12. Chapter Twelve
12
Luca
The moment Sofia's lips touched mine, my brain blanked out in a fog so similar to my blackouts that I thought I'd been struck blind. I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. I was pretty sure I flatlined for a moment before my heart remembered how to beat, surging forward in double-time against her palm still warm against my chest.
Then biology took over, testosterone kicked in, and I kissed her right back.
My hand flew up, threading through her thick curls to cup the back of her head as my lips parted hers, my tongue delving into her mouth. Sofia moaned, and I swallowed the sound. God, what I'd do to taste a lifetime of that sound. I devoured her, pulling her closer as I angled my head to deepen the kiss, desperate to consume her, to absorb her into me, to make her a part of me that could never be taken away.
Sofia's fingers danced along my jaw and up the other side of my face, but she didn't shy away from my scars, didn't recoil at the feel of them under her fingertips. A little whimper from the back of her throat shot straight to my cock, and I answered her with a possessive growl, hips surging against the drag of the water.
It wasn't enough. I needed her. I had to have her. I had to take her, right now, or I would lose my fucking mind.
"Luca," she breathed. "Luca."
The sound of my name spilled from her lips froze the blood in my veins.
Full stop.
What the hell was I doing? I was paralyzed, torn between a blinding, euphoric rush and a sense of abject horror. Sofia was still kissing me, oblivious to the battle going on inside me. I couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but stare at her.
Why? Why would she do this? What did she want from me?
Sofia drew back, and for a moment I thought I'd said the words out loud. She stared at me, her face inches from mine, and the look in her eyes made my chest ache. She stared at me like I was a person, not an object of pity. She stared at me like she cared.
Not one single person had looked at me like that since my accident.
"Why?" I asked her. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because I want you. And I know you want me, too."
My throat tightened, but I shook my head. "We shouldn't be doing this. It's a bad idea, Sofia."
"I don't care. I—"
"It's a bad idea," I said firmly. I grabbed her wrist, intending to move it away, but instead I pulled her closer, until her face was inches from mine. Her breath was sweet and warm on my lips, and I swallowed hard against the urge to kiss her again. "You deserve better than me, Sofia."
"You don't get to decide that."
"Yeah, I do." I pushed her arm away, and this time I succeeded. Sofia stared at me, hurt and confused.
"Luca...why are you pushing me away?"
Because I'm fucked up in the head. Because I'm broken. Because I'm not good enough for you.
But I said nothing, and Sofia nodded. "I see. Okay." She stood up, and I watched her walk out, trying to ignore the hollow ache in my chest that grew with every step she took.
Moving slowly, I got out of the tub and dried off. The tension that had blissfully retreated while Sofia's hands were on me was back in full force, and I felt the telltale throbbing in my temples begin again, mocking me. It took everything I had to pull on some sleep shorts and crumple into bed, letting sleep claim what was left of my miserable existence.
***
Consciousness is like the tide, drifting in and out with lazy certainty.
Right now, the tide is out. But with it comes the pain.
I'm pressed back against the mattress by giant, unseen hands, smothering me with an overwhelming pressure. It detonates in my skull, radiating down my spine, pulsing in every nerve ending until its pulling me apart, fiber by fiber.
The pain is the only reason I think I'm still alive, so I hang on to it.
I can't see. I can't hear—not really. The world is muffled and muted like I'm deep underwater and looking up at the surface, brilliant colors swirling in the sunshine. They make me nauseous.
Floating, untethered to reality, I'm aware of my arms and legs, but I can't move them. They're moved for me by cold, clinical hands. I want them to stay, but they're gone as quickly as they came, leaving me alone and helpless again. Even my lungs are manipulated for me, air forced in rhythmically along with the fluids being pushed and pulled from my body. That mass of cardiac muscle in the center of my chests is the only thing my body seems capable of operating on its own.
I don't want to be here. I don't want to exist like this.
Bright light flares in first one eye, then the other, and the colors shift. They terrify me. Pain flares again, and I silently scream.
A soft warmth soothes my brow and envelops my hand. I clutch at it, even though my fingers don't move.
Vanilla and peonies.
Scent is the one thing that hasn't abandoned me, and I've come to associate the scent of vanilla and peonies with relief.
Comfort.
Her.
Or, at least, I imagine it's a her. She's been here with me, all this time. While my mind wanders, while I float through the darkness and pain, she's always here. Her voice is soothing, familiar, and her touch...god, her touch. I feel like I've known it forever, although it can't be real. If she's real, why can't I see her? Why can't I speak to her? Why can't I hear her voice, beyond the muffle and the hum?
