14. Luciano
Chapter 14
Luciano
I leave because I can’t stand looking at Gianna anymore. It isn’t because she got the wrong glass out of the cupboard or because she can’t cook. It’s the fact that everything I planned for with this marriage—the revenge, the control, the punishment—seems to be slipping through my fingers. It was supposed to be simple. Marry the Lucatello girl. Break her. Let Giovanni suffer. But each time I try to twist the knife, Gianna stares at me with those dark eyes that say she’s not afraid of me.
I dial Dante’s number as soon as I get into my car. The quiet hum of the engine irritates me for no logical reason. Everything irritates me—the way the leather seat creaks under my weight, the faint reflection of streetlights on my windshield, even the perfectly normal evening traffic.
Dante picks up on the third ring. “This better be important, Lucky,” he says, voice carrying a low warning.
“I’m coming over,” I reply flatly. “Tell Sal.”
He sighs into the phone’s speaker. “You better not have done something stupid,” he mutters, but I hang up without responding. Because if I haven’t done something stupid yet, I feel dangerously close to it.
Dante’s house is larger than mine, but it feels different the moment I walk through the front door. It’s not just a home; it’s filled with warmth, with an undeniable sense that people here belong . Hallway walls display framed photos, and living room cushions bear small stains from spilled drinks and the occasional toddler meltdown. It’s lived-in. I hate how it makes my throat tighten with something suspiciously like envy. There’s a half-finished puzzle sprawled across the coffee table, its edges lovingly worn. Even the scuff marks on the baseboards tell stories of rushed mornings and playful afternoons.
I barely cross the threshold when a tiny figure barrels toward me. Serafina, Dante and Adalina’s daughter, stumbles over her own feet but keeps her wide brown eyes fixed on me. She squeals, “Zio Luch!” as she grips the hem of my jacket, half-laughing, half-wobbling on her chubby legs.
Her joy at seeing me sends a shock through my system. I grab and hold her at arm’s length, uncertain what to do with a sticky toddler who’s grinning like I’m her favorite person in the entire universe.
Serafina’s grin widens, showing off her handful of baby teeth. She babbles something, drooling a bit as she attempts to say my name, her little face scrunched in concentration. “Uck-y,” she manages, slapping a tiny hand against my chest.
I grimace, more from the softness in my own heart than from actual discomfort. She plants a wet kiss on my cheek, and I nearly drop her, caught between instinctive recoil and unexpected tenderness. “She drooled on me,” I mutter, setting her carefully on the floor while trying to sound more annoyed than I actually feel.
Adalina appears in the hallway, arms folded and a knowing smirk on her lips. “She’s been asking for you all day.”
“Lucky you,” Dante calls from the living room. He sounds amused.
Rolling my eyes, I watch Serafina toddle off, squeaking in childish delight about something only she understands. Her tiny feet pat-pat against the floor as she disappears around the corner, leaving a trail of giggles in her wake. My chest tightens again. This is what a real home looks like.
I find Dante and Salvatore in the living room, sprawled on the couches with glasses in hand. The curtains are half-drawn, letting in the evening glow. Empty takeout containers litter the coffee table between them, evidence of a lazy Sunday. Salvatore lifts a glass in my direction, not quite a toast, more of a silent about time you showed up.
Dante jerks his chin at the empty spot beside him. “Sit.”
I sink into the couch cushions with a weary sigh, ignoring the glass of whiskey Dante slides across the coffee table toward me. My mind is too cluttered for alcohol right now. Besides, if I get drunk, I might say something I’ll regret. And there’s already enough I regret about today.
Salvatore arches a brow, his expression caught between amusement and concern. “Not drinking, Luc? That’s a first.”
I level him with a glare, letting the ice in my stare match the chill in my voice. “I’m not in the mood.”
He shrugs, not even phased by my bad attitude. “Suit yourself. More for me.” He takes a swig, then smacks his lips exaggeratedly. “Mmm. Tastes like top-shelf. You sure you don’t want any?”
A gentle patter of footsteps signals Adalina’s approach. She ducks into the living room, a well-worn dish towel thrown casually over her shoulder, wisps of dark hair escaping her messy bun. Serafina toddles behind her, one hand gripping the back of Adalina’s leg like it’s her personal lifeline. The little girl’s eyes light up again when she sees me, her whole face brightening for a moment, but she seems more interested in the toy rabbit Dante left on the coffee table. She makes a beeline for it, snatching the stuffed animal with both hands and hugging it fiercely to her chest, burying her tiny nose in its plush fur.
