25. Luciano
Chapter 25
Luciano
W hen I open my eyes, there’s a tension in my chest that doesn’t make sense. I can feel it humming under my skin even before I’m fully conscious. It is a tight coil of unease that stands in stark contrast to everything that’s supposed to happen today—my wedding day.
When I turn my head to the side, the first thing I notice is that Gianna isn’t next to me. The bed is cold on her side, the sheets rumpled where she slept, and the gnawing feeling intensifies. I already knew she’d be gone early to start getting ready for the wedding. Still, it bothers me that her absence makes the morning feel off-balance.
I rub my face and sit up, glaring at the empty spot next to me. Telling myself there’s no reason to panic is pointless. I can’t stop replaying the weeks leading up to today, the sweetness Gianna showed me, how docile she’s been, how perfectly she’s fit into the role of my fiancée. I should be relieved. She’s making this wedding smoother than I ever imagined. And yet, my gut says something’s slipping through my fingers.
I drag myself out of bed, ignoring the new suit waiting on a hanger by the door, and step into the hallway. The hush of the house presses in on me, making every sound ten times louder—my footsteps on the hardwood, the faint click of a distant clock, the soft scuff of Cupcake’s paws as she pads around a corner. Gianna’s not here, but the knowledge that she left by choice at dawn to prep for her own wedding unsettles me more than it should. It shouldn’t feel like a warning sign. But it does.
By the time I’m dressed in jeans and a dark shirt, my phone buzzes with a message from Dante telling me to get over to his place. The event staff is already there setting up flowers, chairs, a makeshift altar, and everything else needed to transform his backyard into wedding-ready perfection. I stare at the screen for a moment before I quickly text him back that I’m on my way.
The drive across town is quiet. I pass the bakery that’s delivering the wedding cake to the Terlizzi estate, its windows filled with elaborate sugar flowers and tiered confections. A few blocks from Dante’s, I glimpse a cluster of black SUVs belonging to Saverio’s men, no doubt part of the security detail. Everything’s under control, except for this uneasy throb in my chest that won’t subside. The feeling follows me like a shadow all the way to Dante’s.
When I arrive at my brother’s estate, the place is a hive of activity. The staff runs back and forth, hauling boxes of linens, flowers, and a half-assembled archway. White and gold ribbons flutter from workers’ hands as they hurry past. They’re all polite nods and “good morning, sir,” but I brush them off. My mind’s in no shape for small talk. Tuxedo covers and garment bags hang from racks near the foyer, a lineup of black formal wear awaiting the day’s ceremony. I see Niccolo’s name embroidered on one, Salvatore’s on another, and I hang mine next to theirs.
I step into the main entryway to find the sprawling staircase decked in trailing ivy and white satin ribbons. The hush of new money meeting old blood is palpable, and part of me wonders if it’s just for show or if we truly believe we can have a peaceful wedding. The notion unsettles me enough that I almost miss Niccolo waving me over from the parlor.
He’s wearing a crisp dress shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms, sipping on coffee as if this is any other day. Salvatore leans against a wall nearby, talking to a young woman who’s typing something on a tablet. Dante stands by a wide antique table, flipping through a binder of seating charts, half-lidded eyes betraying his disinterest in all these meticulous details. They notice me at once.
Niccolo lifts his coffee in greeting. “Morning, fratello . You’re late.”
I slip inside, ignoring a staffer who tries to hand me a glass of orange juice. The young man’s expression falters, but he retreats without comment. “I got held up,” I mutter, but it’s a lie. I left on time, but I couldn’t shake the feeling I should turn around. “Is Gianna here yet?”
Salvatore smirks, walking away from the girl with the tablet. “She’s probably holed up in one of the side rooms with her mother, fussing over flowers or practicing her signature for the name change. Relax, Lucky. Your bride isn’t going anywhere.”
Something about his casually dismissive tone stings. “I’m not worried,” I reply curtly. “I’m making sure everything’s on track.” I pivot to Dante, searching for a reason to change the subject before Salvatore can read more into my unease. “You texted me to come?”
Dante sets the binder down, giving me a slow once-over. He’s got the biggest stake in all this as head of the Terlizzi family. “We wanted to finalize some security details,” he says. “We’ve got eyes on every angle. If Giovanni tries anything, or if any of his men show up uninvited, we’ll shut it down before it becomes an incident. But let’s be honest—he’s not going to start a war on your wedding day. He knows what this day means to Saverio.”
I grunt. “Better safe than sorry.”
