Chapter 10 #2
“Vivienne,” he said, breathing out, then turning his head when a twig snapped in the distance.
Conversation broke into our peaceful interlude, and he pushed away, separating us by three feet.
A cold wind swirled, and I shuddered for an altogether different reason when Eddy rounded the corner. Then Damian.
His expression was hard, and his lip curled. But it was his words that truly turned summer into the chilling bitterness of a barren fall. “The king has a job, Mancini. A job only you can fulfill.”
I squeezed my eyes closed and shook my head. No. No, he couldn’t do it. Not Luca. “Please,” I begged like I had moments ago, even more desperate.
But it was Damian’s voice that ruled the night. “Remember who you are.”
In the moment following the reminder, everything changed. Everything. Luca nodded, and Damian waited with a heavy brow and damning eyes, as though he knew I exploded under a patient and intense stare, and nothing else. As if we were a mistake, and he was sick of having to verbalize the reminder.
My heart song slowed to a low thump. Heat rushed over my skin as I averted my gaze to Luca, who turned to face me—but it wasn’t him. Not really. No flames. No fiery comet. No eclipse. Just remorse.
With our audience watching, he swallowed and breathed, his chest rising and his nostrils flaring. “Ask me again.”
I stood, shoulders back, chin lifted, stepping forward until I was close, closer. “Why won’t you touch me?”
He leaned down to find my ear, his lips brushing against my skin. “Because if I touch you, uccello, really fucking touch you, I’ll never stop. I’d never fucking stop, and you’d hate me when this is all over.”
I shook my head. “But what if I won’t?”
“Then you’ll be broken, and that will break me too.”
“Is it my father? If it is, we can talk to him. I’ll talk to him. Don’t—”
The words “do this” died on my lips when he pulled back. His eyes found mine—a spark of connection—and then they died, leaving the night cold and me lonely even before he left.
“Goodbye, Vivienne.”
I hated those words. I hated this house and everything it stood for. I wrapped myself in my arms, hating more than anything the finality in his tone.
?
LUCA DISAPPEARED. DAY after day, I swam and waited for the wave of awareness to wash over me, for the goosebumps sprouting on my skin.
Each night I went to bed disappointed and frustrated all over again, leaving me a lot of time to think.
About him. About my father and what he’d do to us if he knew how his prized guard goaded me into an orgasm with nothing but his dirty words and my imagination.
Luca and I. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. What were we thinking? Without the king’s blessing, we flirted with that dangerous line again. Crossed it. Smashed it. And drew a new one that allowed for an unhealthy obsession to take root. Continuing on this path was a death wish.
I needed to talk to him. To understand what this was.
When we were together, sparks flew. Apart?
A low simmer rolled in my stomach, waiting to boil over from his heated stare.
It had to be something. And if we could just talk, I was sure we’d come up with a strategy to approach Vigo for his blessing.
To have the opportunity to explore whatever this was.
I hated his goodbyes. I wouldn’t accept the last one, though it sounded so final.
An ending to something that barely began.
That thought consumed me, so I spent my time walking, stalking, and wishing for his return.
By the start of a new week, I was out of mind with worry.
What if he was injured? Or in a ditch or a shallow grave?
Now I hated my imagination, and I did anything I could to get out of my head. This included waiting in the garage, sitting on the trunk of Dante’s prized ’67 Camaro, so engrossed in thought I didn’t hear him return from his run.
“I love you, sorella, but there’s a limit to my affection.”
Chin propped on my hand, I glanced at the light dancing in Dante’s eyes, blinking back to the silent and empty driveway. “Why am I not surprised the car is more important than me?”
A heartbeat passed, and the weight of his stare was heavy and critical on my cheek. “Jesus. Who shit in your Froot Loops this morning?”
“I don’t like Froot Loops.”
“Sorry, Raisin Fucking Bran. What the hell, Viv, someone die or something?”
I sat up straight, hair pricking on my nape. “I don’t know. Did they?”
His gaze narrowed, muscles tightening in his neck. “Who are we talkin’ about?”
“No one.” I slumped, sliding from his car with a squeak as my thighs stuck to his high shine, wax finish. I gave him credit for not cringing. “Do jobs always take this long?”
He sighed, shaking his head. “You’re playing with fire, Vivienne.”
“Maybe I like the heat,” I snapped, then ground the heels of my hands into my eyes until the pain centered my swirling thoughts. “I’m sorry.”
The soft tread of sneakers on cement told me he approached, his fingers gently digging into my tense shoulders showed he cared. “Is it serious?”
I shrugged.
“It’s been less than a month,” he grumbled.
“Feels like a year.”
“Sounds like it’s time to have a conversation.”
I dropped my hands. “How’s that supposed to go?
Hey, Papà. Oh, but wait, I’m forbidden to call him that because it’s too familiar, and I’m just a speck of dirt on his shoe.
Let me try again—Father, I know you hate me, but I found my knight in shining armor, who happens to be Luca, your famed assassin. Isn’t that great?”
“He doesn’t hate—”
“Don’t lie to me. Everyone in the state of New York knows there’s no love lost between father and daughter, and I’m alright with that. I just—Dante, I need this…”
“To go well.”
“Yes.”
“Because Mancini means somethin’ to you.”
“Something like that.”
“Okay.”
“Okay, what?”
He pulled me in, rubbing my face all over his sweaty chest, his t-shirt clinging to my skin, until I laughed and pushed him away.
“Okay, I’ll figure something out. That’s what.”
I brushed the hair from my eyes. “Really?”
“No guarantees, but give me some time, and we’ll see what I can do.”
I threw myself at him, sweat and all. This time, he picked me up. My feet dangled, swinging like a pendulum, and I smiled for the first time in what felt like ages. And just like that, heaven opened up, shining down in beams of lights and rolling in with the crush of tires.
Dante released me before the vehicles stopped in the circular drive. Both familiar. A Range Rover with two hulking guards filling the seats. The other with Zia and Zio, Sofia in tow. All of them exited at the same time, but I only cared about one man.
Sleek frame. Broad shoulders. Blue eyes dark and unreadable, so I couldn’t gauge his mood.
Exhausted, I supposed. Not interested in dealing with a woman waiting for a talk.
I didn’t want to be that kind of girl anyway.
And even though my heart thumped its happy tune, I twisted my hands in front of my stomach, waiting and watching, taking him and the scene in. The very tense scene.
Zio grumbled, flicked his wrist, and Sofia skittered to catch up. Zia beamed like the sun, nose in the air, the latest Louis Vuitton strung from her elbow while she walked through the front door. Luca adjusted his sleeves, shook out his shoulders, and followed—Damian on his tail as always.
“What the fuck?” Dante scratched through the scruff on his chin.
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Go, then.” His hand found my lower back as a guide. “Let’s see what this is about.”
We found them in the library. Vigo was there, Mama too. But she was pale, and her brow tugged low when I entered. She turned quickly, plopping ice in glasses. Pouring drinks.
Luca stood, braced with his feet apart, and hands clenched by his sides. His gaze was just as vacant as when he left me shaking in the grass for his “job”.
Something was wrong.
Something was different.
Energy surged through my limbs, urging me to go to him, to soothe and ease whatever ate at his soul. Zio’s tone froze me in place.
“We have a problem, Vigo.”
My father sat and crossed his legs, ankle to knee.
He accepted Mama’s drink and sipped while she passed out the remaining tumblers to our guests.
I think he knew his patience had fried Zio’s nerves, but he stretched the silence to goad him, poking at his lack of authority.
Second-son meant he was nothing other than what his big brother allowed him to be in Cosa Nostra.
And the one thing Father never let him be—in charge of any situation.
Finally, Mama joined him, and the king gave a small nod. “And what is this problem, fratello?”
“Your man, here, Mancini, he touched my Sofia. Touched her in a way that means we need to sign a contract.”
“What?” I cried and all heads but one turned toward me. No. My knees trembled, and Dante’s hand on my lower back held me upright.
“Do you have something to say, Vivienne?” Vigo asked.
He had such cold eyes. I didn’t know why my father despised me, but his hatred was never as apparent as this moment when he smeared my pain into my open wound with the joy tugging his lips into a grin.
He never smiled. But he knew. He knew I wanted Luca for myself and that my one chance of happiness was crumbling around me. My pain brought about his pleasure.
I squared my shoulders and pointed at Sofia. “She’s lying.”
Zia shot to her feet. Mama’s arms spread to stop me and ease the tension with the family.
“How dare your daughter.”
“Beatrice, calm down,” Mama insisted.
“I won’t. I will not. First, this man shoots Tomasso.
His finger. Have you seen his finger? Oye, mio caro signore in cielo prega per lui.
It’s gone, Simone. Blasted away to nothing, and now this same man touches my girl.
” She pressed the back of her hand against her forehead, falling into her chair.
“And then she’s called a liar. Mio Dio. What has gotten into you, Vivienne? ”
I rolled my eyes, and they landed on Sofia and her smug grin and pink cheeks. Desperation vibrated through my chest, forcing out a scathing rebuttal to my cousin. “This isn’t funny.”
She shimmied in her chair and crossed her legs.
Long legs in shorts that barely covered her voluptuous ass, and if I didn’t know Luca, I’d believe he had touched her.
Because men wanted a woman like her. They didn’t want a girl like me.
But I remembered his voice and his eyes, and how they burned like wild flames while looking at me. While seeing me.
There was something between us. I knew there was, so I went to him, tripping on my first step forward.
“Sorella, don’t.”
I pushed Dante away, and I went to Luca. I went to him, staggering, but I found my way, and I begged with my eyes. I begged him to see me now. Look at me. But he didn’t. He didn’t do anything but clench his jaw.
“Please, tell them.” I swallowed when his vision remained fixed on nothing.
Empty like the night we first met and when he said his goodbye, not the night under the stars that felt like a dream but was the best day of my life.
“Tell them, mio salvatore. Tell them that I mean something to you.” I whispered just for him, and then louder for the room. “Give them the truth.”
Muscles flexed in his neck, and his silence spoke volumes to our audience. My heart thumped, skipped, and couldn’t find its track. “Luca.” I stumbled back, this time collapsing to my knees. They hit the wood floor with a thud and a sharp sting as the world crumbled around me.
Mama gasped.
Father chuckled.
“Look at these silly girls, Luca,” he said. “One falling at your feet, and the other preening like a piteous peacock.”
Sofia huffed. I looked up, prone and kneeling at my temple, praying at the shrine of my savior. He only sneered, a cruel, soulless smirk that hurt just as much as his silence.
“These are serious accusations. What do you have to say to them? Did you touch Sofia?” Vigo asked.
“Only to push her off after she threw herself at me,” Luca said.
The riot in the room was loud—Zia and Sofia shrieking their shrill rebuttal.
“It’s true,” Dante said above the commotion. “At the ceremony, and again outside of church. I was there, and I saw it happen both times.”
More arguments and accusations continued until Father stopped the commotion. “Enough!” Silence filled the room, but for my pulse pounding in my ears. “And Luca, do you have any intentions toward Sofia for the future?”
“None.”
“Good. And my daughter? Have you touched her too?”
It took a moment for Luca to find me, and then I wished he hadn’t. I wished he didn’t see me with those empty eyes. No fire. Not even a spark. A cold chill frosted over me, and I was numb before he lied. Before he could hurt me even more than the pain cracking my ribs one at a time.
Snap.
Snap.
Snap.
“Never,” he said.
The rest was a blur. Dante helped me up.
Mama came to my side. Zio and Zia argued with Father.
Sofia pouted. I stared at the floor, at my feet in my chucks, at my boney knees, and at what felt like broken wings.
Then I closed my eyes and shook my head because I wouldn’t break.
I couldn’t crumble. I lifted my head and glared at Luca and his empty eyes.
I glared and sneered, allowing my heart to shatter into so many sharp edges that no one could get close to me ever again.
When Luca made eye contact one last time, when his jaw clenched and I saw an ounce of regret reflecting back at me, I didn’t flinch. I didn’t do anything when he whispered, “Goodbye, Vivienne,” as though it was the last time he’d say those words because I knew that was a lie too.
I watched him walk away.
Over the next few years, I’d watch him walk away a lot.
I also learned a lot.
Mama said I had a choice, but what I truly wanted was to be chosen.
I wanted someone to love me—not to feign adoration for what they could gain from my father.
I needed someone to fight for me, not their purpose.
Someone to choose me over the mob.
I didn’t know if Luca would ever see me again, like he did that night under the stars, with the wind touching me profoundly.
But deep down, somewhere in the pieces of my broken heart, I felt he would.
Maybe that was me being fatalistic, like Mama, but the thought was constantly there in the back of my mind while I watched him. While I wanted him—always from afar.
When that day came, I’d learn why this was all necessary. Why he came into my life at all.
Time was what this story needed before there was an ending.
And I was just stubborn enough to wait and find out if I was meant to have a Shakespearean tragedy—or a happily ever after.