I try to reach for her, to hold her close, but my body doesn't answer.
Lips brush my temple, words I can't hear but I feel pressed against my skin. The warmth recedes.
No. Don't go.
"Luca."
The tide is going out.
"Luca."
My eyes flew open, my heart going from zero to sixty as I sucked in a great lungful of air. Sofia was kneeling over me on the bed, pale and wide-eyed. I was so glad to see her, so glad to be free from the nightmare, but that feeling only lasted about point-two seconds before my stomach threw it in reverse, and I turned and vomited over the side of the bed.
Sofia didn't miss a beat. She moved quickly, grabbing a trash can and holding it for me while I dry heaved, my entire body trembling. Thank God I didn’t have much in my stomach. Her hands rubbed soothing circles on my back, her voice murmured softly to me, although I couldn't hear the words.
When I collapsed back, she set the trash can aside and helped me sit up. "What do you need?" she asked.
I shook my head. That was a mistake. Sharp pain pierced the base of my skull, and I clutched my head, groaning.
"That’s it," she said firmly, "I'm taking you to the hospital. Right now. I can't—"
"No. I'll be fine."
"You are not fine. This is not fine." Pills were pressed into my hand, but I was shaking too hard to get them into my mouth. A wave of humiliation rose in me when Sofia did it for me. "Something is wrong."
"No hospitals. Please. It'll pass."
I heard her sigh and slip into bed behind me. I wasn't sure how she could stand to touch me, but she did it anyway, wrapping her body around mine until her breasts were pressed up against my back and her lips brushed the nape of my neck. It would have been unbelievably sexy if I wasn't in so much pain. All I could do was clutch at the arms wrapped around my chest and hold on until this thing passed. I was floating again, but this time...this time...
Vanilla and peonies.
The warmth, the words pressed into my skin.
I rolled over and stared at Sofia. "It was you."
She blinked, frowning. "What?"
"When I was in the hospital. It was you."
Her frown deepened, and she bit her lip, looking unsure. "But you weren’t awake. You—"
"I remember," I said, my voice gruff. "I remember your scent. Your touch." I touched her face gently. "You were the only thing that kept me sane."
Sofia swallowed hard. "You felt that?"
I nodded, my thumb brushing her lower lip. "You talked to me, you soothed me. When I woke up, I felt like I had lost something, and I never understood why."
A single tear spilled down her cheek, and I followed its path with my fingertip. "I was so scared, Luca. I didn't know if you were ever going to wake up."
"I was right there with you, Sofia."
She was quiet for a long moment, but I could practically see her mind working, processing. "What was that, just now? What happened?"
I sighed. I didn't want to talk about it, but Sofia was too perceptive. She wasn't going to let it go. "You know I have headaches sometimes, and the dizziness makes me nauseous."
"That was way worse than just a headache, Luca. You were shaking so hard I thought you were having a seizure. You shouldn't be in this much pain."
"It comes and goes. This is just how it is for me now."
"It's happening more and more. Something is wrong, Luca." Her hands slipped up to my temple, gently tracing the scars there. "I'm worried about you."
I wanted to laugh, but the pain had finally faded to a dull throb, and her hands felt good. My eyes drifted closed. If we could just never move from this spot, I'd be perfectly okay with that. "I'm fine."
"Look, you don't have to go to the hospital right now. I can tell that the meds helped a little, but please— please promise me you'll go to the doctor. "
"I already know what they're going to say, and I'm not going to do it just to placate you," I snapped.
Sofia flinched, and I felt like an asshole. Again. "I don't want you to do it for me. I want you to do it for yourself."
Her words were quiet, but they hit me in the chest like a sledgehammer, knocking the air out of my lungs. In the hospital, during therapy, it was always, come on, one more for me...just do this for me...push just a little harder for me. Nobody had ever told me to do it for myself before. Nobody had ever asked what I wanted.
"What?" she asked.
I realized I was staring at her, and I shook my head. "Nothing. I'll go."
***
It wasn't the most romantic of nights, but Sofia fell asleep in my arms anyway, and I drifted off listening to her steady breathing. I didn't think I'd be able to fall asleep. I must have, though, because when I woke up sometime later, the bed was warm and only Sofia's scent lingered. I wanted her there with me, but part of me was glad she wasn't. The last thing I needed was to get used to this.
