5. Chapter Five
5
Sofia
I woke up in a bed that wasn't mine. The light from the window was gray and filtered bleakly through curtains, illuminating an unfamiliar bedroom. I sat up, disoriented, my head pounding.
Where was I?
There was a glass of water on the nightstand, along with two pills. Aspirin. I stared at them for a moment, wondering what the hell I'd done the night before. My stomach felt sour, and my head throbbed.
But the memories of the night before flooded back as soon as I moved my head. The alley. Beth, dying a foot away from me. Luca holding me, rocking me, carrying me out of my apartment and bringing me here. His strong arms around me, his scent surrounding me. So safe, so warm.
I was in Luca's apartment. In his bed.
The sheets were so new they still had creases. Luca must have stripped the bed while I showered away the filth from the alley. I'd been a mess. I'd scrubbed myself until my skin was raw and pink, trying to wash away the memory of Beth's blood on my hands. I'd stood in the shower for so long the water had turned cold and Luca had come to check on me.
Mortification filled me. I had completely lost it last night.
God, poor Beth.
For the hundredth time, I thought back to what her last moments had been like. The cryptic text after she’d left Davey after he’d been spooked. What had she seen? Who had done this to her? Who would have been capable of such violence?
Davey owed money to our family, and Beth had been killed for it. I was terrified that it was someone I knew. I'd seen more than enough violence at the hands of people I'd trusted, but this was on another level. Owing money was worth a couple broken bones, not a brutal murder. Something about this wasn't right.
My stomach turned when I thought of how much I'd told Luca last night. He had to have seen through my lies about the City Councilor's Office by now, and knowing him, he wasn't going to let this go. Especially since I was now wrapped up in a murder that he'd had to clean up. And once Luca found out the truth, he’d go to Julian.
I was so stupid.
I should have kept my mouth shut. I should have lied and said I didn't know anything, but I'd been so rattled last night that I'd nearly told him everything.
Sitting up, I gasped as the sheet fell away. I was in my sleep shirt and shorts, definitely not what I’d been wearing when I arrived.
Had Luca undressed me?
Wracking my brain, I vaguely remembered him helping me into the bathroom, his eyes comically screwed shut as he helped me peel the filthy shirt from my body. What wasn’t comical was the feel of Luca’s hands against my skin, large and warm. His breath in my ear, faster than it should be. His voice a low rumble, soothing, lips inches from my shoulder.
Oh, God . How could I be turned on at a time like this. He had been trying to help me, for god’s sake, not cop a feel.
Get a grip, girl.
I sat huddled in the bedsheets. The apartment was silent; Luca was probably still asleep. I wasn't ready to go out and face him, anyway. He was going to ask questions, and I didn't know if I could answer them without breaking down. Or exposing my lies further.
I should let him sleep, anyway. Whatever Luca had been running on last night had started to flag after he'd gotten me home, and he'd eventually crashed on the couch, utterly exhausted. Now that I was awake and more coherent, I remembered I'd found him sprawled across the cushions in the middle of the night, snoring softly.
He hadn't even bothered to take off his shoes.
I slipped out of bed, trying to be quiet. It was seven in the morning, and I needed to be at Shaws by eight to start my shift. I couldn't afford to lose that job, too.
My bag was on the floor by the dresser. I pulled out a pair of jeans and a shirt, tugging them on in silence. Skipping the bathroom, I peeked out into the living room to check on Luca.
The couch was empty. I didn't see him in the kitchen or the extra bathroom. The apartment was empty. Luca wasn't here.
A wave of relief swept over me. I wasn't ready to see him yet. I had no idea what I'd say, or how he'd react after last night.
I hurriedly brushed my teeth and washed my face in the bathroom, then threw my hair into a bun and went to make myself some coffee. But as soon as I walked into the kitchen, I saw a note taped to the front of the fridge, written in Luca’s shaky writing.
Went to the compound, be back later. Don't leave the apartment.
-Luca.
I tore the note off the door and crumpled it in my hand. The note was so brief, I couldn't tell if he was upset or not. Not that it mattered. I couldn't stay here. I had to be at work in 45 minutes.
Grabbing my purse, I headed for the door.
I felt bad about leaving, but it was just for a few hours. Besides, I'd be back before he got home, so he'd never even know I was gone.
***
As soon as my shift was over, I raced back to Luca's apartment, but I needn't have bothered. Luca still wasn't home. He hadn't texted or called me all day, so I assumed he was still at the compound. Still, worry fluttered just beneath the surface. What was he doing? Had he told Julian about last night?
Alone in the silent apartment, I felt an itching restlessness beginning to gnaw beneath my skin. Work had been mindlessly repetitive enough to distract me, but now that I was alone, my mind immediately returned to what had happened the night before. I couldn't stop thinking about Beth.
I needed to do something. I couldn't just sit here, waiting for Luca to return.
So I did what I always did when I was anxious: I cleaned.
I righted the lamp and swept up the broken glass. Hauled all the takeout containers to the garbage chute. Decontaminated the kitchen and scrubbed it until it shined. Dusting and sweeping, scrubbing the baseboards and vacuuming. I even took all of Luca's dirty laundry and washed it in the machine, folding everything into neat little piles on his bed.
