15. Luca
As soon as I step into my father’s office the morning after our return from the Hamptons, I know what I’m in for. He sounded pissed when he called my cell maybe five minutes after dawn, not that I was asleep. It was a long night spent staring at the ceiling and questioning myself, briefly punctuated by a few light naps.
It was obvious Emilia’s attitude changed last night. We fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms two nights ago, with the sound of the ocean filling the air. Last night, she couldn’t have gotten farther from me without falling off the bed. I spent hours on a king-size bed that felt a lot more like an island inhabited by myself alone.
In the end, I decided she’ll get over it. She has to eventually see I’m interested in nothing more than keeping her safe. I won’t leave her vulnerable again. If it means slapping some kid around, so be it. I’d much rather that than see her suffer again. No sacrifice is too great. Not for my love.
This mantra runs through my head on repeat as I consider getting coffee from the kitchen but head straight for his office instead. It wouldn’t be a smart move to keep him waiting longer than I have, and I’d rather get this over with before my brother decides to come in and throw his unwanted opinions around.
Papa is sipping espresso from a small cup, standing by the window, and when he turns my way, his expression is neutral enough that I know I’m in for it. When he is beyond pissed, he goes quiet while other men might explode. The quieter he gets, the deeper his anger.
“Let’s get down to it,” I suggest, stopping in front of his desk and squaring my shoulders in preparation for what’s bound to happen. “I figured one of the guys would report to you like the good little soldiers they are.”
His slight scowl is the only sign he hears me as he lowers his cup to a matching saucer and sets both on the desk. “It’s their job to report back to me. I know you believe they’re your personal protection squad?—”
“I don’t,” I interrupt, my hackles rising the way they always do when he gets this condescending tone with me. “As for last night, I did what I had to do.”
His brows lift over widening eyes. “You smashed a kid’s face in because it was what you had to do?” he asks in that deceptively controlled voice that tells me he’s more pissed than ever. “You drew attention to us because it’s what you had to do? Am I hearing you correctly?”
My molars grind as I take a slow breath. The last thing I need is to have Dante stroll in here to find us fighting. “I can’t make you understand, can I?” I ask in a low voice, intended to cover up my irritation.
His sudden laughter doesn’t make things better. “I understand perfectly,” he tells me, spreading his arms wide before laughing again. “What, you think you’re the only man who’s ever worried about the people he loves? Do you think this is anything new? Like I haven’t looked over my shoulder since the day I met your mother? Then, with each of you kids, my worries grew. There isn’t a man in our position who doesn’t know that dread. He lives with it like a tumor that can’t be removed.”
He lowers his brow and points a finger at me, his voice close to a growl. “He does not beat the shit out of a random kid who was working as a fucking busboy in a restaurant, and he sure as hell doesn’t do it in public!”
It wasn’t exactly in public. There were no witnesses, but I’m not going to bother arguing. “I did what I thought I had to do,” I amend without moving or raising my voice, letting him see how serious I am and what this means to me.
At first, his only response is a soft sigh. “That’s all any man can do,” he agrees. “Which is why I want this war over.”
His sudden shift is almost enough to make me scratch my head. “We would all like it to end,” I agree. “As soon as we track down Alessandro?—”
He waves a hand, cutting off my pointless reminder of where we are when it comes to the Vitali family. “I don’t mean that. This eye for an eye shit? It doesn’t settle anything. There’s always gonna be somebody who wants to even up the score no matter what kind of truce is called. I wanted it over for good. Giorgio Vitali is still alive. He’s still head of the family, no matter what that hotheaded kid of his thinks.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “You’re going to try to strike a truce?” I ask, almost afraid to put it into words. I want fucking blood, not a bunch of empty promises.
“If possible. Listen, Luca,” he growls out when I open my mouth to argue. Now I see he’s trembling with an intensity that leaks into every word. “One day, you’ll understand. You’ll be my age, and you’ll be talking to your son. He’ll look at you like he knows everything, he’s seen it all and done it all, and you’ll want to laugh at him because you’ll know how wrong he is.”