Adalina smiles at me, a polite but guarded look. We’ve had our differences, me and my sister-in-law, enough to fill a book of grievances neither of us is willing to open. Still, she manages a civil nod, her dish towel slipping slightly from her shoulder. “Dinner’s on the stove if any of you want leftovers. These two have eaten garbage all day, but feel free to grab something that won’t clog your arteries.” Her tone carries a mix of motherly concern and subtle judgment.
Salvatore raises his hand in mock excitement, playing up his role as the perpetual teenager despite his age. “I’ll check it out soon, ma,” he says, winking at Adalina, his charm as offensive as it is predictable.
She rolls her eyes good-naturedly, the gesture softened by the hint of a genuine smile, before bending to kiss Dante’s temple. “I’ll leave you boys to your talk.” Then she scoops up Serafina—who squeals, “Zio Luuu!” with all the unbridled enthusiasm only a toddler can muster—and disappears down the hallway.
I watch them go with a hollow ache growing in my chest. That’s what a real marriage looks like: trust, affection, the casual ease of people who genuinely care for each other. My gaze lingers on Serafina’s little arms wrapped around Adalina’s neck, and my thoughts spiral to what if …? Their footsteps fade down the hall, punctuated by another of Serafina’s delighted giggles, and I have to force myself to look away before the others notice how deep this particular wound cuts.
The moment they’re out of sight, Dante levels me with a stare that makes me feel like he’s trying to peel back my skull and read my thoughts directly. “All right, out with it. You didn’t drag us here for idle chatter.”
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, trying to organize my words into something that won’t make me sound like a complete fool. “This... thing… with the Lucatello girl. It’s not going the way I wanted.” The admission tastes bitter on my tongue.
Salvatore snorts. “Let me guess: you tried to break the girl, but she’s not breaking.” His tone carries equal parts amusement and condescension.
Dante lifts a brow, his expression shifting from scrutiny to something more knowing. “Or maybe you don’t want to break her anymore?” The question hangs in the air between us, uncomfortably close to truths I’m not ready to voice.
I glare at both of them, words tangling on my tongue. They’re not wrong, but I can’t admit that so easily. They’re my brothers, the people I’ve trusted with my life since the day I was born, but I can’t trust them with the vulnerable thoughts in my head. No one gives you shit like your brothers—it’s written into our DNA alongside the family name. “I was going to hurt Gianna to hurt Giovanni.” I force the words out through clenched teeth. “But now, everything’s gone to hell, and I’m not even sure which way is up anymore.”
“So fix it,” Salvatore drawls, as unhelpful as always.
We lapse into silence. My eyes wander to the hallway where Adalina and Serafina disappeared. If Dante can have that kind of life—why not me? The thought creeps in, uninvited and unwelcome.
“I want a family,” I mumble so low that I’m not sure they catch it.
Salvatore nearly chokes on his drink, whiskey sloshing over the rim as he blinks at me in wide-eyed disbelief. “You what?”
Dante frowns, setting his glass down more carefully than usual. “You want a family?” His voice carries a mix of concern and understanding. Just a few years ago, he didn’t want a wife or kids any more than me. Now he’s here enjoying domestic bliss with his beautiful wife and daughter.
Heat floods my cheeks in a rare flush, the warmth spreading down my neck. “I don’t know.” I struggle to articulate the chaos swirling in my head. “All I know is that seeing you with Adalina, seeing Serafina, it highlights what I’m missing. It makes everything feel empty somehow.”
“You’re being forced to marry a woman who might hate your guts. That takes time, Lucky. You can’t expect instant happiness.”
“ Might? ” That’s laughable. If only they knew our history.
“But you want the instant happiness and fairytale happily ever after anyway,” Dante adds, a note of understanding in his voice that makes me want to sink into my chair and disappear.
Salvatore smirks, leaning back in his chair with an air of smug certainty. “You know Dante locked Adalina up at first and look at them now. They became happy eventually. Disgustingly so, if you ask me.”
Dante throws Salvatore a scowl that could curdle milk. “That was different. You know it was.”
“Was it?” He shrugs, undeterred by his brother’s dark look. “You took what you wanted. And eventually, she wanted you back. Right? Sometimes, the end justifies the means or whatever.”
