25. Luca
TWENTY-FIVE
LUCA
I found Frank.
He was at a bar not far from the casino, wearing a dark gray suit. It looked like something from Dominic’s closet. Maybe he’d picked it out for Frank. The lapels sat just right, and the fit was tailored to his shoulders.
My stomach twisted.
Frank leaned forward, grinning. He flashed his teeth at the bartender, who looked ten seconds away from melting into his lap. Charming bastard. Dominic probably ate that shit up.
My jaw ached from clenching it.
I didn’t try to hide my approach this time. I wanted Frank to see me coming. Wanted him to feel me breathing down his neck the way I felt him hovering over Dominic’s life.
Frank glanced up, his smile slipping. “Can I help you?”
I grabbed the glass from his hand and smashed it on the counter. Shards flew, whiskey spilling across the polished wood, but I didn’t give a shit. I stepped closer, crowding him against the bar.
“You can tell me what the fuck you’re doing texting Dominic.”
He brushed off glass from his sleeve. “Careful, Luca. You’re making a scene.”
“I’ll make a fucking massacre if you don’t start talking.”
“About what?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, asshole. You messaged him asking for drinks. Like that was ever going to happen.”
He sneered. “Dom’s a grown man. I don’t need your permission to talk to him.”
“He’s done with you. Or are you too pathetic to figure that out?”
“You think because you’re riding his dick, you’re special? Dominic’s got a type, and it’s not you.” He winked, and my stomach dropped. “Trust me, I know.”
A red-hot pulse pounded behind my eyes.
“Dominic is mine.”
Frank laughed. “He’s playing with you because you’re easy, but Dom needs a man with class. Not some Bratva puppet.”
I grabbed his wrist. He tried to pull back, but I squeezed harder, feeling his bones grind under my grip.
“What the hell—let go of me!”
I didn’t answer. Didn’t even slow down until we were outside in the alley, the cold air biting my skin. I shoved him against the brick wall.
Frank’s face twisted. “Get your hands off?—”
My fist slammed into his gut.
He doubled over, coughing, but I grabbed his collar and hauled him upright.
“You think this is a joke?” I snarled.
Frank grimaced. “You’re making a mistake?—”
“The only mistake is you thinking you could come near him again.” I twisted his wrist until he gasped. “You don’t text him. You don’t look at him. You don’t even think about him, you got that?”
“Fuck. Let go!”
“You’re alive right now because you have kids. That’s the only thing keeping me from breaking more than your hand.”
Frank’s eyes widened, his breath hitching.
“Dominic is mine . You so much as breathe near him, and I’ll make sure your kids grow up wondering what happened to Daddy.”
“Jesus. I—I didn’t mean?—”
My fist slammed into his face, snapping his head to the side. He stumbled, blood trickling from his nose. I shoved him against the wall, my fist cocked to strike.
Frank raised his hands.
My fist crashed into his jaw again, and again, until his legs gave out and he crumpled to the ground.
“Get up!”
He didn’t move, just lay there clutching his face. I stepped back, my breathing shallow. The blood on Frank’s face blurred, and suddenly it wasn’t Frank anymore. It was that other man—the one Alexei destroyed while I stood there, too weak to stop it.
Yuri .
The fear in Frank’s eyes mirrored his. The same broken look. My stomach twisted, bile rising in my throat. I stumbled back, my hands shaking.
What the fuck had I done?
I turned and bolted, leaving Frank on the ground. The alley spun around me as I stumbled into the street.
Not again.
I gripped the edge of a trash bin, the cold metal grounding me as I doubled over. My breath came in short gasps. Flashes of that night with Alexei came roaring back—the sound of fists hitting flesh, the sickening crack of bone, the way the man’s pleas faded into silence.
And I’d done nothing.
I stumbled into my apartment, kicking the door shut behind me. My chest felt like it was caving in, the panic attack still clawing at my ribs. I didn’t bother turning on the lights. Darkness felt safer than what I might see.
My knuckles screamed. They were smeared with blood that didn’t belong to me. I flexed my fingers, wincing as a sharp jolt shot up my arm. Frank’s bloody face flashed in my head. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to push the image away.
