3. Luciano
Chapter 3
Luciano
I drain the last drop of whiskey in my glass, letting its bite scorch my throat, and motion for another without bothering to catch the bartender’s eye. The music in Finn’s pulses around me—a chaotic mix of bass and laughter. It’s exactly what I need. Somewhere loud enough to drown out the voice in my head telling me to do the smart thing and accept my fate. But I’m not in the mood for anything smart tonight.
I shift on the battered barstool, one elbow resting on the counter, and rake a hand through my hair. Anger, regret, and a hint of shame swirl in my gut, a cocktail far stronger than the cheap whiskey I’m trying to drown myself in. If I had any sense, I’d be halfway to Missouri by now. But I’m not sure if I’m staying because I actually think I can fight this or because I’m too stubborn to run. Either way, I came here to self-destruct, not to plan.
The bartender slides a fresh glass toward me, and I knock back half of it right away. The liquid sears my chest and pushes away the last vestiges of reason. I want oblivion or whatever feels closest to it.
That’s when I sense it—a shift in the air at my side. Even before I turn my head, I can feel someone watching me. Then she appears in my peripheral vision, standing close enough that I catch the faint scent of lavender. She’s tall, slender, and dark-haired, wearing a black dress that should be classy but somehow looks dangerous on her. She hesitates for a heartbeat, like she’s deciding if I’m worth the trouble, then slides onto the empty stool beside me.
I let my gaze flick to her face, taking in the angles of her cheekbones and the curve of her mouth. There’s tension there but also determination. She looks like she’s in the middle of her own storm, which is weirdly comforting. The darkness behind her eyes mirrors what I’m feeling—that same restless energy that makes you want to break things just to see them shatter. If I’d wanted a sweet distraction, I would’ve gone somewhere else. But here we are, two people looking for something that probably isn’t good for either of us.
“Is this seat taken?” she asks, her voice carrying over the music. Her knuckles are white against her glass, but she maintains a smooth composure.
“Depends,” I say, swirling the whiskey in my glass. “Are you looking for trouble?”
A flicker of a smile curves her lips, dangerous and promising all at once. “A little. Maybe.”
That earns a low huff of amusement from me. There’s a spark in her eyes that’s too bright for someone who’s just here to chat about the weather. “Then be my guest,” I say, gesturing to the stool she’s already claimed. I force myself not to stare at the way her dress clings to her body, focusing instead on the tension coiling in her posture.
She settles in beside me. For a moment, neither of us speaks. The bar around us hums with low conversation, sporadic laughter, and the dull clink of glass on wood. Finn’s might be a dive, but it’s a dive that forgives all sins. Exactly what I need. Exactly, I guess, what she needs, too.
When she finally speaks, her voice is soft. “Rough night?”
I snort, downing another swallow of whiskey. “That obvious, huh?”
“Kind of,” she replies, a hint of teasing in her tone. She lifts her fizz, sipping it slowly, eyes never leaving mine. There’s a crackle in the air I can’t ignore. We’re two loaded guns pointed at each other, too reckless to back down.
“And you?” I ask, letting my gaze travel over the delicate slope of her collarbone before returning to her face. “You don’t exactly look like the typical clientele.”
She arches a brow, feigning mild offense. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I shrug, running my finger along the rim of my glass. “Just that you’re a little polished for a place like this.” The neon lights catch the expensive fabric of her dress, making her stand out like a diamond in a coal mine.
She exhales a laugh, but it’s tinged with bitterness. “Maybe I’m here to get tarnished.” The way she says it makes it sound like both an invitation and a warning.
That’s interesting. My stomach tightens, heat pooling low in my gut as I study her face in the dim light. “Then you came to the right spot.” God knows I’m prepared to ruin myself tonight. Might as well invite her along for the ride if that’s what she wants. After all, misery loves company.
She sets her drink down, swirling a fingertip around the rim. “I didn’t catch your name,” she says, glancing at me from beneath dark lashes.
“Luca,” I lie, my voice steady, the false identity slipping out as easily as the truth might. It’s best not to give more information than necessary. “And you?”
A brief hesitation flickers in her eyes before she smiles. “Allegra.”