"Morning," Sofia said as I shuffled into the kitchen, still a little unsteady on my feet. She was bent over, looking through the refrigerator, and I had an unobstructed view of her ass. Her very perfect ass. It was hard not to stare, but I tore my gaze away and sat at the breakfast bar. "How are you feeling?"
"Better."
Sofia stood, holding a carton of eggs and a bottle of orange juice while the television played softly in the background. She closed the door and set them on the counter. "Good." She started opening cabinets, looking for something. "You sleep okay?"
I watched her hips sway as she moved around the kitchen, and my dick began to swell. Sofia was wearing leggings and a cropped hoodie that barely covered her belly button, and her hair was tied in a knot on top of her head. It was sexy as hell. "Yeah. You?"
Sofia turned and smiled at me, and my breath caught in my throat. "I did. For the first time in a long time. Look, I didn't mean to push any boundaries last night. I hope we can still be friends."
Um. What?
"Because that's the most important thing to me, and I don't want to ruin that. So, can we just pretend that didn't happen?"
Oh. The kiss. Yeah, that was something I wouldn't be forgetting any time soon. But she was right, and although it gutted me to hear her say it, it was for the best.
"Yeah. Sure."
She smiled, relieved. "Great. Now, what do you want for breakfast?"
"No, I’m good."
"You need to eat something."
I opened my mouth to argue, but my phone rang. The caller ID showed it was Julian, so I answered it. "Yeah?"
"What are you doing?" Julian asked.
"Nothing. Why?"
"Turn on the news. The North End's getting hit again."
I grabbed the remote and changed the channel to the morning news. They were already talking about it. Two more assaults last night. Crime on the rise in the North End.
"This has got to stop, Luca. People are starting to notice. We've got to do something about him."
I turned off the tv and walked into the bedroom so Sofia couldn't overhear. "What's your plan? Sal's never going to put a leash on Dominic. This is exactly what he wants."
"He's not above listening to reason," Julian said. "Come down to the compound. I've put together a proposal for Sal, and I'm going to present it to him today. I need you and Dante here."
"Christ, Julian, this isn't how it works. This isn't a proposal to your boss at a board meeting, it's the Italian fucking mafia. You don't just walk in and expect to be heard."
“This is the only way to stop this—”
“You can’t be going off half-cocked on a thing like this, it’s going to get you killed!” The phone cracked ominously in my hand and I released my grip lowering my voice. “Just—I’ll be there in an hour, okay? Let’s talk this through.”
“Fine. Not at the Compound, though. Meet me at my place.”
"Awesome. Looking forward to it.” I ended the call and tossed the phone on the bed, scrubbing my hand over my face.
Jesus Christ, when it rained, it poured. Now it looked like I was going to have to talk Julian down off the ledge in addition to killing the buzz around Beth’s death and keep the FBI from sticking their noses in before Dante took matters into his own hands.
Maybe Julian had been right—I’d never seen myself as having much use for the family beyond my ability to pull a trigger and follow directions, but now that I thought about it, this wasn’t my first time being stuck in a mediating role. Dante was a hothead and impulsive, but he could be reasoned with. I was fairly confident that between us, we could effectively box the FBI out. Julian, though, was going to be a problem. The guy had a steel rod in place of his spine, and was the most calculating, tenacious person I’d ever met. He just didn’t know when to switch it off; no vices, not gambling or drinking, not even women. Laser precision focus with only work to occupy himself, Julian threw himself into a problem until he got a solution, by God, or he died trying.
And that was just the trouble. If Julian didn’t ease up, he was going to get himself killed.
I was going to have to get Dante in on this. The time had come for us to take matters in our own hands if we were going to keep Julian alive. He was onto something with his bold talk of the ‘new wave of the future,’ and he was the best chance the Moretti Family had of keeping ahold of the North End. I just never thought I’d find myself lynchpin to a regime change.
Lorenzo Moretti was the first person who had seen any worth in me. My parents, may they rot in hell, were the worst kind of narcissists who barely had any time for me until the day their abuse, self-absorption and explosive flair for drama ended up in a murder-suicide that left me a ward of the state. It wasn’t too far-fetched, then, that the little boy from Back Bay would one day become a capo for the Italian Mafia. And a betrayer in his own right.
