19. Luca
19
LUCA
I scan the shipping manifests on my desk, tracking our legitimate business ventures while keeping mental notes of which containers hold our less legal merchandise. The numbers align perfectly - they always do under my management. Unlike my father's outdated methods, I've modernized our operations with precision that would make any Fortune 500 CEO envious.
A knock interrupts my concentration. Bas and Mickey enter my office, tension evident in their stances. I don't look up immediately, letting them wait. It's a power move I've perfected over years.
"Boss." Bas clears his throat. "We got word from our guys near The Block. Alfonso Figarello's been circling Skye's boutique. Three times today alone."
The paper crinkles between my fingers before I realize I'm crushing it. A cold sensation spreads through my chest - one I haven't felt since I was eight years old, watching the life drain from my mother's eyes while trapped in that mangled car.
Fear.
Raw, uncontrolled fear.
I don't fucking like guys near her, but Alfonso? I don't want her caught in his sights - especially after he got Enzo with me.
My men take an instinctive step back. I catch my reflection in the window - my usually impassive face has cracked, revealing something feral underneath.
"How long?" My voice comes out low, dangerous.
Mickey shifts his weight. "Started this morning. He's trying to be subtle, but..."
"But he's Cappalletti, and subtle isn't their strong suit." I smooth the wrinkled paper with deliberate care, each movement measured despite the chaos erupting inside me. "Who's watching her now?"
"Carmine's across the street. Ace is posing as a customer."
I rise from my desk, and both men tense further. They've seen me orchestrate violence without blinking, negotiate million-dollar deals without a single tell. But this - this visceral reaction to a potential threat against Skye - clearly unnerves them.
The last time I felt this unhinged was…
The memory hits without warning - metal groaning, glass shattering, my mother's blood turning the leather seats crimson. I grip the edge of my desk, forcing air into lungs that suddenly feel too tight. The watch on my wrist ticks, each second hammering against my skull.
"Bring her home. Now." My voice sounds foreign even to my own ears. "Clear the roads between here and the boutique. I want no surprises."
Bas nods sharply. "And the Cappallettis?"
"They're testing boundaries." I trace the watch face with my thumb, a habit I've never managed to break. "Giovanni's getting old. His sons are hungry. And they know-" Another flash: twisted metal, sirens wailing too far away to matter. I check the watch again. "They know I operate differently than my father."
Something I'll need to deal with.
The memories blur together - past and present, blood then and potential blood now. My carefully constructed control splinters. I've built my reputation on being untouchable, emotionless. But Skye...
My fingers find the watch again. 2:47. Still enough time before sunset makes the streets more dangerous.
A hand lands on my shoulder. I have my gun pressed to Bas's throat before conscious thought kicks in.
"Boss." He doesn't flinch, doesn't move. Smart man. "We'll get her here safe."
I lower the weapon slowly, cataloging my reaction for later analysis. This loss of control is unacceptable. "Go. Now. And Bas?" He pauses at the door. "Anyone gets within ten feet of her, put them down."
The door clicks shut. I check my watch again. 2:52. Time moves too slowly and too fast, like those endless hours trapped in the car. But this time I'm not helpless. This time I have power.
And the Cappallettis are about to learn exactly what that means.
But first, I need Sky away from them. While they go to collect her, I head for my car and rush home.
The minutes crawl by until I hear cars pull up outside. Security cameras show Bas escorting Skye through the gate, her graceful movements a stark contrast to his rigid vigilance.
My feet carry me to the foyer before I process moving. The door opens and she steps in, amber eyes widening at my presence. Before I can stop myself, I pull her against me, crushing her to my chest. Her surprised gasp hits my neck, sending electricity down my spine.
Reality crashes back. I start to step away, to reclaim the distance I maintain with everyone. But her fingers catch mine, holding me in place. The simple touch ignites something I thought died in that car twenty years ago.
"You're trembling," she whispers, thumb tracing my knuckles.
I am. The realization jolts through me. I never tremble. Never show weakness. Never feel.
But with her...
My free hand slides into her sleek black waves, tilting her face up. The gold flecks in her eyes catch the light, hypnotizing me. Her full lips part, and I'm lost.
I capture her mouth with mine, harder than our first kiss. I've thought about how she tasted on my lips, as she came on my tongue, nonstop for two days, but the memory doesn't hold up. She tastes like expensive coffee and danger - a combination that shorts out my carefully wired brain.
Her fingers release mine to grip my shirt, pulling me closer. I back her against the wall, caging her with my body. She makes a small sound that rips through twenty years of emotional armor.
"Luca." My name on her lips sounds like salvation and damnation wrapped together.
I break the kiss, studying her face. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, perfect brown skin glistening as her skin heats. But there's no fear in those sharp eyes. Only challenge. Understanding.
The watch ticks against my wrist, grounding me. I press my forehead to hers, fighting for control while she dismantles it with each breath.
"I thought-" The words catch. I never admit weakness. Never show concern. But she waits, patient despite her nature. "When they said Alfonso was circling your store..."
Her hand comes up, fingers tracing the scar above my eyebrow. "I'm right here."
Three words shouldn't undo me. But they do.
Her touch grounds me even as memories of orchestrating that false threat weeks ago surface. I'd calculated every variable then - positioned my man perfectly, timed his approach, arranged the "rescue" to demonstrate the neighborhood's dangers. A clean operation that gave me exactly what I wanted: Skye, here, under my protection.