I lean back slightly, crossing an ankle over my knee, a lazy posture. “You sure about that?” I ask, watching the way her fingers still on the glass in her hands. Something about her hesitation feels familiar—the careful consideration before offering up a name, real or not.
Her breath hitches almost imperceptibly. “I’m sure.” Her tone invites no argument, though we both know it’s bullshit. A part of me respects that. We’re two liars in a den of thieves, feeding each other illusions because illusions are safer than the truth.
“Allegra,” I repeat, letting the syllables roll across my tongue. “Pretty name.” She’s definitely pretty, in a way that makes me forget everything except the warmth of her gaze.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, her eyes roaming over my face as if searching for cracks in my facade. She won’t find them. I’ve been patching them up for years.
I flag the bartender with a subtle tilt of my chin, nodding toward her drink. “Another one?”
She lifts her half-finished glass in a mock toast. “You don’t have to buy me a drink.”
I give her a crooked grin. “Maybe I’m not doing it for you. Maybe I’m doing it for me.” The bartender approaches, and I order another drink for Allegra and a refill of whiskey for myself.
“Sounds dangerously self-serving.” She taps a fingertip against her lip, feigning disapproval.
“I’m a dangerous man,” I drawl, half-joking but mostly not. “You can leave anytime. I won’t stop you.”
That hush between us returns, charged and electric. She sets down her empty glass, biting her lip as if she’s mulling over whether to stay or go. For a second, I’m convinced she’ll walk away—maybe find a safer mark to flirt with. Instead, she exhales with a shrug. “I’m not looking for safe,” she admits so softly I almost miss it.
A prickle travels along my spine. Her words echo my own hunger. Neither of us wants safe. We’re both here to gamble with our lives or maybe our sanity. I watch her closely as the bartender sets fresh drinks in front of us.
“Thank you,” she says, picking up the fancy glass. Our fingers brush when I slide it closer, and a jolt of awareness sparks at the contact. Her skin is cool against my calloused knuckles. I realize, with a start, that my heart is pounding harder than it has all night.
I raise my whiskey in a silent toast, and she does the same. The corner of her mouth quirks up in a small smile that catches me off guard. We clink glasses, the faint chime swallowed by the noise of the bar.
“To the dark side,” I say, only half-teasing.
She echoes my words, bringing the glass to her lips. “To the dark side.”
We drink, and for a moment, I let myself float in this bubble of something resembling peace. The whiskey leaves a satisfying ache in my chest, but her eyes burn hotter. I wonder what she sees when she looks at me—a man drowning his sorrows or a ticking time bomb waiting to detonate?
Allegra sets her glass down with a soft clink, and when she shifts on the stool, her knee brushes mine. The subtle contact sends an unexpected throb of heat through my body. My gaze drops to where her legs are crossed, the black dress revealing just enough skin to make my pulse skip. I’ve had nights with random women before—fast, hollow entanglements that meant nothing. But there’s something about her that draws me in deeper than mere lust. It’s like we’re feeding off each other’s desperation.
We drift into a conversation that’s equal parts banter and confession without details. She jokes about how she’s never been in a place like Finn’s, and I throw out some half-truths about how I’m usually found in more upscale joints. We dance around the real reason we’re here, but I sense the weight behind every word she doesn’t say. Each sentence grazes something raw underneath.
Maybe she’s got family issues, maybe she’s running from a future she can’t face. I know that feeling all too well. Marriage to a Lucatello—God, the idea still makes me want to punch something. But tonight, I’m trying to bury it, not resurrect it. There are already enough ghosts haunting this dim corner of the bar without inviting more to the party.
My attention snags on a droplet of condensation that slides down the side of her glass and drips onto her thigh. She shivers almost imperceptibly as if the sensation distracts her from her own thoughts. I’ve never envied a water droplet before, but damn if it isn’t a tempting sight.
She shifts closer, drawn by the tension sparking between us. “Luca,” she says, voice pitched low. “Do you ever feel like you just can’t breathe?”
I force out a wry chuckle, though her words hit too close to home. “Constantly.”
Her eyes search mine. “And what do you do when that happens?”
“Drink,” I say bluntly, raising my glass, “fight, find someone to lose myself in.” My gaze flicks to her mouth. I don’t hide the hunger I feel. Why bother? I came here to drown, and she looks like the perfect riptide.
