Chapter 8
LUCA
Iused to be able to slice a day into clean pieces.
Mornings were for handling threats, the afternoons for making money no dirtier than your grandpa's mind, and midnights for sins.
Now, it's all Belle.
She's officially hijacked my brain.
I've been staring at the same contract for twenty minutes, and all I can see is her face, laughing with my daughter like they've known each other forever.
It's a problem.
I don't do distractions. In my world, they don't nick you—they bury you.
But there she is, living rent-free between my ears, and I can't evict her no matter how hard I try.
The Russians are waiting for an answer. The Colombians want confirmation.
The Russians ping, the Colombians wait, and all I can think about is Belle's mouth opening on a gasp she tried to swallow when she came.
I stare at numbers until they blur. The desk lamp hums like a mosquito.
Manhattan glitters past the glass, a million tiny knives.
I rub the bridge of my nose and try to remember if I ate, or was it just coffee this morning, because Belle looked far too pretty from the window I sat by, while she stood in the garden, playing with my kid?
Down the hall, Sofia drops something and squeals, but I hear Belle's voice. Soft, gentle, unbothered.
I told myself letting Belle watch her was logistics.
It wasn't.
I pull up the security feed again, telling myself it's just to check on Sofia.
The hallway is empty now. They've moved down the stairs, heading to the living room.
Belle sits cross-legged on the floor, helping Sofia build a Lego castle.
That ridiculous orange bowling ball she calls Meatball, is perched on the sofa, smacking at that frightened giant I call a dog.
The noise is domestic, plastic bricks clicking, a child's command, a cat's smug thwack, and it presses on my ribs.
I didn't think this house would sound like that again after Elena.
I click off the feed and stand up. My office feels too small suddenly, like the walls are closing in.
She's wearing my ring. She's playing with my daughter. She's making my house feel like a home for the first time in years.
And that terrifies me more than any hit man ever could.
The door opens behind me without a knock. I know who it is before I turn.
Only one person in this house has the balls to enter without permission.
Declan likes to arrive unannounced. He thinks it keeps me honest.
What it really keeps is my patience running thin.
"Working hard, big brother or hardly working?"
"What do you want, Declan?"
"Can't a guy visit his favorite brother without an agenda?" He drops into my chair, putting his feet up on my desk.
His thousand-dollar shoes leave dirt on my contracts.
"You're my only brother," I remind him. "And you always have an agenda."
He grins, all teeth and no warmth. "You wound me, Luca. Truly."
I lean against the window, arms crossed. "Spit it out. I've got work to do."
"The Council's buzzing about your... engagement."
Of course they are. The five old men who run our world from their villas in Italy love nothing more than gossip and meddling in our affairs.
"They can buzz all they want," I say. "It's my business."
"Is it, though?" Declan looks skeptical. "When the Don of the Moretti family decides to marry some nobody whose daddy sells cheap furniture, it becomes everyone's business."
My jaw tightens. "Watch yourself."
"I'm just saying what everyone's thinking." He shrugs, unrepentant. "They want you to marry for power… furniture girl isn't who they meant."
"Like who? Another Don's daughter?" I scoff. "I'm not making a business merger here. I'm looking for a woman to mother my kid."
"How romantic." He chuckles like I'm the one being unreasonable. "What happens when she sees what you really do and gets afraid? She runs… with all your secrets."
"She knows enough."
Declan laughs. "Does she? Because from where I'm standing, she looks like a lamb who wandered into a den of wolves. And we both know what happens to lambs."
"Say one more word, and you won't have teeth to go home with," I hiss.
"Whoa, easy tiger." Declan holds up his hands. "I'm not the one you need to worry about. It's the Council. They're old-school, remember? They think marriages should strengthen the family, not weaken it."
Something's off. His smile runs too wide; his eyes glitter like he's already spent money he hasn't got.
Either he's hiding a problem or he is one.
"She doesn't weaken anything."
"Maybe not, but I can line up five girls by Friday who'll make Nonna cry and the Council clap. Pretty. Polished. No… surprises."
"Pretty and polished," I say, "come with their own surprises. Usually prearmed."
He laughs again. "Fine. If you're set on the clown parade, I won't stop you. But you need to make the Council comfortable. And right now, they're not."
"They can get comfortable or they can get lost."
He tuts. "We both know that's not an option."
We do.
I hate that we do.
He leans on the desk. "Give me something. Why the rush? Why her. Why now. I'll carry water for you, but I need a bucket."
It's nothing. It's everything.
It's his eyes that flicker with hunger dressed as brotherly concern. It's the Council, fat lions with claws, smelling rain and deciding it's blood.