I stripped off my shirt and tossed it onto the floor. My legs felt unsteady, but I forced myself to the sink. I turned on the faucet.
The first splash against my hands made me hiss. I pressed my knuckles under the stream, and blood swirled down the drain. Water turned pink before fading to clear.
My stomach twisted. What had I done? Frank wasn’t a threat, not really. Just a pathetic asshole who couldn’t let go of Dominic. I could’ve handled it differently. Should’ve.
Instead I’d turned into the Bratva version of myself. The one who stood by while Alexei did unspeakable things.
I splashed cold water on my face. Shame sat heavy in my chest. I wanted to call Dominic. His voice would make me feel like I wasn’t drowning, but what the hell would I even say? Hey, Dom, just letting you know I beat the shit out of your floor supervisor. No big deal, right?
My phone rang.
I answered. “What?”
“Luca, it’s me.”
I recognized the feminine whisper.
My stomach dropped. “Delilah.”
I hadn’t talked to her in a while. Her voice brought back memories of locked rooms and vodka-soaked nights. She reminded me of what I’d been forced to do to survive, and I reminded her of everything she wanted to forget. So I kept my distance. It was better for both of us.
“Are you coming to dinner on Sunday?” she asked, her voice hesitant. “You never texted me back.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“It’s just dinner. You don’t have to stay long.”
“I can’t.” The words scraped my throat. “It’s not a good idea.”
“Why? Because I’m there?”
My stomach twisted. “Don’t.”
“You’ve been dodging me ever since you got out. It’s like we’re not friends anymore. I don’t understand what happened.”
“Nothing happened.”
Delilah sighed. “Luca, I can tell when you’re lying.”
Memories flashed. The dark halls of the Pakhan’s mansion. Whispers echoing under locked doors. The scrape of Alexei’s boots. Delilah and I, sneaking vodka like it’d burn the nightmare out of us.
“Look, I can’t be around you anymore.”
“Why? Did I do something?”
“No. It’s just—I have to prove myself every damn day. My cousins look at me like I’m a fucking spy. Hanging out with you doesn’t help convince them otherwise.”
“That’s not true.”
I exhaled sharply, gripping the edge of the sink. “They already don’t trust me, Delilah. Being seen with you is just another reason for them to think I haven’t really left the Russians.”
“You did leave,” she said fiercely. “You got me and Santino out of there alive.”
“That’s not enough.”
“But they’re your family.”
I wrung my throbbing hand. “I’ve been gone most of their lives. I’m a stranger.”
Bratva puppet.
That scraped like glass in my throat. That’s all anyone saw when they looked at me. Not a man who’d dragged himself out of hell, but a broken thing the Bratva had owned for too long.
The family took me in because I’d saved Santino’s life, but that was where the trust ended. I wasn’t blood . Not when I’d been raised by the same men who’d killed their own.
“You can’t seriously believe that,” she whispered.
“Then why are we talking in Russian?”
“We can’t help how we were raised, Luca. I’m tired of you acting like you don’t matter. You’re the boy who made me laugh, even when the world was falling apart around me. You’re the man who risked everything to get us out of that garage alive. No matter what, you’ll always be my family.”
My throat closed up. I couldn’t answer. I gripped the sink tighter, staring at the drain like it might swallow me whole.
She sighed. “Sunday, seven o’clock. Just show up.”
The call ended.
I still carried pieces of the Bratva in me—tattoos, scars on my skin, instincts in my blood. When I was tired, I thought in Russian. Snapped into it like a habit I couldn’t kill. I had to be careful. One slip, and the family would treat me like a traitor.
I couldn’t let that happen. I’d lose everything.
And I couldn’t lose Dominic.
The ache in my chest twisted deeper. When Dominic looked at me, it wasn’t with suspicion. He saw me , not the wreckage I’d crawled out of. He touched me like I wasn’t ruined.
The way he kissed me burned the past out of me. His hand settled at the back of my neck like he knew I needed it there. He made me feel whole. He treated me like there wasn’t a single thing about me to be ashamed of, and it made me want to risk everything to be with him.
If Dominic ever found out about the blood on my hands, he’d look at me differently. I’d see nothing but shame staring back at me.
It would gut me.
But one thing would ruin me more—losing him.