27. Luciano
Chapter 27
Luciano
A low hum of conversation thrums through Dante’s estate, layered with the clink of crystal glasses and the soft footfalls of staff weaving between arriving guests. Outside, the afternoon light cuts across the windows in long, slanting beams, illuminating the final flurry of preparations for the wedding. By all accounts, it should be a day of celebration—the kind that merges two powerful families and promises new beginnings. But I can’t ignore the drum of tension pulsing in my gut, a warning that something’s wrong.
My brothers and I gather in the opulent parlor, an expansive room with forest-green walls and gold-framed mirrors that reflect the polished floor below. The fireplace stands cold and unused, but fresh white roses fill the mantel in an arrangement so pristine it’s almost gaudy. A faint whiff of floral sweetness mingles with the sharper tang of cologne and wood. I lean against a carved credenza, eyeing the swirl of staff in their black-and-white uniforms as they ferry trays of drinks to the lounge next door.
Niccolo, Salvatore, and Dante share a laugh by a grand piano near the arched window. The midday sun reflects off their tailored suits, highlighting the careful lines of each ensemble. We’re all dressed to the nines—crisp shirts, shining shoes, jackets that fit like second skins. But no matter how immaculate we look, I can’t shake the unease snaking through my veins.
I clench my jaw, forcing my gaze away from the empty hallway that leads to the bride’s suite. My phone buzzes in my pocket, but it’s just a text from a distant cousin about arrival times. I silence it, dragging a slow breath into my lungs. I’ve told myself a dozen times this is nothing but wedding-day nerves. Still, the coil in my gut refuses to loosen.
Salvatore arches a brow, pushing away from the piano. “You’re a million miles away, Lucky. You sure you don’t have cold feet?”
I let out a humorless snort. “I’m not the type to get cold feet. You know that.” But my voice cracks around the edges, betraying me. I can feel my brothers exchanging knowing looks behind my back, but I don’t care.
Niccolo lifts a glass of whiskey from a tray, swirling it gently as he watches me. “You’re not your usual self, Luc. You’re jumpy.” He raises the glass to his lips and takes a measured sip. “Didn’t sleep well?”
“No,” I admit, although my tone is clipped. “I kept expecting something—someone—to…” I don’t finish. The last thing I need is them making jokes about me being love-struck or paranoid.
Dante moves closer. “Relax. Gianna’s with the stylists. She’s safe. The only threat here is Giovanni’s temper, and that’s what the security team is for.”
I grunt in acknowledgment, but the assurance doesn’t settle me. The morning has been too quiet. Something about it feels like the calm before a storm.
A servant passes by with a tray of slender champagne flutes. Niccolo snags one, offering it in my direction with a raised brow. “Celebrate, will you? Today, you’re the groom. In a few hours, you’ll be a married man—like me. And if I survived it, so can you.”
Before I can retort, a man in a tailored black suit slips quietly into the parlor. He steps up behind me, leaning in to speak near my ear, voice low enough that no one else hears. My body goes rigid at the urgency in his tone.
“She’s gone,” he says simply.
Every muscle in my chest tightens. The world tunnels to this single moment. My hand grips the edge of the credenza, and my heart slams so hard against my chest that it hurts. “What?” I demand, but I already know. My worst fear has come to pass.
“She left through the eastern gardens,” he continues. “Security found her on camera slipping out about twenty minutes ago.”
The glass in Niccolo’s hand is halfway to his lips when he notices my expression. Conversation halts. Dante and Salvatore look over in alarm. Time slows; the hush in the room plunges like a lead weight. My mouth is too dry to form words.
Without thinking, I pivot, grabbing the nearest object—a crystal tumbler someone left on a side table—and hurl it against the wall. It smashes in a brilliant spray of shards. Gasps ring out from staff in the corridor. My brothers flinch, stepping back in shock.
“Luciano!” Niccolo blurts, coffee-brown eyes wide. “What the hell?”
But I’m already off the credenza, crossing the parlor in huge strides, ignoring the staff who recoil at my sudden outburst. Blood roars in my ears. I shoulder past a pair of wide-eyed waiters, eyes locked on the corridor that leads to the bride’s suite. They scatter, pressing themselves to the walls to avoid me.