Nobody knew the real reason I’d been in the alley that day with Alfie Doyle. I’d even lured Angel and Dominic into the setup, all so they could see me shoot Doyle point blank and kill him, although the scene had been rigged from the start. I didn’t remember much from that day, but Sofia had told me later that the plan had worked; my bullet had struck Doyle in the bulletproof vest just before Angel could kill him, breaking open the blood bag taped beneath his shirt and making it look like a kill shot. The only problem was, though, that Doyle’s friends Connor McTiernan and Tommy Quinn had been only a block away. They’d rushed the alley when they heard the shot, lighting our asses up, and one ricochet later, it was lights out for me.
I suspected Dante knew, but he’d never said a word about it to me. If any of the guys ever found out, I’d be a dead man.
What a mess.
“Hey. Is everything okay?” Sofia stood in the doorway, holding two cups of coffee. She offered one to me, but I shook my head. My stomach had been iffy lately and I didn’t want to push it.
"I've got to in.”
Her mouth tightened. "You're going to work after what happened to you last night?"
"Julian needs me."
Sofia's amber eyes narrowed. "You should be resting, not running around half of Boston on Julian's behalf. I'm sure if he knew how bad things were with you, he never would have asked."
"You two are the ones who wanted me to come back in the first place. Besides, it's not that bad." Yet.
Sofia wasn't fazed. "You're still going to make an appointment with your doctor, right?"
"I said I would, just let me be," I snapped. A surge of irrational anger welled inside me, and I clenched my fists. I didn't want to scare her. Sofia didn't need to know that the smashed furniture and holes in my wall had been put there by me. It was better for both of us if she never found out how out of control I was most of the time.
I released a measured breath. "I need to get dressed."
I left her standing in the kitchen, got dressed, and left for Julian’s without another word. Somewhere along the way, my anger fizzled out, leaving me wallowing in self-loathing. I was an asshole, plain and simple. Sofia didn't deserve that. She deserved someone who could take care of her, and I wasn't that guy. Not anymore.
My head hurt by the time I got to Julian’s place. It was a stoic-looking three-level brownstone in a posh part of the North End, only a short walk from mine. Interior-wise it was what you’d expect from a guy with the personality of a rice cracker—bland, tasteful modern art, sleek furniture, and a whole lot of chrome. I was pretty sure Julian never noticed it much, anyway.
I popped a couple ibuprofen to take the edge off and made my way to Julian's office, but he wasn't there. Instead, Dante lounged in his chair, feet propped up on his desk.
“Julian’s going to kick your ass if he sees you like that,” I said.
“Bullshit he will. Julian talks a big talk, but he’ll never get his hands dirty. That’s why he needs us.”
“I see he told you about his big plan.” I lowered myself into the chair opposite the desk with a heavy sigh.
“And I told him he was a fucking idiot.”
“He’s going to get himself killed. Where is he, anyway?”
Dante was noisily rummaging through Julian’s desk drawers. “Not so much as a pint—how the hell does he live with himself? That’s his problem, right there. Oh, and I had to intercept our newest problem child on his way to the Compound. He was going to confront Sal despite what you said. I told him to take a cold shower and cool off. That little shit is persistent as fuck when he gets an idea in his head. It's admirable, really."
"You don't say." I leaned back in the chair. "What are you doing here? I thought you didn't want to get involved in this."
"I’ve been practically living at the Compound, Sal’s had me doing double-time putting out fires. I have a feeling I'm going to be pretty busy the next few months, shutting mouths and cleaning up after Dominic."
"Jesus." I ran my hand over my hair. "This is getting out of control."
"Tell me about it. Sal's old school. There's nothing that can't be solved with a bullet in the brainpan."
Old school was putting it lightly—Sal practically thought he was Don Corleone. Those tactics just didn't fit in with today's society. Julian preached restraint and smart thinking. Cohesiveness and fiscal responsibility, operating organized crime like a Fortune 500 company rather than a ragtag bunch of thugs. My friend's way was the future, but the older generation of bosses, including Sal, didn't see that. I had a feeling we were in for a rough few months.
Julian joined us a few minutes later, looking haggard but calmed down a bit at least. He sank into his chair, and the fact that he didn’t even mention Dante’s number twelves kicked up on his desk spoke to how preoccupied he was.
"Feel better? Good. You’ve got to stop this, Jules," Dante said, leaning back. "Sal's never going to listen to you."
Julian glared at him. "Thanks for the support."
"Anytime."
"I don’t care. This isn't how things are done." He snatched a newspaper off the desk and pointed to the headline. "Murders. Assaults. Theft and destruction of property. The people—our own people—are becoming afraid of us. It's only a matter of time before they turn to the cops and start working against us. We have to show them we're not a threat."
