6. Luca
SIX
LUCA
When I was ten, the Bratva came for my parents.
There’d been a war for Southie, prime territory that my father had gained too much influence over. Mikhail, a man who later became Pakhan, wanted to send a message. He broke into my home and killed my parents. Then he set my house on fire.
He wasn’t supposed to take me.
I still didn’t know why he did it. Mercy? Doubtful. Mikhail didn’t believe in mercy. Maybe it was a whim. Maybe he liked knowing he’d turned a Costa into a Romanov puppet.
I’d woken up in a gray room—cold, empty, silent. Strangers surrounded me. A woman with a tight smile sat beside me. She said this was my new home, that I was lucky to be alive.
Lucky.
I screamed until my throat went raw. I cried for my mother. I waited. Day after day, I waited for someone to come for me.
No one ever did.
The Bratva carved themselves into me that night, as deep as the fire scarred my memories. I spent fourteen years living under their roof.
They forced me to kneel. Fed me lies about brotherhood while they laughed and watched me choke on it. I learned to smile through gritted teeth while plotting my revenge. When I finally took my shot and put Mikhail in the ground, I thought I’d won.
Wrong .
The Bratva circled closer every day. They had no reason to let go of their vendetta after what I’d done to their Pakhan. Revenge wasn’t optional. It was sacred.
Fear burned through me like acid. I didn’t let it show but it chewed through me in the dark. Every quiet moment felt like a trap waiting to snap shut.
After getting my orders from Vinn, I spent hours pacing the tables and back rooms, scanning every face.
Then I sat at a small poker table near the bar, sorting a stack of chips. The movement steadied me. The rhythmic scrape of ceramic on felt, stacking neat towers of green and red. Count. Build. Shuffle.
Gamblers were thinning out. A few tourists clung to slot machines like their luck would change if they stared hard enough. My back itched where it faced the empty casino floor.
I placed another chip onto a stack.
Loyalty. That’s what I’d earned every time I survived Alexei’s sadistic “training,” but loyalty went both ways, and I’d spit on the Bratva when I walked away.
I should’ve run.
My phone rang with an unknown number. Third one today. I answered it, knowing full well what waited me on the other end.
Nothing.
Dead air. Not a fucking breath.
I didn’t bother speaking. Neither did he. We didn’t need words. No apologies. No threats. Everyone knew how it would end. The only question was how many pathetic bastards we’d take with us.
This time, the unknown caller allowed me to hear what they did on their end. A grating, metal-on-metal sharpening creaked over the line.
A blade on a whetstone.
At least the knife would be sharp when they dug it into my guts.
A shadow stretched over me. “A personal call while you’re on my time?”
I didn’t have the patience for Dominic’s bullshit. I ended the call with a grunt.
“Consider it business,” I said. “Certainly wasn’t pleasure.”
“Can’t have that without me.”
My jaw tightened. “Pleasure? You’re nothing but a pain in my ass.”
“And one day you might love that ache.”
I hated how easily he got under my skin, like he’d been given a blueprint of every weak spot and pushed on each one until it cracked. I almost shattered the stack of chips on the table .
I glanced around us. “Jesus, anybody could hear you.”
“So what?”
“I don’t want anybody to ever know what happened. Alright?”
His smile broadened. “Which part of that night do you want to forget the most?”
All of it . “Attempting to kill my captain.”
“You didn’t even come close to killing me, sweetheart ,” he shot back, his tone razor-sharp. “I can tell when someone’s out of their depth. Hell, I think you wanted to get caught.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“Would you rather be captured by the Bratva or imprisoned by me? One of us would kill you. The other would make it worth your while.”
I fought to keep my face blank. I wouldn’t let him see me break, not here. He didn’t stop me when I got off the stool and stepped past him.
I pushed forward, but his words sank into every place I wanted to keep closed. I sure as hell didn’t want to talk to him .
I threw open the door to the parking lot.
Dominic followed, his footsteps raising the hairs on my neck. I turned around. He stood too close, his hostile glare daring me to walk away.
“You’re spooked, and it’s not just me. What happened?”