It's the shipment with too many hands on it. All the moving parts humming, and then there's Belle in the middle, not moving, just… existing, and somehow she's the only thing that feels real.
She must be protected.
They can come at me with guns blazing. I'll still stack clouds under her.
I open my mouth.
I should tell him the truth: that I'm marrying her because I'm tired of women who know our world too well.
I want someone who calls me on my worst and still hands my kid a juice box.
The truth sits on my tongue, that Belle makes me feel human in a world that requires a monster.
That she looks at Sofia like she already loves her. That I need someone the darkness hasn't touched yet.
Instead, what comes out is: "She's pregnant."
The lie hangs in the air like a suicide note I've just signed.
Fuck.
You can't unsay a shot. I feel the recoil in my elbows. I hear the echo.
I watch the lie land like a sparrow in a room full of cats.
Declan's eyebrows climb his forehead, then drop. The smile disappears for the first time.
Then it returns, brighter, too bright. "Well, well, well. You've been busy, haven't you?"
My mind races to catch up with my mouth. Why the fuck did I say that?
Because somewhere in my twisted head, it's the only excuse the Council would accept for such a hasty marriage.
"It's early," I improvise. "We weren't planning to announce it yet."
"Of course not." Declan's smile is now that of a pure predator. "This changes everything."
I can practically see the wheels turning behind his eyes. Information is currency in our world, and I've just handed him a gold mine.
"This stays between us," I say, making it an order. "Until Belle and I are ready to tell people."
"Your secret's safe with me, brother." Declan stands and moves toward the door, still smiling. "But you might want to tell the Council yourself before someone else does. News travels fast when our name's in the picture, and you know how they feel about Moretti blood."
He pauses at the threshold, tossing one last look over his shoulder. "Congratulations, by the way. I'm sure you'll be a wonderful father. Again."
The door closes behind him, and I resist the urge to put my fist through the wall.
I pour three fingers of whiskey and knock it back.
The pregnancy lie will spread through the families like wildfire. Belle doesn't know it yet, but I've just started a clock we can't stop.
Either she becomes my wife for real, or we're both dead.
Stupid. Fucking stupid.
I've just painted a target on Belle's back. Declan will use this intel, whether to kiss the old guard's ring or cut my throat, I just don't know yet.
I built myself a coffin out of those stupid words.
She's pregnant… seriously?
The fact that her father owed me would've been enough. But I'd be damned if I let those vultures tag her like property.
I sit there with the hum of the lamp and the city and my own heartbeat, and for a second, I let my head hit the back of my chair.
I lied to my brother.
I lied in a way you can't walk back without leaving shoe prints in concrete.
What the fuck was I thinking?
Just then, the phone on my desk rings, the landline that only a handful of people have that number to.
None of them ever calls with good news.
I pick up, already knowing who it'll be. "Moretti."
"Luca." Don Salvatore Fiorello's voice creaks through the line, ancient and unyielding as the man himself.
At ninety-two, he's the oldest member of the Council, and arguably the most powerful. "We need to talk."
"Don Fiorello. What can I do for you?"
"This engagement of yours. The Council has... concerns."
"Concerns?" I feel my stomach hollow out. "With all due respect, my personal life—"
"Is the family's business," he cuts in. "Especially when it involves bringing an outsider into the inner circle."
I bite back the string of curses that comes to mind. "What do you need?"
"The Council will need to meet with her."
"She's not ready for that," I argue.
"This isn't a request, Luca." His tone hardens. "We meet immediately."
My hand tightens on the receiver, and the line goes dead before I can argue further.
Fuck. Whatever Declan told them, I know he's kept the pregnancy a secret.
My brother, the viper, would never lose such a strong hold.
But this is spiraling out of control faster than I anticipated.
Now I'm flying Belle to Italy to face five of the most dangerous old men I know.
What the actual fuck am I doing?
I need to find Belle. Now.
I find her in Sofia's bedroom, drawing.
She looks up, and Sofia frowns. "Daddy. You're bothering us!"
Since when did I become an intruder, and my kid start loving Belle this much?
And it hits me right in the chest—this tiny traitor of mine already picked a side, and I'm not complaining.
Hell, I pick her side, too.
"Sorry, pumpkin. Belle, can I talk to you?"
"Sure," she stands, wiping her hands down those jeans that cling so tight to her thighs.
She walks closer, and I lead her outside.
"What's up?"
My hands ache to reach for her; I keep them at my sides.
"Pack a bag. We fly to Italy tomorrow. You're meeting my family."