The flash of anger fades, replaced by what looks like sadness that hangs heavy in his voice as he slowly walks toward the leather sofa, gesturing for me to join him after he’s taken a seat. “War is a young man’s game,” he quietly observes once I’ve sat with him.
He sighs deeply, staring toward a cluster of family photos dotting the bookcase across from us. It has the effect of releasing the air from the balloon. His face sags. Suddenly, I’m reminded of how worried I’ve been for him. It’s almost like he’s taken off a mask and is showing me his true self.
He offers a gentle, knowing smile when he meets my gaze again. “Don’t tell me you want to spend the rest of your life worrying and looking for enemies everywhere you go.”
“Of course, that’s not what I want. I also don’t want to back down now?—”
“It’s not backing down. We don’t back down.” His flash of irritation is like a sudden bolt of lightning flaring up out of nowhere. “It’s doing the right thing for the future. For the people coming after us. This can’t go on forever.”
“I agree, but?—”
He’s not interested in letting me finish a damn word as he cuts me off. “I am still the head of this family,” he reminds me. “If I say I want this over, that’s how it’s going to be.”
It chaps my ass to ask this, except I have to. “Does Dante know?”
“Know about what?” he counters with a smirk. “That we’re having a conversation, you and me? That’s all this is,” he adds, though I have to wonder if there’s more to it when his smirk doesn’t fade. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. I don’t want you walking around worrying about your old man. One day, you’ll understand what it’s like.”
I don’t understand a damn thing since he isn’t making any sense. “I thought you were calling me in here to give me hell,” I admit, still wary.
“That was the idea, but I know it would be a waste of time. You’re going to do whatever the hell you want when it comes to her.” I can’t tell if he’s resentful or if he admires me for it.
“Tell me the truth,” I urge. “Would you do any different if you were in my shoes, trying to protect Mama?”
The hardening of his expression is the same as a wall lowering between us. “I would’ve done a lot of things differently, but then you know that already.” Dante’s entrance marks the end of our conversation, leaving me to spend our usual morning meetings wondering what the hell that was supposed to mean.
Not that I need to wonder. I remember too well Papa’s determination to get Emilia out of the way once and for all. I wish he’d keep that shit to himself, is all. I thought he’d changed his mind about us. I thought he saw my side of things.
It’s still weighing on my mind when I take a break, heading down to my house to ask Emilia if she’ll have lunch with us today. If not, I’m sure Guilia would be happy to come down and hang out with her. She shouldn’t spend so much time alone. She needs to feel like she’s a part of the family. One of us.
Immediately on stepping over the threshold, it’s clear something is off. The photos and books that came from Emilia’s apartment are absent from the living room. She’s moving around in the bedroom, opening and closing drawers one after another.
I know what’s happening, but that doesn’t mean I want to accept it as I slowly walk across the room, closing in on the bedroom and the woman currently packing like her life depends on it. The door is open far enough for me to slip through without making a sound. She’s working with her back to me, cramming items into a suitcase seemingly at random.
A shockwave rolls through me, strong enough to rock me back on my heels. So this is how it feels to live through a bomb blast. For one fleeting second, I wonder if I want to live through it because I know what I’m witnessing. Rolling my shoulders back and stiffening my spine, I ask, “What the hell are you doing?”
She jumps and spins in place, wearing a stricken expression like she’s afraid she’s made her last mistake. Her frozen shock lasts for a second before she gets a hold of herself again. “You’re not usually back this early,” she observes, her voice breathy, a handful of bras clutched against her chest.
Of all the things she could’ve said, that might be the worst. “What are you doing, Emilia?” I grit out again because the reality is if she leaves me again, I’m already dead.
She casts a look over the bed, where her bags are lying open, then looks down at the boxes stacked near her feet. “I’m leaving.” When I can only stare at her, she adds, “This is what I need to do.”