Salvatore calls after me, but I don’t listen. The only thought in my head is that Gianna is gone—she ran from me, from the wedding, from everything we could have together. In a matter of seconds, my carefully balanced world tilts into chaos. She must’ve planned this, must’ve waited for the perfect moment to slip away.
Hot fury surges in my veins, fueled by betrayal and panic in equal measure. She’s not safe out there. She’s unguarded, with enemies on all sides.
A staffer tries to speak as I barrel into the corridor. “Sir—sir, wait! The bride’s suite?—”
I shove the door open, ignoring the halfhearted protest. The bridal room is eerily still, the hush of a place recently vacated. My eyes sweep across the plush chairs and the vanity cluttered with makeup brushes and scattered accessories. But the first thing that leaps out is the wedding dress: a sweeping tide of lace and tulle draped haphazardly over a chair, its delicate white train puddled on the floor. Gianna’s not in it. The dagger of realization cuts deeper.
My heart pounds against my ribcage. A note on the vanity catches my eye. I snatch it with trembling hands.
Luciano,
I don’t know what to say that won’t feel like a betrayal, but I can’t do this.
I can’t marry you. I can’t bring a child into this life. I don’t know if I’m pregnant. Maybe I’m not. Maybe it’s just stress. But if there’s even a chance I am, I refuse to do this to our child.
I’m sorry. I don’t hate you. I wish I did—it would be easier.
Don’t come looking for me.
—Gianna
The paper crumples in my fist, the edges digging into my skin. My entire body trembles with violent emotion. Gianna’s gone. She left me here with nothing but a handful of illusions and the possibility that she’s pregnant. Something inside me twists so viciously that it feels like I’ve been gutted.
Before I can fully process it, the door behind me slams open. Giovanni Lucatello storms in. He’s wearing a dark suit that probably cost more than some men’s cars, but his tie is skewed, and his eyes gleam with uncontained rage. He strides forward, jaw tight. “What the hell is this?” He roars, voice echoing off the walls. “Where is my daughter?”
I’m too far gone to respond with subtlety. The devastation swirling in my chest melds with a surge of violence that demands an outlet. In two strides, I cross the space between us, seizing him by the lapel of his jacket. I slam him against the wall with a dull thud that makes the paintings rattle. He gasps, blinking at the sheer force of it.
“She left,” I grind out. “She’s gone—because of you, because of me, because of everything.”
Giovanni’s breath comes harsh, but the anger in his eyes doesn’t fade. A twisted grin crawls across his face, defiance lacing his words. “Good,” he snarls. “She was worthless anyway. If she thinks she can survive on her own, so be it. She’ll come crawling back or die, and either outcome saves me the headache of this marriage.”
Red film floods my vision. My grip on his suit tightens, twisting the fabric near his throat. For a heartbeat, I consider driving my fist into his smug face or throttling him where he stands. The only thing that stops me is the knowledge that it won’t bring Gianna back. But God, I want to end him.
He snorts, even as the collar of his jacket cuts into his windpipe. “You think I care if my daughter disgraced us both by running away? Let her die on the streets. At least I won’t have to be in-laws with your filthy family.”
Rage explodes. I slam him against the wall again, my arm flexing so hard my shoulder pops. He chokes, eyes bulging. “You think this solves anything for you?” I hiss. “You’ll never see Gianna again, and you’re so twisted you call that a victory.”
He tries to pry my hand loose, but I don’t let up. My knuckles whiten from the strain. “She’s your blood,” I spit. “And you’re standing here, celebrating. I swear to God if anything happens to her out there?—”
A cough sputters from Giovanni’s lips. “Save your threats, Terlizzi,” he wheezes. “If you can’t hold onto a wife, that’s your problem. She’s not my burden anymore.”
I can’t listen to another syllable. My entire being trembles with the urge to shake him until his neck snaps. But a voice inside my head reminds me that I’m wasting time; Gianna needs me.
With a snarl of disgust, I shove him away. He staggers, nearly tripping over the edge of his daughter’s discarded wedding dress.
