingers shaking just slightly as he reveals it. Two of clubs.

He looks at me, eyes dark and full of something unspoken. Something heavy. “Your question, Len,” he says softly.

I want to understand him so badly, but the more I try, the more impossible it feels. He’s been an enigma this entire week—a phantom I can’t quite grasp, each time I try slipping through my fingers.

I look at him for a long moment, my heart pounding, the words coming to me before I can even stop them. “Why do you hate yourself?”

Luca’s hands tremble ever so slightly as he places the card back on the table, his eyes never meeting mine. The room feels unbearably still, as if the air itself is waiting for him to speak.

“I had to protect you,” he finally says, his voice raw, barely a whisper. But his words don't seem to hold the weight I expected. There's something underneath them, something heavier.

I press him further, unable to contain the need to know. "Luca, why do you hate yourself?"

He looks at me then, eyes wide and tortured, and for the first time, I see the flicker of something truly broken in him. His shoulders slump, as if the weight of whatever he's been carrying is finally getting to him.

And then he answers, his voice thick with pain. “Because I killed her.”

The words hang in the air between us, and for a moment, I can't breathe. "Who?" The word barely escapes my lips, a breathless whisper.

He swallows, his gaze locking onto mine. "I killed my mother, Lenny."