22. Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
Not My Father’s Son
Luca
I can’t say I missed New York.
The constant motion.
The traffic grinding through streets that never seem to sleep.
The smell of exhaust, hot pavement, and too many bodies occupying too little space.
Everything here is loud.
Crowded.
Exposed.
After the island, the city feels like an assault.
I missed my mother.
I missed Marley and Josh.
But I couldn’t go directly to them when we landed.
Protocol says the principal comes first.
Simone isn’t merely my principal anymore, but the danger surrounding her hasn’t disappeared because we crossed an ocean.
The pilot remains missing.
The person who authorized the attacks hasn’t been identified.
Until Simone is delivered safely into the estate’s secured perimeter and I complete the initial debrief, I remain responsible for her.
I called Mom from Bran’s phone before we left France.
I told her I was alive.
That I loved her.
That I would come home as soon as I could.
She cried so hard I barely understood her response.
Now I sit across from Simone in the limousine as it moves through the wrought-iron gates of the Rochefort estate.
Bran occupies the seat beside her.
He hasn’t stopped questioning us since we boarded the secure aircraft on the mainland.
The crash.
The pilot.
The observation station.
The village.
He circles back to the same details from different angles, as though repetition might expose something we missed.
Simone answers patiently for the first hour.
By the second, she threatens to throw him out of the plane.
That silences him for almost four minutes.
I remain mostly quiet.
Not because I have nothing to say.
Because my mind is crowded with everything waiting for us here.
The estate appears beyond the trees.
Manicured lawns stretch across the property, broken by fountains, trimmed hedges, and marble sculptures bright beneath the morning sun.
The mansion rises at the center of it all, built from pale stone and inherited power.
I’ve driven this road hundreds of times.
Entered through these doors.
Slept in the guest rooms.
Eaten at the family table.
Still, arriving here always feels like stepping into someone else’s life.
Francis waits at the foot of the limestone stairs.
He wears a tailored suit despite the early hour. His injured shoulder is supported beneath the jacket, though he stands as straight as ever with one hand clasped behind his back.
Security surrounds the entrance.
More personnel patrol the edges of the property.
The estate is under lockdown, whether Francis admits it or not.
The limousine stops.
Bran exits first.
Simone follows.
I’m barely out of the vehicle when Francis reaches her.
The composure drains from his face.
He gathers Simone into his arms and holds her so tightly she disappears against his chest.
A rough, relieved sound leaves him.
For several seconds, he isn’t the political strategist, businessman, or man who controls every room he enters.
He’s a father who believed his daughter might be dead.
Simone’s arms wrap around him.
Her face crumples.
“I’m okay,” she says.
Francis pulls back only far enough to examine her.
His hand touches the cut at her temple, then the bandage on her arm.
“You were shot.”
“Grazed.”
“You were in a plane crash.”
“I noticed.”
His eyes close briefly.
Then he hugs her again.
Bran joins them, wrapping one arm around Simone and the other around Francis.
She makes a muffled protest from between them.
I remain beside the vehicle.
Watching.
My gaze never leaves Simone.
Sunlight catches in her hair.
She squints against its brightness while laughing at something Bran says.
She looks exhausted.
Bruised.
Alive.
I love her so violently that standing this far away from her feels unnatural.
A few hours ago, she slept against my chest while the island wind moved beyond the shutters.
Now her family surrounds her, and I’m back where I have always stood.
Several feet behind.
Close enough to protect.
Too far away to touch.
Except that isn’t what we chose.
The island didn’t create something temporary between us.
I told Simone I wanted her when the danger was over.
The danger isn’t over yet.
Neither are we.
Bran releases the group first and motions toward me.
“Luca.”
Francis looks over.
His expression changes.
Gratitude replaces fear as he walks toward me.
Before I can prepare for it, he pulls me into a tight embrace.
My entire body locks.
“Welcome home.”
The word strikes unexpectedly.
Home.
Francis clasps my back with his good arm.
“You brought her back to me.”
I don’t know how to respond.
Francis has shaken my hand.
Clapped my shoulder.
Praised my work.
He has never hugged me.
I don’t return the embrace at first.
Not because I want to insult him.
Because I’m too stunned to move.
He believes I saved Simone for him.
For the job.
For the family that employed mine.
I didn’t.
I saved her because the thought of a world without her is unbearable.
Francis pulls back but keeps both hands on my shoulders.
“You remind me of your father.”
The relief inside me disappears.
“He always finished the job.”
Francis smiles.
“You did well, my boy. Better than I could have asked.”
My mouth forms something close to a smile.
It’s either that or recoil.
I’m not my father.
I don’t want praise for becoming him.