What she needs to do.I let out an exasperated huff. She needs to shatter my life? She needs to pack her bags while I’m out of the house like she’s sneaking off in fear? “No, it’s not,” I insist. “You need to stay here with me. Where do you think you’re going?” I can’t believe this is happening.
“To my apartment, where I belong. I know…” she sighs when I protest, “… I know you don’t want me to go. I know you think I’m safer here.”
“You are!” Her head snaps back at the volume of my voice, but I’ll be damned if I tiptoe around to spare her feelings. I may have fucked up, but this… no, she can’t leave me. “You’re safer here, where I can watch you. What is it going to take to get that through your skull?”
I could’ve gone the rest of my life without hearing her derisive laughter. “According to whom? You?” She shoves the bras into the closest bag, then grabs a handful of socks from one of the drawers and adds them without looking, like she’s fleeing in panic.
From me.
I’m the one who loves her, and she’s fleeing from me.
“Yes, according to me,” I snarl out, marching around the bed, taking the bag by its handle and pulling it to me. “You’re not going anywhere,” I insist, my tone strained with affection, though I can”t shake the feeling of her slipping away.
“Listen to yourself.” She shakes her head before taking hold of the bag and yanking it back. “You sound like the textbook example of an abuser when you talk that way. I’m not your prisoner.” So this is the game we’re playing, where she pulls a superior act like she’s better than me.
The last drawer is empty. I slam it, taking her by the arms and turning her to look at me. I hate what I see etched across her face. The distrust. The dread.
“Let go of me,” she murmurs, and it’s somehow worse than anything she could scream. Flat, toneless, like she’s talking to a stranger. The last thing I want is to cause her pain.
Somewhere during the night, she pulled away from me.
She shut down.
And my world is shaken.
“How can you do this when we were so happy yesterday?” I ask, searching for something hidden in her eyes. It has to be there. I refuse to believe otherwise.
That’s what makes her chin quiver and reveals what’s going on inside her. She can’t turn her feelings on and off. “But then last night happened,” she whispers. Her jaw tightens, and her eyes go hard rather than welling up the way I expected. “You reminded me of who you are.”
My fingers press into her flesh until she winces, but it’s not enough to make me lay off. If I loosen my grip, I’ll lose her. “I did that for you.” I’m practically pleading with her now.
“Oh, please. Don’t do me any favors.” With a grunt of determination, she pulls herself free and turns her back to me. “This is what I need to do. If you love me, you’ll let me do it.”
I step up behind her, barely able to breathe. This cannot happen. But it is. “I could tie you to the bed right now and make sure you never leave,” I murmur, tracing her waist with both hands, running them up and down before pulling her ass against my crotch. “You know I could,” I add, knowing our attraction is the final thing left in my arsenal to keep her with me.
“And I know you won’t.” For once, she doesn’t succumb to me. My heart goes cold and still as she zips up the duffel bag, then a small, wheeled suitcase.
This can’t be happening. “Don’t leave me, Emilia,” I growl out. I hear the desperation in my voice, but what the hell? She knows what she’s doing. What’s the point of keeping my pride when the only person I give a damn about is ready to walk out of my life?
“I have to go. I knew you wouldn’t understand. That’s why I wanted to leave before you came back. I can’t stay here,” she insists, and now her voice is shaking. She’s losing strength. She doesn’t want this, I know it. I feel it in the depths of my cold, heartless soul.
A flash of hope brings inspiration with it. “Then stay up at the house,” I suggest, still speaking to the back of her head. “There’s an empty room across from Guilia’s or any of the other guestrooms. It doesn’t matter which.”
“You don’t get it.” Her head hangs low before she sighs, but her body is rigid. She’s not about to give in to me. “I don’t want to be with you.”
The words take my breath away, but the way she delivers them slams into me like a wrecking ball. “You’re lying,” I snarl out as I spin her in place and lock an arm around her back, crushing her against me. “That’s a fucking lie. At least have the balls to tell me the truth!”