Footsteps thunder in the corridor. Dante, Niccolo, and Salvatore round the doorway, the staff cowering behind them. They take in the scene: the mangled wedding dress, the note in my fist, Giovanni panting near the wall. Their eyes flick to me, searching for answers.
Salvatore speaks first. “Luc, what the hell happened?”
I can’t speak. My pulse pounds too loudly, and my mind throbs with a single command: Find her. The letter rustles in my grip as I turn on my heel, pushing past them without a word.
Niccolo grabs my arm, worry etched across his features. “Where are you going?”
I shrug him off. “Where do you think?” The words ring with feral urgency. “I’m going to find Gianna.”
“But the wedding?—”
I bark a humorless laugh that might be half a sob. “There’s no wedding taking place today.”
Dante blocks my path for half a heartbeat, but one look at my expression, and he steps aside. He’s known me too long not to see what’s boiling inside. “We’ll help,” he starts, but I shake my head.
I can’t wait. I can’t risk precious seconds on explanations or calm strategizing. She could be miles away by now. She could be flagged down at a bus station or cornered in a back alley. The possibility that she might be pregnant only cranks the panic tighter.
Behind me, Niccolo calls my name again, Salvatore sputters curses, and Dante tries to coordinate the staff. But I’m already gone, striding down the corridors with such force that I knock over a table of champagne flutes. They crash in a musical trill, champagne and shards spraying across the marble floor. A half-dozen startled gazes track me as I barrel out the front entrance, ignoring the cluster of terrified wedding planners who gape at me.
Outside, the estate’s driveway is crowded with black SUVs, courtesy cars, and a throng of lesser families eager to witness the union. I scour the line for my own vehicle. A flash of black paint catches my eye—my sedan, parked near the gates. I sprint across the manicured lawn, not giving a damn about the carefully placed paving stones or the stares from onlookers in formal attire.
I tear open the driver’s door, throwing myself into the seat. The engine roars to life, and gravel spits from the tires as I accelerate. The garden gate swings open too slowly, forcing me to brake hard. I beep the horn, snarling at the wide-eyed guard who leaps aside to let me pass. Once I’m through the gate, I slam the accelerator to the floor.
My phone buzzes in the passenger seat—a flurry of calls or texts from my brothers, from the staff, from God knows who. I ignore them. The only thing that matters is finding Gianna.
Everything is overshadowed by the memory of her note. I refuse to do this to our child. A part of me wants to sob at the notion that she thinks I can’t protect her—can’t protect our child if there is one. Another part roars in savage denial. She’s wrong if she thinks I’ll let her vanish into thin air. She’s wrong if she thinks I won’t tear the city apart to bring her back. I’ll overturn every stone, break down every door, challenge anyone who stands in my way. The thought of her out there alone, believing she’s safer without me, is a knife twisting in my gut with every passing second.
I weave through traffic, horns blaring around me as I cut off a delivery truck. The city is a mosaic of busy intersections and midday bustle. My mind whips through possibilities: bus stations with their grimy benches, train stations where she could disappear onto any outbound line, rural roads on the outskirts of town where she might try to hitchhike from. Hotels with lax security. Women’s shelters with strict confidentiality policies. Underpasses where the desperate gather. Gianna is smart. She’s learned from me, from her father, from survival itself, absorbing lessons like a sponge even when we thought she wasn’t watching. She’s not the naive child Giovanni thinks she is. But the world is still dangerous, especially for a woman alone. Rival families might see her as a pawn to exploit. Random criminals might see her as a vulnerable target.
I will find her.
And if she truly is pregnant with our baby, then I’ll prove to her that the man who once wanted to own her is gone, replaced by a man who will do anything to keep her and that child safe. I barely know how, but I’ll figure it out. The alternative is losing her forever, losing them both, and that’s not an option.
The engine groans as I take a sharp turn, ignoring the squeal of tires and the outraged yell of a pedestrian. My phone leaps across the seat, displaying Niccolo’s name. I snatch it up and bark into the receiver, “Track the train station cameras. Check them all. If she’s on foot or took a bus, she might have shown up in a feed. I want every street corner monitored.”
“We’re on it, Lucky. Calm down before you crash. We’ll find her.”