Niccolo drinks his coffee in a long, slurping manner meant to aggravate me. “Gianna’s father is all bark right now. He wants to save face. No father of the bride’s about to blow up the ceremony while we all watch. Giovanni might hate the Terlizzis, but he understands appearances. Today’s not the day he chooses to make his move.” But we all hear the unspoken part as if he said it out loud: the day will come, it just won’t be while the entire Midwest mafia is driving to Manhattan, Kansas to celebrate the unification of the Terlizzi and Lucatello families.
Salvatore interjects with a laugh. “I wouldn’t put it past Giovanni to do something , but it’s probably not going to be today. He’s petty, not suicidal.”
My mouth twists, but I say nothing. My wedding day looms over me like a thunderhead, and these lighthearted remarks do little to calm me. I glance around the room, noticing tablecloth samples in a box, half-stacked crates of wine, and name cards meticulously arranged in alphabetical order. The staff moves around us with clipboard-wielding coordinators directing the flow of preparations like air traffic controllers. The normalcy of it all grates on my nerves because it doesn’t match the dread simmering in my chest. It’s as if I’m watching a perfectly choreographed dance while standing on quicksand, everything pristine and proper on the surface while underneath, my future is being decided by family alliances and old vendettas rather than anything resembling love.
I open my mouth to ask if they’ve heard from Gianna, but I catch myself. That would only stoke more teasing. Salvatore would pounce on it like a cat, and I’d never hear the end of it. So I clench my jaw, fold my arms, and pretend everything’s fine. The tension must show on my face because Niccolo shakes his head and mutters under his breath, “I’ve never seen you like this.”
Dante snickers, elbowing Niccolo. “Groom jitters, obviously. Tale as old as time.”
“It’s not,” I snap, my voice sharper than intended. “I slept poorly, is all.” Which is true. Without Gianna by my side, my sleep was shit—tossing and turning through nightmares I can barely remember, waking to reach for someone who wasn’t there.
Before they can push further, footsteps approach from the hall, followed by a swirl of pale pink fabric. Lucia steps into the room, all smiles, grace, and confidence. She’s wearing a loose dress that accommodates her gently rounded belly, and there’s a glow on her face that makes me smile. My twin sister. Married to Saverio, of all people, and pregnant with their second child. I watch her cross the room, and my lips quirk upward despite the well of anxiety in the center of my chest.
“Well, well,” she drawls, eyeing each of us in turn. “Look at you all, busy with last-minute wedding mania. Where’s your sense of calm, hmm?” She points her attention at me, one perfectly manicured finger aimed straight at my chest. “Especially you, Luc.”
I feign annoyance. “You should be home resting, Lucia,” I say, stepping forward to give her a hug. “You’re pregnant. You shouldn’t be on your feet all day. Saverio must be having a fit.”
She waves off the concern with a melodic laugh, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek. “I’m pregnant, not dying. Besides, I had to check on my favorite brother. Dante told me you were slinking around like you’d rather be at your own funeral.” Her eyes narrow slightly, scanning my face with the peculiar intensity that only someone who shares your DNA can manage.
Niccolo snickers from behind us, not even trying to hide his amusement at my discomfort. Salvatore hums in mock agreement. Dante just sips his drink, content to watch the show unfold without intervention. Lucia, ignoring all three of them, fixes me with a look that sees more than I’d prefer.
She’s warm; she always has been, especially since she married Saverio. There’s a glow about her these days that goes beyond pregnancy—a kind of contentment that radiates from within. She’s the only one who can coax a confession from me with just a tilt of her head. And right now, she tilts it, eyes narrowing slightly. “You look tense, fratello . Are you nervous?” Lucia glances at my hand, which I realize is clenched into a fist. I force it open and flex my fingers to dispel whatever anxiety has me in its grip.
I shrug as if indifferent about the whole thing. It only makes Lucia sigh and set a hand on my shoulder, steering me a few steps away from the others. The staff in the background keeps milling, occasionally glancing in our direction but never interrupting.
Lucia waits until we have a sliver of privacy near an alcove, a dusty old painting of some Renaissance figure overshadowing us. She crosses her arms over her belly gently, mindful of her bump. “So,” she says, her voice soft enough that only I can hear. “What’s actually going on?”
I inhale, fighting the urge to spill everything: how I have this gnawing sense Gianna is slipping away, how my gut twists whenever I think about her, how I’m torn between wanting to keep her safe and wanting to control her every breath. But my pride is a stubborn beast. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s just a busy day.”
She gives me a look, the kind that used to make me confess all my sins when we were kids. “I know you too well, Luc. We were womb-mates. I can tell when you’re on the edge, and right now, you’re on edge. Is it Gianna?”
A muscle ticks in my jaw. “I… yeah.” I rub the back of my neck, feeling the tension rope my shoulders. “I’m afraid—” The words catch in my throat, afraid to be said. “I’m afraid I might actually love her.”