Especially from the man whose name has been tangled with my father’s death for most of my life.
My gaze moves toward Simone.
She watches me carefully.
She sees the tension in my face.
Of course she does.
Francis squeezes my shoulder.
“You should rest today. Come to my office tomorrow.”
His voice regains its usual authority.
“We’ll discuss the next step. I have something more permanent in mind for you.”
I say nothing.
“A larger role,” he continues. “More responsibility. No more playing bodyguard for my daughter.”
Playing.
As though keeping Simone alive was an apprenticeship.
As though my future is another position he has already selected for me.
“Thank you, sir.”
The words are automatic.
“I’ll come by tomorrow.”
Francis appears satisfied.
He turns toward Simone.
“Come inside. The doctor is waiting.”
“I was examined in France.”
“You’ll be examined again.”
She gives Bran a look.
He lifts both hands.
“I’m not getting involved.”
“Coward.”
Francis guides Simone toward the stairs with one hand at her back.
She takes several steps before looking over her shoulder at me.
Our eyes meet.
The same uncertainty from the limousine passes between us.
Neither of us knows what happens next.
But this time, I refuse to let silence decide for us.
I move closer.
“Simone.”
Francis pauses.
She turns fully.
“I’ll call you after I see my family.”
The tension in her face eases.
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
Her gaze moves briefly toward Francis.
Then back to me.
“Don’t disappear.”
“I won’t.”
The answer is for her alone.
She gives me the smallest smile.
“Later.”
“Later.”
Francis’s eyes narrow slightly, but he says nothing as he leads her inside.
The door closes behind them.
It doesn’t feel like rejection.
Not this time.
Bran remains beside me.
He watches the door for a moment before looking at my face.
“What happened on that island?”
“A plane crashed.”
“You know that isn’t what I’m asking.”
“I do.”
His attention drops to the fading marks on my neck.
Then he exhales.
“I’m too tired to commit homicide today.”
“That’s mature.”
“Tomorrow is still available.”
“I’ll make a note.”
Bran studies me.
The humor leaves his expression.
“Are you serious about her?”
“Yes.”
The answer requires no thought.
His jaw tightens.
“Do you love her?”
“Yes.”
He blinks.
Apparently, he expected resistance.
“I’ve loved her for years.”
Bran rubs both hands over his face.
“Wonderful.”
“You asked.”
“I was hoping you’d lie so I could hit you without feeling conflicted.”
“You can still try.”
He lowers his hands.
“If you hurt her—”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
His voice becomes harder.
“She acts like nothing reaches her. It does. Everything does.”
“I know that too.”
Bran looks toward the mansion.
Then back at me.
“I’m not giving you permission.”
“I didn’t ask.”
His mouth almost curves.
“Good.”
He steps forward and grips the back of my neck.
“For what it’s worth, she has been obsessed with you since she was a teenager. It was exhausting.”
“I’m aware.”
“You made her miserable.”
“I’m aware of that too.”
“You’ll fix it.”
“Yes.”
He releases me.
Then he gestures toward the waiting vehicles.
“Need a ride?”
“No. I’ll arrange one.”
“Your mother is going to murder you.”
“She’ll have to wait behind you.”
Bran snorts.
“Call me after you see her. We still need to review the flight crew records.”
“I will.”
I walk away before anyone can assign me another responsibility.
For the first time, leaving the Rochefort estate doesn’t feel like abandoning the only home available to me.
I have somewhere else to go.
The door to my mother’s house opens almost the moment I ring the bell.
Two flashes of black hair and school uniforms launch themselves at me.
Marley reaches me first.
Josh collides a second later.
Their combined weight nearly sends me backward off the step.
“You’re alive!”
“You didn’t call us!”
“You should quit your job!”
“Mom said you were on a business trip.”
“Mom cried.”
“She said she didn’t.”
“We were going to beat up your boss.”
“I thought you died.”
The last one is Josh.
His arms tighten around my waist.
He says it again, quieter.
“I thought you died.”
Something inside my chest twists.
I wrap one arm around each of them.
“I didn’t.”
Marley pulls back and studies my face.
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
“Did you bring presents?”
“Yes.”
The lie is effortless.
Her expression brightens.
“They’re being delivered.”
Josh looks at his sister.
“He’s lying.”
“I’m not.”
“You always touch your eyebrow when you lie.”
My hand drops from my face.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Marley. Josh.”
Mom’s voice comes from the hallway.
“Let your brother breathe.”
I look past them.
She stands in the kitchen doorway wearing an apron and oven mitts.
Her smile is wide.
Her eyes are red.
She removes the mitts slowly, as though she’s afraid sudden movement might break whatever is holding her together.