Allegra exhales shakily, her lips parting. For a moment, she seems on the verge of saying something, but instead, she slides a hand over mine. Our fingers intertwine with surprising ease, the contact sending a fresh surge of heat through me. We sit like that, the edges of our bodies aligned, her soft palm against my rough knuckles.
The pounding bass fades into a dull roar. Everything else around us falls away—no more sticky floor, no more rowdy patrons, no more cheap perfume lingering in the air. Just me and her, locked in a moment of shared desperation. Her eyes shine with a mixture of fear and resolve, and I realize we’re both at the same crossroads, ready to leap off a cliff for one night of freedom.
I lean in, my breath ghosting over her ear. “You want to get out of here?” I ask, voice rough with a need I can’t quite hide.
She tenses for a split second, and I hold my breath. If she says no, I might break. Then she exhales, her lips curving in a slow, uncertain smile. “Where?” She whispers.
I’m not used to hesitating. Normally, I’d have suggested a hotel room or her apartment with no questions asked. But something in me wants to offer her a choice, a semblance of control, maybe because I have none in my own life. “We can just walk,” I say, my voice softer than usual. “We can find somewhere quieter; figure it out as we go.”
Her eyes flick to the door, then back to me, then she nods. “Yes. Let’s… let’s go. I just…” She trails off, but I understand. She wants to breathe, just like me.
We down the last of our drinks, and I toss some cash onto the bar—a careless tip. I don’t plan on coming back for my change.
We stand, and I slide my jacket off the back of my stool. She hesitates, looking slightly off balance in her heels, half from the alcohol, half from the tension thrumming between us. I place a hand on the small of her back, guiding her through the crowd. When she glances up at me, the swirl of chaos in her eyes matches mine. We’re both one misstep away from unraveling. Maybe that’s what draws us together like magnets.
The moment we step outside, the brisk night air hits us, carrying the scent of rain and wet pavement. The drizzle has turned into a heavier shower, droplets tapping against the street like a thousand tiny dancers. I steal a quick glance at her. Her hair is damp at the ends, clinging to her cheeks, but she looks even more striking like this—raw and honest in her unguarded state.
Without a word, I slip my jacket off and drape it over her shoulders. She exhales a faint laugh, hugging it closer. “Won’t you be cold?” She asks, worry and gratitude in her eyes.
I shake my head. “Not tonight.” The unspoken meaning: not with you.
We linger under the awning, neither of us quite ready to brave the rain, both of us charged with a heady mix of adrenaline and something deeper and darker. Her gaze meets mine, and for a split second, I see pure longing mirrored there—longing for relief, for warmth, for an escape from whatever shackles her.
It’d be so easy to crush my mouth to hers right here, to chase that heat until we forget the world. But I restrain myself, offering my hand instead. When she takes it, a tiny spark of static crackles between our palms. We both laugh, breathless, as though the universe is mocking or blessing us.
“Allegra,” I murmur, testing the fake name on my tongue again, knowing it’s just that—a lie. But maybe tonight, illusions are all we have. “Let’s get out of this rain.”
She nods, swallowing hard. “Yes.” Her voice trembles, a mixture of fear and excitement that sends a charge through my veins. “Please.”
I guide her away from the bright lights of Finn’s, leading her down the sidewalk. Headlights slice through the darkness as cars pass. A fresh surge of thunder echoes somewhere above, but I barely notice. All I’m aware of is the warmth of her hand in mine, the pulse I feel thrumming against my fingertips.
We walk in near silence for a block or two at most until the glow of a small, off-brand hotel catches my eye. Its sign flickers, but it offers exactly the kind of anonymity I’m craving. I hesitate under the weak beam of a streetlamp, the rain intensifying around us. Allegra notices me pause and meets my gaze, her eyes filled with something fragile and bright. I tighten my grip on her hand, silently asking if this is still what she wants. And for one brief, fleeting moment, I ask myself if I’m saving her from something, or is she saving me?
Then her breath trembles and she nods, so I lead her across the slick pavement and through the lobby doors. The place smells like stale coffee and old carpet, but I don’t care. It’s private, forgotten by the city around us. We slip inside and let the door swing shut behind us with a soft, hollow thud, sealing out the storm.