Chapter 8 #2
“Don’t.” One word from Luca—a threat as loud as thunder. Then he struck, knocking Tommy’s weapon free.
Pop. Pop.
Two blinding flashes.
A bloody hole appeared in Tommy’s palm. His gun pinged to the ground. So did his severed trigger finger, falling to the left of my feet.
He howled, pushing me forward, but Luca had us both. Tommy, while fisting his collar, and me, with his arm around my waist, where his grip bit into my skin. It was his chilling voice that warmed my heart.
“If you ever so much as look at Vivienne again, I’ll take your eyes. Touch her—” Fury radiated from him in a deep vibration. “Touch her, and I’ll start with your hands and work my way to each appendage. Capisce?”
“Jesus Christ.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Luca shoved him to the surging guards who hauled the sniveling Tommy and his bloody appendage into a waiting car.
All of this happened in broad daylight.
In Manhattan.
Witnessed by God and Father Zanetti, who always stood on the vestibule while his parishioners departed. But this was the Cosa Nostra—no one saw a thing, and if they did, they’d never say a word. Selective amnesia was common in the underworld.
“Vivienne?”
I blinked up to Luca’s eyes, midnight blue and burning like a hailstorm of comets.
“Il mio bel Salvatore.” My fingers rose to his scarred cheek. Heat flooded my veins and my mouth parted, but before I could thank him properly, Mama rushed in to grab me.
Dante pushed us into the back of an SUV.
Doors slammed.
Engines revved.
We sped off as Father straightened his cuffs. He stared a hole into my forehead, like a target was tattooed in the middle of my eyes for a bullet of his own. When he grew bored, he blinked to Mama.
“Simone, la mia colomba, call Francesca and make sure the food is hot when we arrive.”
“Gnocchi Alla Sorrentina. Magnifico.” My eyes swung to Dante holstering his gun beneath the pristine cut of his thousand-dollar suit, and then to my white heels—splattered in red.
?
MY FAMILY ATE through everything—all the damn things. A funeral—Osso buco with risotto alla Milanese. A birth—Ravioli. A wedding—Parmigiana. One of their own getting a finger lobbed off in a gun fight after church—all of the above.
They celebrated as if Tomasso didn’t lose his mind over Sofia, and the stories went on and on.
Tommy after his first hit, and how the cigarette shook in his lips like the gun in his hand.
The man of the hour laughed louder than anyone, cradling his bandaged limb.
Then he moaned a curse. They all laughed again, toasted Sambuca shots, and razzed him about learning how to shoot with his left hand.
When the laughter died down, they cast cautious glances at Luca, who stood sentry just outside the patio door.
My stomach rolled, and I joined the women in the kitchen.
Their Italian chatter was a relief, but not a cure for the antsy nerves crawling on my skin.
Today was a disaster. Sofia didn’t let me forget, sobbing and wailing, tossing used tissues with theatrics that could win an award.
She loved the attention. She also loved twisting the story, so it appeared the two men fought over her.
How could she choose?
She was up to something. I could practically see the wheels churning in her brain.
Without any reasonable way of stopping her, I just slumped onto a stool at the kitchen island, rolling my eyes.
Mama found them as they steadied on her face, and her hand fell on top of mine. “This is not your fault.”
“It is.”
We both glanced as Sofia inhaled a wet sniffle. Mama sighed. “Tommy’s been infatuated for years. He was bound to snap when she threw herself at another man.”
“But I started the argument. I just—couldn’t deal with her talking down to me again. Especially—”
“That she did in front of Luca.”
My vision snapped to hers. “Mama.”
“What? I’ve seen how you look at him from the very first moment at the ceremony.”
“Was I that obvious?”
“To those of us who know you, yes.”
Warmth rushed my cheeks; venom stung my heart. “Father?”
A moment passed, a new dish came from the oven to oohs and aahs, and then there was a rush to serve the men. Mama let the excitement pass, before she answered when the kitchen fell back into a natural rhythm.
“Luca Mancini is a prize to his business, Vivienne. He won’t allow him to become distracted by—”
“Two silly females fighting over his attention.”
“Yes, that. He’s already lost Tommy to the nonsense, but if Luca was your choice, it could cement his place with the family. There is that angle to play.”
He a pawn and I a workhorse.
“The business always comes first.” I shook my head. “I can’t do that to Luca, not unless I’m his choice. I won’t force him, and I’d never ask Father to do it for me.”
I wanted the fairytale in a world familiar with tragic endings. Love didn’t exist in the dark. Murder and infidelity, yes. Devotion? I’d never seen it happen. But I’d also never been afraid to wish for the impossible—vows built from genuine feelings, not words in a marriage contract.