“That is the truth,” she states, her blue eyes piercing mine. Is that pity I hear? Somehow, it only makes things worse. “After what I saw, I don’t want to be with you. I know what you thought you were doing, and I know you’re going to use that excuse for the rest of your life. You hurt somebody? Killed them? Well, you were only doing what you thought you had to do to protect somebody you love.”
“That’s who I am.”
Her brows draw together before she whispers, “Exactly.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t want me.” This is pathetic, beneath me, but I would do anything so long as she stays. I would lie on this floor and let her walk on me or use me as a punching bag, I don’t care. I am not losing her again, especially not over something like this.
There’s no denying that the light has left her eyes. All of the warmth, affection, and playfulness I saw in her days ago is gone. I extinguished that light because I thought she might be in danger.
“I won’t act without thinking again,” I vow, as close to blind panic as I’ve been since the night she was abducted. With my heart pounding and my stomach twisting, adrenaline is racing through my system and demanding I fight.
“You say that now because you would say anything to make me stay. It’s not going to work. I am sorry,” she insists, and her voice trembles again. “But I can’t forget what I saw. I tried. I told myself to. I can’t do it.”
This isn’t possible. I can’t let it happen. I refuse. “Even though I did it because I thought I was protecting you?” I ask in disbelief.
“Even then.” There’s sadness in her voice, but she’s firm. “I need you to let me go so I can finish. This is going to happen whether you want it to or not. I could make a phone call and have the police here in a heartbeat, along with my parents, my father’s lawyer friends, and the local news. I don’t want to do that.” She holds my stare when she adds, “Don’t make me do it, Luca.”
“I love you, Emilia.” It’s the only truth I have to cling to as she backs away from me, pulling her bags from the bed while I feel like I’ve been through a hurricane. In a way, I have. My life has been flattened in the process, ripped to shreds. And I have no reason to rebuild.
“I know you do.” Now a tear rolls down her cheek, which she quickly, almost angrily wipes away. “And that doesn’t make this easier for me.”
Her choice of words sets off a firestorm in my head. “What a fucking shame this can’t be easy for you,” I snap before picking up one of her boxes. “Let me help you. I’m sure you’re in a hurry.”
The pity in her eyes does something dangerous to me. I can’t be around her while my heart shatters to oblivion. “Take your bags outside,” I growl out. “Put on your coat, get your purse. You’re not stepping back into this house once you’re out the door. I’ll bring out the rest and have Vinny load up the car.”
She hesitates for a split second before lowering her head and continuing through the house, stopping by the door for her coat. I step past her, dropping the box on the porch before whistling for Vinny. “Get the car!” I call out. “You’re going to Brooklyn!”
Emilia groans softly from inside. “Luca, please…” I ignore her bullshit whispers, returning to the bedroom for the other boxes, laser-focused on getting through this. Living from one breath or heartbeat to the next is the most I can manage.
Stop her.The command rings out in my head like a gong, reverberating through me, but I know it’s no use. I’ve already debased myself enough for her, and why? For what? For her to pity me?
Still, something holds me in place instead of letting me go straight to the porch with the other two boxes. I wait, watching as she looks around one final time before going out with her bags and closing the door behind her.
The click of the knob is all it takes to get me moving. I open the bottom drawer of my dresser, where the letters I’ve written her have sat unread all these weeks. She might not want to see me, but I need her to know we were always real and that I’ve loved her as much and as hard as I could.
After shoving them into a shoebox, I close the cardboard flaps and pick both boxes up. Outside, I find her talking with Vinny as he loads up the trunk. “Get her home as soon as possible, then stick around outside until I call you,” I mutter, handing him the boxes without looking her way. I don’t dare. I might do something terrible if I look at her.
Or something terribly humiliating, like begging her not to take away my reason for living. Instead, I watch from the front window as the car rolls away.
She walked out of my life without bothering to give me another chance. And with it, any love my black heart might have felt.