But calm is impossible. My soul feels like it’s being ripped apart by guilt and fear. I end the call, tossing the phone back onto the passenger seat. A broken laugh rasps out of my throat. I was supposed to be the groom walking down the aisle to claim my bride. Instead, I’m chasing her like a madman through city streets, begging for one last chance to show her I’m not the monster she first met.
Headlights glare as I cut through an intersection. More curses from other drivers, more horns blaring. My chest aches from the tension. Each breath is a battle; each swirl of possibility is a fresh agony. She’s gone. The words burn, fanning a spark of desperation into a bonfire.
I speed on, ignoring the traffic lights that cycle from green to amber to red. If a cop tries to pull me over, it’ll be the least of their concerns. The city whips by in a smear of gray and asphalt, overshadowed by the pounding in my veins.
The taste of regret coats my tongue like acid, burning all the way down to my gut. If only I’d been gentler when she needed it most. If only I’d told her sooner that I was in love with her instead of hiding behind fear and vengeance. If only I’d recognized what we had before it slipped through my fingers.
But dwelling on if onlys won’t bring her back. She’s out there, alone. Maybe frightened, maybe resolute, maybe both. My grip tightens on the steering wheel until my knuckles whiten. I’ll fix this.
Her letter tears through my brain: Don’t come looking for me.
But that’s exactly what I’m doing. Because I have to. Because the man I once was—the one who wanted to bend her to my will—is dead. The man driving this car is ready to face every demon, to bleed for her if I have to. And I hope to God she’ll let me prove it when I find her.
When , not if .
I speed onward, weaving between cars with reckless abandon. The city blocks peel away, but my resolve only intensifies. I don’t know where she is or where to go, but I drive everywhere, eyes scanning every direction. She’s out here. I will not let her slip out of my life. I will not let her stand alone against a world that wants to devour her. She thinks she’s saving herself by running away. She doesn’t realize I’d fight the entire world to keep her safe.
My heart pounds in a suffocating rhythm, each beat chanting her name. Gianna. Gianna. Gianna. Gianna.
My phone rings again. This time, I answer before a ring completes.
“Luc,” Dante’s voice crackles over the line, tense. “We’re pulling every camera feed. Sal’s men are on it, Niccolo’s calling in favors. We’ll find her.”
I exhale, nodding even though he can’t see me. “I’ll start with the bus depot. Then the trains. She might try an Uber or a taxi. Hell, maybe she’s hitchhiking.” The thought sends a shudder through me. She’s not naive, but it’s so damn easy for criminals to prey on women traveling alone.
Dante lowers his voice. “Giovanni’s stirring up trouble. He’s dancing on the ashes of this wedding and telling everyone your bride was so afraid of you that she ran away.”
A fresh pulse of fury stabs me, but I swallow it down. “Let him talk. He’s nothing to me. This is about Gianna.” Besides, his statements aren’t entirely wrong.
I slam the phone down on the passenger seat, knuckles aching from my grip on the wheel. Every block disappears behind me in a chaotic rush. My head throbs with a relentless litany: She left me, she’s pregnant, or maybe not, but she left me, I have to find her, have to show her I can be better…
A glimmer of bitterness coats my tongue, warring with bone-deep fear. If I fail, if she’s already hopped on a bus or found a ride out of Manhattan, she could vanish entirely. The heartbreak sets my jaw in iron resolution. No. I won’t fail. Even if it takes me across the state, across the country, I’ll track her down until I have her in my arms. Then I’ll hold her so tight she’ll never doubt the sincerity in my veins again.
My hands tremble on the wheel, tears scalding the corners of my eyes. For a split second, I let the grief break me. A single sob tears from my throat, raw and guttural, echoing in the cramped car. Then I bury it, letting it fuel the madness in my veins. I press the accelerator again as a new vow forms: I’ll prove to her that I can be better. I’ll prove it if it kills me.
And if Gianna is pregnant, I’ll fight the entire fucking planet to show her that our child can have a life outside these blood-soaked walls. That I can be more than the man who threatened to ruin her.
I will find Gianna. I swear on everything we could have been and on everything we still might be.