But this... Alfonso's presence changes everything. The Cappallettis don't make moves without purpose. They're testing me, yes, but they're also sending a message. They've identified my weakness.
I drag my thumb across Skye's bottom lip, watching her pupils dilate. "The boutique isn't safe anymore."
"Because of Alfonso?" She tilts her head, those amber eyes too perceptive. "Or because of you?"
Both. The answer hits like a physical blow. I orchestrated that first threat to manipulate her closer, convinced I could study this fascination until it faded. Instead, she's burrowed under my skin, making me feel things I've spent twenty years burying.
"You're thinking too loud." Her fingers trace down my chest, following the path of hidden scars beneath my shirt. "Talk to me."
I catch her wrist, but can't make myself push her away. "I don't talk."
"No." A smile plays at her lips. "You calculate. Analyze. Control." She rises on her toes, breath ghosting across my jaw. "But you can't control this, can you? You know I'm not giving up my store."
The truth of her words slices through me. I've built my empire on absolute control, on being three steps ahead of everyone else. But with Skye...
My grip tightens on her wrist. "You make me want things I shouldn't."
"Good." She presses closer, fearless despite knowing exactly what I am. "Maybe it's time you learned to want."
The watch ticks against my pulse point, a reminder of everything I lost by caring. Everything I could lose again. But as Skye's free hand slides into my hair, I realize it's already too late. She's not just a fascination to study or a puzzle to solve.
She's everything.
And that makes her infinitely more dangerous than any threat the Cappallettis could pose.
I study the man strapped to the metal chair in my basement, blood already dripping from his split lip. The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across his terrified face. My footsteps echo as I circle him, each measured step increasing his fear.
I couldn't catch Alfonso. But I could catch his little friend and driver. I can send a message by taking down every guy they send near her.
"You were watching Ms. Calloway's boutique today." Not a question. A statement of fact.
He swallows hard. "Just following orders, Don Mantione."
"From whom?" My voice remains steady, cold. The same tone I use discussing business over espresso. I know the answer, but I like to make them admit it.
His eyes dart to Bas, then back to me. Sweat beads on his forehead. "I can't-"
The crack of his finger breaking cuts off his protest. I don't recall moving to snap it, but his scream echoes off concrete walls. Fascinating how muscle memory takes over in these situations.
"Let's try again." I adjust my watch, ensuring no blood mars its surface. "Who sent you?"
"Please..." Another finger snaps. His howl pierces the air. "Figarello! It was Alfonso Figarello!"
I pause behind him, placing my hands on his shoulders. He flinches. "And what were his exact instructions?"
"Just... just to watch her. Track her movements. Report back who she talks to, when she's alone."
Ice spreads through my veins. My fingers dig into his shoulders until he whimpers. "You were planning to grab her."
"No! We wouldn't-"
The lie dies as I slam his head forward. Blood sprays from his nose across the concrete floor. "Don't insult my intelligence."
How odd. I never react like that.
Mickey hands me my favorite knife - platinum handle, perfectly balanced. The blade catches the light as I bring it to the man's throat.
"The Cappallettis need to understand something." I press just hard enough to draw blood. "Anyone who threatens what's mine will beg for death long before I grant it."
His screams echo through the basement for hours. By the time I'm finished, what remains barely resembles human. The message will be clear - I may run legitimate businesses, may appear civilized, but I'm still my father's son.
I check my watch. 3 AM. Time to send Alfonso his gift.
"Clean this up," I tell Bas. "Make sure he's displayed somewhere the Cappallettis will find him. I want no doubt about what happens when they cross this line."
I climb the basement steps, leaving bloody footprints in my wake. The metallic scent clings to my clothes, my skin, my hair. Tonight's work was... necessary. A message had to be sent. The Cappallettis need to learn that I'm not my father - I'm worse.
The house is quiet as I climb to the main floor. A lamp burns in the living room, casting long shadows across hardwood. Skye sits in my leather armchair, dressed in those silk pajamas that I can't get enough of. Her eyes track my movements as I approach, taking in the crimson stains on my white shirt.
She rises without a word, disappearing into the bathroom. Water runs. She returns with a warm washcloth and first aid kit, gesturing for me to sit.
I catch her wrist before she can touch me. "You don't have to do this."
"I know." Her voice stays steady but I catch the slight tremor in her fingers as she pulls free.
The washcloth glides across my knuckles, revealing split skin beneath dried blood. Her touch is gentle, methodical. Clinical. Like she's detaching herself from what this blood means, what I've done.
"You're shaking." I capture her chin, forcing her gaze to mine.
"Am I?" A ghost of her usual sharp wit, but her eyes give her away. They always do.
"If you're afraid-"
"Not of you." She dabs antiseptic on my knuckles, making me hiss. "Of what you make me feel. I should be running. Any sane person would."
"Then run."
Her fingers still against my skin. "Is that what you want?"
No. The answer burns in my chest, foreign and unwelcome. I want her safe. Protected. Mine. Even if my darkness threatens to consume her light.
"I'm not good for you." The words scrape my throat.
She laughs, soft and dangerous. "I never wanted good." Her lips brush my cleaned knuckles. "I wanted real. I wanted to feel something that I knew no one could ever break. And when it comes to me, Luca, I'm learning there are no lengths you won't go to."
The gesture undoes me. I pull her into my lap, uncaring of the blood still staining my clothes. Her hands frame my face as she studies me with those perceptive amber eyes.
"Your darkness doesn't scare me, Luca." Her thumb traces my jaw. "Maybe that should scare you."
It does. More than she knows.