15. Luca
15
LUCA
I trace my finger along the edge of my watch, studying Enzo across the dimly lit back room of Hell's Belles. Faint music from the main room of the bar vibrates through the walls.
"She's being well taken care of." He's leaned back in his chair, looking far too relaxed. I'm not sure why but I don't like it. "But if she goes missing, it'll be my head. I can't make any moves until you guarant-"
The door crashes open. Alfonso Figarello strides in, flanked by three Cappalletti soldiers. Their dark suits can't hide the bulges of shoulder holsters.
"What do we have here?" Alfonso's weathered face hardens as his gaze lands on Enzo.
Enzo's hand twitches toward his waistband. Amateur move. I remain perfectly still in my chair, only my thumb sliding across my grandfather's watch betraying any reaction to the charged atmosphere.
"Don Mantione's boy." Alfonso nods at me, voice clipped. "Interesting company you're keeping, Enzo."
"Just discussing my father's unfinished business." I keep my tone flat, emotionless. "He was negotiating Maria's release before his passing."
Enzo's shoulders relax a fraction. "Right. The Don approached me about mediating for the Cappallettis." His voice never betrays him, though. I can see why Enzo has been so important for so long. "Given my connections."
Alfonso's eyes narrow. The soldiers spread out, boxing Enzo in. The air crackles with potential violence.
"Connections." Alfonso spits the word. "Is that what we're calling betrayal these days?"
My gaze flicks between them, cataloging every micro-expression, every shift in stance. The only tell Enzo seems to have is the tattoos on his forearms rippling as his muscles tense.
"You've got it wrong." Enzo spreads his hands. "I'm just trying to help resolve this situation. For everyone's benefit."
I lean back, expressionless, watching the performance unfold. Whether Enzo's lying about helping with Maria doesn't matter. What matters is the growing divide between him and his family - a weakness I can exploit. It's so obvious now, and I know with a little more pushing, Alfonso will turn Enzo into the one thing he probably doesn't suspect - a traitor.
The corner of Alfonso's mouth twitches. "We'll discuss your helpful nature back at the house."
The heavy door closes behind Alfonso and his men, leaving Enzo and me alone in the stifling quiet. The muffled bass from the club thrums beneath our feet.
"That could have gone worse." I straighten my cuffs, studying the way Enzo's shoulders remain rigid with tension. It's clear that he has no trust in the men he should.
"Look, about Maria-" he starts.
I cut him off with a raised hand. "I know what you want, Enzo." I stand, adjusting my jacket. "The Cappallettis won't give you that. And I meant it when I said I was working on it."
His jaw tightens. The intricate tattoos on his forearms flex as he clenches his fists. "You need to work faster."
He's not wrong. There's only so much waiting the Cappalletti Don will do.
"I can make things happen for Maria." I tap my watch, the silver catching the dim light. "The right introductions. The right pressure points. All it takes is loyalty."
"And trust?" His gray eyes narrow.
"Nothing is more important than family, Enzo." I hold his gaze, letting the weight of my words sink in. "Loyalty and trust go both ways. The question is - are you family?"
The silence stretches between us. I can see the calculations running behind his eyes, weighing options, measuring risks. Finally, his shoulders drop a fraction.
"We'll be in touch." He nods once, sharp and decisive.
I watch him leave, already knowing the Cappallettis have no intention of negotiating for Maria. They're playing a longer game - using her as leverage against what remains of the Mantione family. Against me.
But I'm certain that I just have to push Enzo a little more, finish slotting everything I need into place, and then I'll have everyone right where I want them. My cousin back and a brand new capo with plenty to prove.
The sun is bright when I leave Hell's Belles and head downtown for my office. But when I get up there, Bas stands by my desk, a manila folder gripped in his hands. His usual stoic expression carries an edge of tension.
"The new crew's report." He places the folder in front of me as I settle into my chair. "There's been movement near their territory."
The photos spill across my desk. Cappalletti soldiers lingering outside familiar storefronts, their black SUVs circling the block like vultures. My thumb traces the edge of my watch as I recognize the sleek facade of Skye's boutique in the background. The crystal face digs into my skin as my grip tightens.
"They're testing the borders." Bas points to a timestamp. "Three drive-bys yesterday alone."
I spread the photos methodically, arranging them by location and time. Each one features Skye's block. My pulse quickens, but my expression remains carved from marble.
"Your orders?" Bas asks.
The sight of armed men so close to her store triggers something primitive in my chest. An unfamiliar sensation I quickly lock away. "Have the crew send a message." I tap one photo where a Cappalletti soldier stands too close to Skye's front window. "And put our best marksmen in one of the high rises with clear sightlines for a few days. Let's see how they react when we take some of their guys out."
"Consider it done." Bas gathers the photos, but I keep one - Skye visible through her store window, arranging a display. The sunlight catches her profile, illuminating the amber warmth of her eyes.
I slide the photo into my desk drawer. The territory isn't what needs protecting. She is. And I'll paint the streets red before I let anyone threaten what's mine.
"One more thing." I check my watch. "Get me everything on her security system. Building blueprints. Staff schedules. I want to know every possible entry point."
"For defense purposes?" Bas asks carefully.
"For now." I turn to the window, dismissing him. My reflection stares back, cold and controlled, while beneath my carefully constructed facade, something dark and possessive stirs.
I try to lose myself in my work, but it feels impossible. I can't stop thinking about her, checking my watch, and finally, I give in.
I pull up the security feed from Skye's store on my phone. She's closing up, those long graceful fingers flicking through receipts at the counter. The amber in her eyes catches the light as she glances up at a noise off-camera. My thumb traces my watch again. 6:17 PM.
I watch Skye move through her closing routine, each motion precise and graceful on the security feed. My jaw clenches as she approaches the front windows to lower the blinds. Too exposed. Anyone could have a clear shot.
The thought hits like ice in my veins. I grip my watch, the metal digging into my palm. Eight years old, trapped, watching helplessly as life drained from my mother's eyes. Never again.
Skye isn't mine. Not yet. But she will be.
I pull up the building schematics Bas delivered, studying entry points and camera blind spots. I want to put more people on her. Truthfully, I want her glued to my side and I don't know what to do with that feeling.
She'll fight it. I can already picture the flash in those amber eyes, that sharp tongue ready to cut. The thought pulls at something in my chest. She's the only person who dares challenge me, who looks at my carefully constructed control and laughs.
" You can't bubble wrap the world, Luca, " she'd said last week, those full lips curved in amusement when I suggested she close earlier.
But I can bubble wrap her. The pen snaps in my grip.
I lean back, studying the feed again. She's counting the register now, those delicate fingers moving with efficient grace. My pulse quickens watching her mouth move as she counts. Everything about her demands my attention - the subtle sway of her hips as she walks, the way her sleek black hair falls when she bends over paperwork, how her light brown skin glows under the store lights.
The need to possess, to control, to protect rises like a tide. I haven't felt this much since - my thumb traces the watch face - since before. Emotions are weakness. Vulnerability invites death. I learned that lesson in blood and screaming metal.
But watching Skye, something cracks in my careful walls. This want, this need - it doesn't feel like weakness. It feels like power. Like violence waiting to be unleashed on anyone who would dare touch her.
I'll find a way to make her see reason. Or I'll do what it takes until she does.