"It's not that easy," I said. "Sal's not going to budge. You know that. The only way this ends is if somebody puts a bullet in him and Dom."
Julian's head shot up, and he gave me his trademark 'Julian Russo Disapproves' frown. "More killing isn't going to solve anything."
From his perch behind the desk, Dante smirked. "I have a uniquely different opinion about that."
"Of course you do, you ghoul," Julian muttered. "Listen, guys. I can't do this alone. I need you both to have my back on this. We've got to go back to the drawing board, maybe drum up some support down at city hall. I've got a contact at the mayor's office who might help. I don't want this to turn into a war. No killing."
That last part was aimed at Dante. He lifted one shoulder. "Aww, just a little bit?"
"No."
"Maiming? How about maiming? Dominic has just the face for a good maiming."
"Dante."
"Yes, Dad." He dropped the grin. "Look, I know you don’t want to hear this, but there’s only so much I can do. I'm a hired gun. You want me to put the hurt on somebody, I will. But this politicking? Greasing babies and kissing palms—”
“Actually, it’s kissing babies and greasing palms,” I corrected.
“Whatever. Point is, I'm not cut out for that. I’m with you all the way, Jules, but I’m not sure how much help I can be other than holding your fool ass back before you get yourself shot."
Julian sat forward, earnest. “You don’t have to. I just need to know you’re in my corner.”
"I'll do what I can, but I'm not making any promises.” Dante sighed heavily. “All right, so what’s your master plan, then, brainiac?”
“All right. Hear me out…”
Four hours and a handful of aspirin later, I leaned back in the chair and rubbed my eyes. Julian’s agenda was ambitious, to be sure, but it relied upon a lot of interconnected spurs to get it up off the ground. And no, it was clear from the moment he started talking that Dante and I wouldn’t be able to do much in the way of back-room handshake deals other than maybe leaning on some people to gain leverage, but that wasn’t what he needed us for. Julian wanted us to put out feelers amongst the guys, to quietly see how many could be swayed to our side. How many of Giordano’s plants were willing to get shot over the company’s bottom line.
At least he’d agreed to hold off on confronting Sal…for now. I could tell Julian wasn’t happy to sit idle, but he agreed that making waves would go over a lot better if he gained a bit of leverage, first.
I checked my watch. My headache had gotten worse, and I just wanted to go home and sleep. If I was lucky, Sofia would still be there when I got home. I needed to apologize to her. Again.
Dante snagged my arm just as I was about to leave. He steered me towards his car.
"Are we going somewhere?" I asked.
"Drinks. You and me. You're buying."
I pulled my arm away from his. "I'm not really in the mood."
"Neither am I. There's just something I want to talk to you about, but not here. Come on."
The bar was packed, loud, and smokey. A group of college kids stood around a pool table, laughing and drinking while they played, the noise setting my teeth on edge. Dante and I found a small booth in the corner, and he ordered a gin for himself and a beer for me.
"What did you want to talk about?" I asked him.
He took a sip of his drink. "Julian."
"What about him?"
"His plan's never going to work. His heart's in the right place, but that's not going to get him very far if he's gunning for Sal, and I know you agree with me on this."
"He's doing the right thing, Dante," I said.
"And that has mattered since when? By the way, take a look in the mirror and look where 'doing the right thing' got you."
"Fuck you."
He held up his drink in a salute. "You know I'm right. Julian's never been one to get his hands dirty. That's where we come in. He's got the brains, and we've got—"
"A morally bankrupt conscious?"
"I knew there was a reason I kept you around," Dante grinned. "Look. Julian was born to lead. Sal's about fifty years too late, and Dominic's been overdue at the morgue for a while. We can do this for him."
It wasn't like I hadn't thought about it myself. How many things in this life would be so much simpler with a well-placed bullet.
Or a knife to the back, in Sal's case.
I wasn't squeamish. I had more than a lifetime's worth of blood on my hands. And Dante was right—Julian was born to lead. The fact that he didn't want to become king of the ash heap meant he was the right one for the job.
"It's going to take some planning," I said. We couldn't just waltz right in there and axe the both of them. It would take time to get people on Julian's side to support the takeover once the coup was completed.
"And Julian can't know about it," Dante added.
"Or Sofia."
Dante's mouth twisted. "Of course not. I don't want to get on your girlfriend's bad side."
"She's not my girlfriend."
"Sure. You keep telling yourself that, man. So, are we doing this?"
He held up his glass, and I clinked my beer against it. "Yeah. We're doing it."