I hated that he read me so well. “Do you ever mind your own business?”
He stepped in front of me. “Not when it’s my problem, too.”
“I’ve got it under control.”
“Don’t give me that shit. You’ve never had control over any part of your life. That’s the problem. You’ve got a taste of freedom, and you’re running fucking blind.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“Sure. You know how to hide, how to bow, scrape, and slink around the shadows. But if I give you an inch, you’ll try to deep throat all of it.”
I had enough threats in my life without dealing with sexual harassment. I ignored his smirk.
“I didn’t expect you to give me a chance,” I said. “But I’m more useful to this family than you believe. Than they believe. I’m trying to do right by them.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened. “But the Costas aren’t buying it.”
I didn’t answer, but my heart pounded.
“Luca, you don’t have to do what Vinn wants.”
Bullshit . “I don’t have a choice. He’s the boss.”
“He’s also your cousin.”
“For fuck’s sake, the Russians are more family than Vinn or Santino. Russians pretended to be my family.” I shrugged, ignoring Dominic’s widened gaze. “I was ten when the Bratva dragged me off, Dominic. Ten . I learned Russian before I got a chance to speak proper Italian. I eat pirozhki , not panettone . Drink vodka, not wine. Your Christmas is December 25 th , and mine is January 7 th ?—”
“Luca.”
“The Romanovs are strangers,” I said. “But the Costas are worse.
“They’re your real family.”
“Family doesn’t test loyalty,” I snapped. “They don’t call a man weak. They don’t judge a child for not escaping a home lined with guns . I clawed my way back home after surviving fourteen years of hell, and not a goddamned one of them trusts me.”
Dominic took a step closer. “You don’t deserve that.”
“Oh, fuck off.” I snorted. “Don’t pretend you understand.”
“I do. More than you realize.”
I stared at the cracked pavement by my car, focusing on the sharp air filling my lungs. “Look, I don’t need a therapy session. Whatever you’re trying to prove, save it.”
“I want you to stop self-destructing.”
“Why the hell do you care?”
“I’m your boss. I’m doing my job.”
I scoffed. “Does your job include hitting on me?”
He shrugged. “That’s different.”
“So you get to tell me how to keep my shit together, but you can’t stay professional for one fucking day?”
Dominic’s gaze sharpened. “I’ll be professional when I feel I can take a shower without getting jumped by my employee.”
I held his gaze. Every word scraped at a raw part of me I couldn’t shut off.
He moved forward. One step, then another, until my back hit the car with a thud.
Shit.
Dominic’s presence filled every inch of space between us, his heat sinking through my clothes like a brand. The faint spice of his cologne hit me next. It curled into my lungs, and my head swam.
I didn’t want to feel this.
But I did .
His eyes roamed my face. My chest tightened as his gaze settled on my mouth, his lips curving. His chiseled jawline caught the low light of the parking lot. His sharp cheekbones, his mouth…I hated that I noticed his mouth, but it was right in front of me.
His hand moved. Fingers ghosted the edge of my collar. I swallowed, trying to look anywhere but at him. He was too close. Damn it, I couldn’t stop staring at him.
“Get the hell out of my face, Dominic.”
“Why? You look like you want me right here.”
I don’t .
I should’ve punched him. I needed to shatter the tension before it choked me out, but I couldn’t move. My awareness shrank to the hand still near my collar, to the inches that separated us, and his mouth.
Dominic leaned closer, slow enough that I could’ve stopped him. But I didn’t. I froze when his lips grazed my jaw. The barest brush of heat.
It wasn’t even a kiss, but my body locked up. My fists clenched tight, my chest heaving with the effort it took to keep still.
Don’t move.
His breath lingered on my skin, and my pulse pounded. He stayed for a moment longer. Then he slowly pulled back, smiling.
“You can be as tough as you want, Luca…but don’t get yourself killed.”
He turned and walked away. My hands ached where my nails dug into my palms. It was too hot. I needed to rip off my jacket just to breathe. The ghost of his touch still crawled over my skin.
Fuck.
I’d let him get too close.
But a dark shred of my soul wished for something worse.
I wanted him to stay.