5. Luca
5
LUCA
T he news reaches me like a whisper on the wind, carried by the intricate network of spies and informants I’ve cultivated over the years. Mia Marino, the youngest daughter of the late Don, is having a ball for her eighteenth birthday. I can’t help but scoff at the thinly veiled pretense.
A ball? Please. It’s nothing more than a cattle market, with Mia as the prized heifer up for auction.
“Those Marino girls,” I mutter to myself, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. “Always putting on a show.”
But as the initial disdain fades, a new thought begins to take root in my mind. A thought so delicious, so perfect, that I can feel a smile spreading across my face despite myself. This ball… it could be the opportunity I’ve been waiting for.
I rise from my chair, moving to the large map pinned to my wall. My eyes trace the familiar routes to the Marino estate, my mind already racing with possibilities. The ball will mean increased security, yes, but it will also mean chaos. Crowds. Confusion. The perfect cover for a man who knows how to blend in.
Besides, I’ve heard how Rork O’Malley easily broke into the Marino estate to take Bianca Marino back. With Don Marino dead, I’m sure their security isn’t as it should be.
“Marco!” I call out, not taking my eyes off the map.
My right-hand man appears in the doorway, alert and ready as always. “Yes, Boss?”
I turn to him, feeling a familiar fire igniting in my veins. “How would you like to attend a ball?”
Marco’s dark eyebrows shoot up, but he knows better than to question me. “I’m listening.”
As I outline my plan, I can see the understanding dawning in Marco’s eyes. It’s audacious, perhaps even reckless, but the potential payoff… oh, the payoff would be worth any risk.
“Are you sure about this, Boss?” Marco asks when I finish. “Security will be tight. The Marinos banned masked events after that fiasco with Bianca’s wedding. How are we going to get in undetected?”
I smile, a predator’s grin that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Leave that to me. I have a few tricks up my sleeve that even the mighty Marinos won’t see coming.”
Over the next few weeks, I set my plan in motion. I cultivate contacts, grease palms, and exploit every weakness in the Marinos’ security I can find.
It’s amazing what people will reveal for the right price or under the right pressure.
By the time the night of the ball arrives, I have everything in place. Half of my men will be hidden among the catering staff, thanks to a delicate balance of bribery, blackmail, and perfectly forged documentation.
The other half, including myself, will be attending as guests, our invitations as fake as they are flawless.
As I adjust the cuffs of my tailored suit, I can’t help but admire the craftsmanship of the forged invitation in my hand. It’s a work of art, really. The paper is exactly right, the embossing perfect. Even the most eagle-eyed security guard won’t be able to tell the difference.
“Remember,” I murmur to Marco as we approach the estate in a sleek black car, “Eyes open, mouths shut. We’re here to have a good time.”
Marco nods, his face a mask of calm professionalism. “Understood, Boss. And the signal?”
I pat my breast pocket, where a small device sits nestled against my heart. “When the time is right, you’ll know.”
We pull up to the grand entrance of the Marino estate, joining the line of expensive cars disgorging the elite. I step out, straightening my jacket, and hand the keys to the valet with a generous tip and a charming smile.
As we ascend the steps to the entrance, I can feel the excitement building in my veins. This is it. The moment I’ve been waiting for. The beginning of the end for Dominico Sicura.
We present our invitations at the door, and I have to suppress a smirk as the guard barely glances at them before waving us through. Too easy.
The grand ballroom is a sea of glittering jewels and polished smiles. The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the sound of forced laughter. I accept a glass of champagne from a passing waiter—one of my men, who gives me an almost imperceptible nod—and begin to circulate.
I weave through the crowd with practiced ease, all charm and easy smiles while avoiding Sofia and Dom. To anyone watching, I’m just another guest, another faceless suitor who comes to pay his respects to the Marino family. But my eyes never stop moving, cataloging faces, noting positions, looking for weaknesses.
“I heard the youngest Marino girl is quite the catch,” a portly gentleman says to his companion near me.
“Indeed,” his friend replies, his eyes roving the room hungrily. “A beauty, they say, and the last unmarried Marino daughter. Whoever wins her hand will have quite the prize.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes as I move on. These vultures, circling around a young girl like she's a piece of meat. It’s disgusting. But then again, who am I to judge?
I’m here with far less noble intentions.
As I complete another circuit of the room, I spot him. Dom Sicura, standing near the grand staircase, looking every inch the powerful Don he’s become. Sofia is by his side, as always, the two of them presenting a united front to the world.
It would be admirable if it weren’t so fucking nauseating.
I’m so focused on Dom that I almost miss it when the music swells and a hush falls over the gathering. But then I see her, and for a moment, just a moment, I forget to breathe.
Mia Marino descends the stairs like a vision from another world. Her emerald green gown shimmers in the candlelight, clinging to curves that make my mouth go dry. Her dark hair is piled atop her head in an intricate style, a few loose curls framing a face that could launch a thousand ships.
God, she’s so young .
I watch, transfixed, as she reaches the bottom of the stairs, immediately swarmed by eager suitors. Each one is vying for her attention, desperate to be the first to claim a dance.
And Mia… Mia handles it all with a grace that’s almost painful to watch. She smiles, she nods, she allows herself to be led onto the dance floor. But there’s something in her eyes, a flicker of… what? Uncertainty? Discomfort?
It’s fascinating .
I find myself drawn closer, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease. I watch as Mia is passed from one dance partner to the next, each new face blending into a blur of forgettable features.
I spot Bianca and her husband, Rork, on the dance floor. They move together with surprising grace for such an unlikely pair. Bianca, all elegant curves and dark beauty, and Rork, a mountain of a man with his scarred face and piercing eyes. I watch them for a moment, considering. Rork could be a problem. He’s not just muscle. There’s a sharp mind behind those eyes. And he has the entire goddamn Irish Mob at his behest.
I file that information away for later. For now, he’s not my primary concern.
My gaze shifts to another corner of the room, where Chiara Marino stands with her husband, Dante Tenebre. I almost snort into my champagne. Dante, the son of Don Marino’s former right-hand man, who got lucky by marrying and impregnating Chiara. He stands there, puffed up with unearned importance, basking in the reflected glory of the Marino name.
I dismiss them almost immediately. They’re no threat to my plans.
There’s light, tinkling laughter and I immediately know who that belongs to.
Sofia.
Dom and Sofia, gliding through the crowd like royalty holding court. They move with an easy synchronicity, finishing each other’s sentences, sharing secret smiles. I watch as they stop to chat with a group of influential businessmen, Dom’s hand resting possessively on the small of Sofia's back.
The sight of them together, so perfectly in sync, so utterly content in their shared power, makes my blood boil. The glass in my hand creaks dangerously as my grip tightens, and I force myself to take a deep breath. Now is not the time to lose control. I have a plan, and I need to stick to it.
As I circulate, I keep one eye on Dom and one on Mia. I’m here for revenge, I remind myself, here to put a bullet in Dom Sicura’s head and watch his empire crumble.
But I can’t seem to tear my gaze away from Mia for long.
The night wears on, and I bide my time. My men are in position, scattered throughout the crowd, each one ready to play their part. All I need to do is give the signal, and chaos will erupt.
But then I see something that makes me pause. Mia, slipping away from her mother, making her way toward the terrace doors. There’s an urgency to her movements, a desperation that speaks of a need to escape.
I hesitate, torn between my mission and this unexpected development. Dom is right there, vulnerable, distracted by the sycophants surrounding him. It’s the perfect opportunity.
And yet…
Before I can second-guess myself, I’m moving. Away from Dom, away from my carefully laid plans, and toward the terrace where Mia has disappeared.
“Change of plans,” I murmur into the small communicator hidden in my cuff. “Hold positions. Wait for my signal.”
I ignore Marco’s confused response, focused solely on the figure I can see through the glass doors. Mia stands alone on the terrace, her back to the party, her shoulders rising and falling with deep breaths.
As I step out into the cool night air, I’m struck by how small she looks. How young. For a moment, I consider turning back. This isn’t part of the plan. This isn’t why I'm here.
But then Mia turns, startled by the sound of my approach, and all thoughts of retreat vanish from my mind. Up close, she’s even more beautiful than I realized. Her eyes, wide with surprise, are a deep, rich brown that seems to hold entire worlds within them.
Well, this could get interesting.