You learn a lot about a person cleaning up their mess.
A half-hearted attempt had been made to keep his apartment clean from time to time, but the byproducts of his temper and his depression had long since overrun it. His bathroom had taken the worst of it. Dried blood and vomit crusted in the grout. The corner of the mirror spiderwebbed into a crack.
I scrubbed the bathtub until my knuckles were red, and I thought about how hard it must be to live alone, to have to care for yourself when you barely have the energy to get out of bed in the morning. Pill bottles lined the medicine cabinet, half empty and some expired. It looked like he hadn't filled them in months.
Luca was struggling. It hurt to see the evidence of it now when he'd been larger than life before. I'd known him all my life, and he'd always been a bright spot. He was strong, kind, and so fiercely protective. He'd been my rock, someone I could always lean on when things got rough. Even coming from a broken home like he had, it still astounded me that out of so much ugliness had grown a man so beautiful and loving. He had a heart so big he'd risked everything for people who weren't even his family, even when they didn't want his help. Even when it cost him.
I sat back on my heels, scrub brush in hand, and looked at the pills. Antidepressants and antianxiety medication. Blood pressure meds, pills for nausea and migraines, muscle relaxers. Pain relievers.
Luca's life summed up in bottles.
I was suddenly so angry I wanted to smash a few things myself. Luca didn’t deserved any of this. He'd been hurt, and he was still hurting. He had every right to be angry, to lash out, to be cruel. And yet...he wasn't. Not really. I knew he didn't mean it when he lost his temper, so unlike the man he used to be. But Luca was doing the best he could, given the way we’d all abandoned him.
I thought back to the days leading up to that final confrontation with the Irish. Those were some of the darkest days of my life. Huddled together with Emilia in her room after finding out about her mad plan to escape the family's wrath with her Irish lover. Luca’s reluctant yet steadfast promise to help Emilia and Alfie follow through with their plan, even though it placed him in danger.
Julian coming to deliver the news that there'd been a shootout between us and the Irish, and that Luca had been injured.
Nobody thought he'd wake up again. The doctor's didn't come out and say it, but I read it on their faces. Day after day, held hostage in his own body and tethered to this world by the machines keeping him alive. In the chaos left in the wake of Lorenzo's very personal attack on the McTiernans, Luca had been the one to pay the price. Then he had been all but forgotten.
I think that was when my feelings for Luca started to change. He'd done so much for so many people, but when he needed help, nobody was there for him. Nobody was looking after him. It wasn't fair.
So I'd taken it upon myself to look after him, even though I knew he would have hated it if he'd been awake. Maybe that's why I did it. Even annoying Luca was a form of interaction, even if he couldn’t respond. Better than him wasting away in that hospital bed all alone.
For the first few weeks, my only companions were the slow beep of the heart monitor and the hiss of the ventilator. I timed my day by the nurse's rounds, trying to pick up any shred of hope. I held his hand and read to him, because I'd researched coma patients and learned that sometimes they can hear and feel things, even if they can't respond. I became intimate with his body in ways that I'd never been with anyone else. I learned his micro expressions, his twitches, the way his muscles tensed if he was in pain. The warmth of his skin and the rhythm of his heart. His scars, his tattoos, his entire life held by one fragile thread.
It wasn't romantic. Not in the common meaning of the word. But even so, I think that was when I started to fall in love with Luca Mariano.
I knew I had fallen the day he opened his eyes and I felt a joy so intense I thought my heart would shatter. Following it was a wave of bittersweet relief. I hadn't realized until then how convinced I'd been that he would die, and the thought of losing Luca had brought me to my knees.
The first word out of his mouth was my name. My eyes filled with tears as he stared at me, eyes dazed and glassy. The ventilator had been removed, but he still couldn't speak well. My name was a soft sound on his lips, like a question, and I nodded, too overcome with emotion to speak.
And then he smiled. Faint and wobbly, but it was there.
I knew right then I would do anything to make sure Luca kept smiling.
Finished with the bedroom, I put away my cleaning supplies and moved the laundry from the washer to the dryer. My stomach growled. I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, but a quick rummage through Luca's cupboards resulted in enough ingredients to make some pasta. Looking at the spotless apartment, I smiled to myself at the domesticity of it all, something so totally unlike me Luca was likely to have a stroke when he saw me cooking him dinner.
I didn't know what our relationship was now. As Luca progressed through his recovery, he needed me less and less until he eventually sent me away. He told me that he needed to deal with this on his own, that I had a life to live and I needed to stop taking care of him. That he'd be fine. Weeks had turned into months, and as my own problems took center stage, somehow I'd forgotten Luca as well.
Now I had crash landed back in his life, bringing along a ton of baggage and a murdered friend. Luca's comfort and fierce protection last night had brought back a lot of old feelings I'd forgotten about, and the intimacy of weeding through his apartment had done the rest. I wasn't sure if what I felt for Luca was love, but I cared about him deeply.
Maybe it was time to find out just how far I could fall.