There. I’ve said it, and the admission feels like unsteady ground beneath my feet. Fear rattles through my chest because love is not something I handle well. Love has always been tangled with possession, rage, and the memory of searing betrayal. Love is the discipline our father doled out, telling me we must protect our own at all costs, no matter what it takes or who gets hurt. And yet, with Gianna, it’s different. The feeling doesn’t carry the same weight of dread or the same bitter aftertaste. And I want it to be different. I need it to be, even if I’m not sure I know how to make it so.
Lucia’s face softens, a gentle smile curving her lips. “So you’re finally admitting it.” She places a hand on my arm again, and I let out a shaky breath. “You had to wait until your wedding day, too. You never do anything small, do you, Lucky?”
I can’t muster a laugh. My chest is tight. Is this what anxiety feels like? I hate it. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” I say. “She’s from an enemy family. We started this for all the wrong reasons, and now I… I can’t imagine a life without her…” I trail off, my voice cracking around the edges of the thought.
Lucia’s eyes shine with a wise empathy she’s honed as an elementary school teacher, as a mother, as someone who’s learned how to navigate Saverio’s dark corners and come out unscathed. “Love is terrifying,” she says, rubbing gentle circles on my arm. “It means giving someone the power to hurt you in ways no one else can. And it’s even worse when you’re sure they will hurt you eventually because they matter to you that much. But that’s the crazy thing about love. When you’re afraid, that’s when you know it’s real. And when it’s real, it’s worth any risk or consequence.”
Her words land like a punch to the gut. My heart thuds as I stare at her, swallowing through the sudden dryness in my throat. She’s pregnant, radiant, living proof that love can exist in this twisted world of ours. Saverio isn’t an easy man. But Lucia glows with happiness. The thought that I could have something like that with Gianna—if I can figure out how to get past my desire to ruin her—makes my mind spin.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak for a second. Lucia rubs my shoulder before leaning in to press a soft kiss to my temple. “Go,” she says. “Finish your final checks. Settle your mind before the wedding begins. But if you want Gianna—if you need her—you’d better be ready to bleed for it. Love like that doesn’t come easy, and it sure as hell isn’t given freely. It’s fought for. It’s earned.”
This is a truth I knew but didn’t want to face. “Thanks,” I manage, though the word feels anemic next to the enormity of the clarity she’s given me. She offers me a small, encouraging smile before she turns to find Saverio somewhere in the chaos.
I stand there for a moment, letting the hum of activity swirl around me again—the voices of staff, the chatter of my brothers, the distant clatter of someone dropping a box. But I’m lost in Lucia’s words, replaying them like a lifeline. Love like that doesn’t come easy, and it sure as hell isn’t given freely. It’s fought for. It’s earned.
The phrase echoes in my mind, stoking a newfound resolve. If I’m truly in love with Gianna, I can’t let my fear sabotage what we have. I need her to want me, to feel safe with me. Or at least as safe as our world allows. This day is supposed to mark the start of our life together, not an entrapment. I shut my eyes, inhaling slowly, letting the realization sink into the deep cracks of my soul.
Brotherly banter erupts behind me. Salvatore’s voice rises in a mock protest: “Dante, you can’t just claim the best man slot. Let’s have a proper contest: a shoot-off, or a drinking challenge, or—” He breaks off with a laugh as Dante cuffs him on the shoulder.
I turn around, my lips quirking. The camaraderie is so natural, so easy, the kind of safety net I’ve always taken for granted. They’re my anchor. And now Gianna is, too, if I let her be. I stride over, determined to rejoin them and let the swirl of final wedding preparation feel less oppressive. This is a day for celebration, or so everyone keeps telling me.
As I approach, Niccolo eyes me with curiosity. “You look like you found a million bucks stuffed under your pillow.”
I shrug, adjusting the collar of my shirt. “Something like that,” I say, glancing sidelong at the door where Lucia disappeared. My heartbeat thrums with new purpose, and for the first time since I woke up alone, a flicker of warmth bleeds through the dread. “Let’s just say I got some perspective.”
Dante arches a brow, handing me a fresh cup of coffee. “Perspective about what? The wedding you’ve been scowling about for a month?”
I take the coffee with a grin. “Yeah, that.” I swallow, the taste of bitterness overshadowed by the surge in my chest. I glance out the window, imagining Gianna’s face and how she’ll look in her wedding dress. The fear is still there, gnawing at my belly, but Lucia’s words echo softly: When you’re afraid, that’s when you know it’s real. And when it’s real, it’s worth any risk or consequence.
I’ve been running from this feeling of vulnerability my entire life, but maybe that’s exactly what I need to run toward. Maybe the fear isn’t a warning, maybe it’s a compass pointing me home.