Dante’s glare intensifies, but he doesn’t refute what Sal said. The silence speaks volumes.
I breathe out, frustration mixing with envy until it forms words. “Is that all it takes? Take what I want until she loves me?” The words come out somehow more desperate than I want them to.
Salvatore nods. “Pretty much.”
“It’s not that simple,” Dante corrects. He picks up his daughter’s toy rabbit from the coffee table, fiddling with its ears in what seems like an unconscious gesture. The well-loved plush toy looks oddly delicate in his scarred hands. “You can’t force love. Maybe you can force compliance, but that’s not the same thing.” His gaze flicks to me. “And if you want a family—one that lasts—you need more than just compliance, Luc.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to squeeze away the building pressure behind my eyes. “I told her I wanted to ruin her. But now…” My voice falters, breaking on words I can’t quite form. “Now I just need her to—” I can’t finish the sentence. I need her to want me. I need her to be afraid of me. I need her to choose me. I need her to want to serve me. I need her to be in love with me. I don’t know how the sentence ends or which of these warring desires will win out in the end. Or even which one I want to win…
Salvatore raises his glass in a mock salute. “Welcome to the complicated world of relationships, little brother.”
My lips twist bitterly. Relationships. A foreign concept for me. I’ve built my life around the single-minded pursuit of revenge, letting it consume my every waking moment and shape every decision I’ve made for the last five years. Now, the object of that revenge is a woman I can’t stop thinking about.
Dante sets the toy rabbit down and stands up. “All right,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “So you’re obviously not going to be satisfied with ruining her or whatever you told her.”
Salvatore follows suit. “Is Giovanni even going to care? No offense, but that man’s priorities are so fucked up that I wouldn’t be surprised if he said do whatever the fuck you want to his daughter.”
I nod slowly, recalling how Gianna told me Giovanni wouldn’t care what happened to her. Am I the only one who thought that hurting her would hurt him? My stomach twists with lingering anger. If this is true, then my entire plan—my entire reason —falls apart.
“So now what?” Salvatore asks, spreading his hands wide. “You want a family, but you also want revenge. Those two things don’t exactly go hand in hand.”
I shrug helplessly. “I don’t know. But I do know I want her.” I hate admitting it out loud.
Salvatore snorts, shaking his head. “Then take her. It’s not like anyone’s stopping you. She’s going to be your wife anyway.”
Dante shoots him a disapproving look, his expression hardening. “Don’t force it,” he warns me. “Adalina only forgave my sins because I gave her a reason to. Real forgiveness has to be earned.”
What reason could I possibly give Gianna to want me? I told her what I wanted to do to her, and she looked at me in abject horror. She recoiled from me like I was some kind of monster, and maybe I am. The things I told her I wanted, the revenge I swore to take, it’s no wonder she tiptoes around me.
Our conversation grinds to a halt as Serafina wobbles in again, clutching a small stuffed cat this time. She beams at us, spouting half-words and giggles. Dante crouches to scoop her up, pressing a kiss to her tiny cheek. She giggles louder, nuzzling into him.
A pang of envy hits me so hard that I flinch. Is that what I want? A child of my own, running around my house, trusting me without fear? My gaze drifts to Salvatore, then to Dante, and I realize they share something I don’t: the capacity to open their hearts.
I stand abruptly, ignoring the curious glances from my brothers. “I need air,” I say, striding toward the door. Dante follows, stopping in the doorway with Serafina still in his arms. The little girl waves her stuffed cat at me, babbling nonsense. Something in me clenches.
“Take your time,” Dante says quietly as if sensing the chaos inside me. “Figure out what you really want from this marriage before you do something you’ll regret.”
If I want a family—if I want Gianna to be more than a reluctant bride—I can’t just force her. I have to make her want me, want my child, want my name and all the protections that come with it. It’s a game more dangerous than any plan for revenge ever was. The realization settles like lead in my stomach. I’ve spent years manipulating business deals and crushing rivals, but winning someone’s genuine affection? That requires a vulnerability I’m not sure I possess.
I step outside, and the cool night air hits me like a slap. Gianna’s face drifts through my mind: the way her eyes met mine without flinching the very first night we met, the quiet steadiness in her spirit that defies my every attempt to dominate her. She’s no ordinary captive, and if I want her to be my wife in every sense, I’ll have to earn it. But earning it might mean letting go of the very reason I wanted her in the first place. And I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet.