2. Luca
TWO
LUCA
My mind circled Dominic like a vulture over fresh meat as I crossed the gravel lot outside my apartment building.
“Luca, do you have a minute?”
Mrs. Peretti’s voice stopped me.
I turned, forcing a smile. “What’s up, Mrs. Peretti?”
She shuffled closer, her pink slippers scuffing the concrete. I warned her to bring her cane when she went outside. A fall last month had nearly broken her hip. The next one would be worse. She clutched her cardigan tighter over her faded nightgown. “It’s my back door lock. I’m so sorry, but it’s sticking again.”
My jaw clenched. I had no time to play handyman, but Mrs. Peretti was one of the few good things in my life. She didn’t ask questions when I came home bloody or pry when she caught me smoking in the yard at three in the morning. She left jars of her late husband’s marinara on my doorstep and treated me like I was more than a thug.
I shifted the duffel bag’s strap to my other shoulder. “Let me take a look.”
“Going to the gym?”
“Yeah.”
Her wrinkled face lit up. “That’s wonderful, honey. Keep strong. The world needs men like you.”
I bit back a grim laugh.
I set the bag down next to a geranium that still lived despite the frost. She led me through her cramped unit to the sliding glass door in her kitchen. It overlooked a small yard.
I crouched, inspecting the cheap plastic latch screwed onto the frame. It didn’t line up with the strike plate.
“You need a new lock. This thing’s falling off.”
“I don’t know how to install those,” she admitted.
“I’ll get you one this weekend.” I pulled out my multi-tool, tightened the screws, and adjusted the plate, making sure the latch slid into place. Not perfect, but it’d hold for a while.
“You’re all set.”
She brightened. “You’re a good man, Luca.”
I’m not. I gave her a tight smile and grabbed my bag.
She grinned. “When you come back, I’ll make you a drink. Negronis! I have a fresh pitcher in the fridge.”
A vague memory stirred of amber-colored drinks on Christmas. That’d been my family’s tradition before the Bratva ripped them away. I reunited with my cousins after fourteen years apart a few months ago, but they were strangers.
Santino’s wife, Delilah, was the only person who might’ve understood me. I met her shortly after my abduction. A Pakhan’s daughter, locked in the same gilded cage, her bruises hidden under dresses while mine were out for the world to see. She’d been my only real friend in Providence.
We’d grown up in the same hell, but while she’d found some peace, I’d been left with ghosts.
The bag weighed heavy on my shoulder. “Thanks, but I can’t tonight.”
“Always busy.” She tsked her tongue. “There’s more to life than working, Luca. You’d do better to find yourself a nice lady. Settle down and be happy.”
I forced a smile. “Maybe one day.”
I stepped into the cold night. She locked the door and yanked the curtains shut.
I climbed into my car, gripping the wheel.
Do I make you uncomfortable?
Soon, Dominic would be nothing more than a bad memory.
The bastard wouldn’t see it coming.
I headed straight to Dominic’s.
He lived in an apartment in Back Bay, a swanky place where the facades were all brick and wrought iron. His was on the top floor. I hated how much I admired it.
A keypad guarded the building’s main entrance. A camera sat above, glaring at the street. I wasn’t stupid enough to try the front door.
The fire escape was a different story. I scaled the fence in the alley and shimmied up the rusted ladder. The reinforced back door was tricky. Amateur burglars would’ve walked away.
But I had skill. The Bratva made sure of it.
I crouched on the landing, pulling a small kit from my duffel bag. I shuffled through my picks. The deadbolt took longer than I liked. Whoever installed it knew what they were doing.
The bolt gave a satisfying click. The latch did not want to obey. Dominic had thought about someone getting this far. Luckily, I had a workaround. I wedged a thin piece of plastic between the door and the frame. It took a few tries, but the latch slid back.
The door swung open.
My eyes adjusted to the dim light. The faint scent of cologne and leather filled the air, clinging to the walls like his shadow. My heart hammered.
Stay calm. Control your breathing .
Clean apartment. Every detail screamed control, from the polished counters to the antique gun on the wall. Even his trinkets seemed to say: This is the life you’ll never have. I moved silently and muffled my footsteps on thick rugs lining the hallway. The living room blended luxury and masculinity—leather furniture, abstract art, and a glass coffee table. A massive flat screen hung above a marble fireplace. A plant sat on the windowsill. The leaves drooped toward the light. I spun the pot to face the window.
The bedroom had a king-sized bed covered in dark linens, framed by heavy curtains. A mirror faced the mattress, and the dresser displayed his jewelry.
I froze.
Dominic’s cufflinks. Flashy enough to scream money without trying too hard. The first time I noticed them, he was rolling his sleeves while rattling off a coffee order. I pictured his big hands flicking them off. Probably cost more than my car, and he tossed them on his desk like trash.
Whenever he wore them, I caught myself staring. They looked so fucking perfect on him. The gold against his tanned skin. The little engravings. The faint scratches proved that even he had flaws.
And now they were mine.
My hand closed around them, slipping them into my pocket. I crossed to the bathroom. Tan cabinets and floors with an accent wall. His scent crawled into my lungs. Every time I shut my eyes, I saw him smirking. I hated him so much it hurt.
My gaze settled on the black soap, the black tray under the black towels. Everything matched. Could this guy be any more gay?
I scoffed, returning to the bedroom. I didn’t want to imagine what he did with men in this room. Instead I pictured what I’d do to him.
It’d be easy to put a bullet in him from the shadows, but I wanted him to look me in the eye before it was over. Dominic Caruso, the golden boy. I’d never needed to destroy someone so badly.
He’d beg for mercy when I strapped him to the chair. I’d keep him alive for a bit. Play with him. Once I got sick of his crying, I’d kill him.
The front door opened.
I hurried to my hiding spot as Dominic strolled in, whistling. I watched him through the crack in the bedroom door. He ditched his shoes and hung his jacket in the closet.
He swaggered into view and stripped off his shirt. He was jacked. Steroids? Whatever it was, it worked. Too well. I couldn’t stand him, but he knew how to look good.
I averted my gaze, heat rising in my face. I risked another glance as he dropped his pants, his ass bare and just as sculpted as the rest of him. He disappeared into the bathroom, hitting the light switch. The shower turned on, giving me the cover I needed. I had to get in, but my legs froze.
Was I doing this?
Cross the room and he’s yours.
As steam clouded the mirror, I moved.
The glass wall separating the shower from the bathroom fogged over. Dominic was in there, naked. I had him.
Go.
I unsheathed my knife from the belt at my waist. Then I grabbed the handle and yanked the door open.