“Well then, I guess the biggest question is whether Luca sees you as you do him?”
“I don’t know.”
She smiled, brushing her fingers over my cheek. “Then go find out.”
But I couldn’t. Not when the day weighed so heavily on my shoulders that I could barely stand straight.
After changing into my bathing suit, I snuck out of my suite and headed toward the water. The ocean soothed tension from my muscles, draining memories of guns, red splatter, and fairytales in a violent world. I fought through the surf until all I could think about was sleek lines and blue eyes.
An hour later, I floated to shore, allowing the tide to roll me in.
When I emerged wet and cold, the moon had passed the sun in the sky.
A wave of awareness crashed over my skin, pulling my gaze from the budding stars to Luca leaning against the house.
As I approached, the cricket’s melody joined my heart’s song and the hard beat pounding in my ears.
He watched me with a heavy, unreadable gaze, and for the first time in my life, the utilitarian suit I always wore felt like a string bikini, my breasts too big for the tiny triangles.
Water dripped down my cleavage, and he tracked the stream as it met my stomach, which was now very, very warm.
I wasn’t sure what to do. So I walked, and he watched, bringing a beer to his lips for a deep pull. It was half gone when I reached him.
“Off the clock?”
He nodded, and I took the bottle from his hand and sipped.
His vision stayed stuck on my lips meeting the glass.
Heat melted the blue, as if my mouth were wrapped around something else.
Something I imagined was long and thick, fat enough that I’d choke when I swallowed it down.
A flame lit between my thighs, where an ache forced a shaky breath from my lungs.
God almighty. I had to get a hold of myself, so I tried for a verbal answer to my question this time.
“Bad day, huh?”
Veins popped in his throat, now exposed from a loosened tie and freed buttons. Muscled forearms were on display, too, with his sleeves rolled to his elbows.
“How do you put up with her?”
“Sofia?” I smiled and returned his beer. “After a while, you’ll get used to her drama. She’s—”
“Selfish.”
“Misguided.”
“Completely fucking irresponsible. She could have gotten you killed,” he snapped.
I sighed, but it was the following inhale that made me lightheaded. Luca smelled like the sun, like fresh air and sweat and man, and my vision blurred while I shook my head clear. “She’s my cousin. What can I do?”
“Stay away from her.”
I blinked up, fascinated by his rude tone and the dark, hungry look—tinged with regret.
Luca did see me. He just didn’t want to.
The pledge he’d made to my father loomed over us, a heavy cloud threatening violence.
Without the capo’s blessing, nothing could happen.
If it did, we’d dance with the devil himself, but I liked this feeling too much to stop the tango.
“So you’re the boss of me now, is that it? Save a woman twice, and you get what you want?”
His lip twitched, but he wasn’t amused by my teasing, not at all if the jaw twinge had anything to do with his temperament. “Something like that, yeah.”
“Such a bully—”
He pushed from the wall, coming so close that the opened edges of his shirt grazed my breasts, furling my nipples into tight, tender balls.
My heart song sped up, thrumming so fast I couldn’t hear individual beats.
But he looked so cool, so big, and unaffected when I was on fire.
I tipped my head to keep eye contact. His body heat hit me, burning me into a new landscape and drawing me close, closer.
But only his breath ever touched me as he leaned in to press words below my ear.
“You haven’t heard half of what I want, Vivienne.”
The connection came when he slipped his beer into my hand. The bottle was almost empty and warming in the August weather, but I shivered when his fingers brushed mine in the transfer.
“Find something decent to wear when you swim. A dozen goons salivate after you while you flounce around in the water.”
Irritation pricked my skin, but so did pleasure. “Nobody pays attention to me.”
“I do.” He pulled away.
I looked up at him. Broad shoulders. Sleek lines. The hottest, wildest eyes I’d ever seen.
“Goodnight, Vivienne.”
He shoved his hands in his pants pockets and left, as if he hadn’t made me warm and wet and even more confused. Maybe he already cared for more than the Cosa Nostra?
I smiled, wide and silly and juvenile. But now I had a real plan to find out if his feelings matched my own.
The strategy came into play every evening around nine when I wore my old swimsuit, a size too small that wedged into my ass when I walked.
On most nights, Luca leaned against the house with a beer, watching me swim.
We exchanged looks and words, generally about what kept me busy.
Church. The mission. I thought about him while my hands danced over my naked skin.
That was my secret, though, one I might share with him when the time was right.
A week passed, and every day was better than the one before. Then he just disappeared.
But I wasn’t worried. I’d see him again, and when I did, I knew the exact recipe to gain his attention. And keep it.