70. Luca
70
LUCA
Ana groaned from the bathroom. All I could see was the drape of her robe as Angelo held the spun sunshine of her hair out of her way.
“Fucking assholes, fucking taking out my IUD and knocking me up,” she muttered as she stood.
Valentin stood, quick as the whip he snatched off the bedside table, before stopping on a dime as Angelo turned around to glare at him.
“ Ah bon ,” he said, amusement lightening the cruelty in his tone. “Is that how it is?”
I rolled out of bed and stretched, wrapping my arm around Valentin’s bare waist, as much a sign of affection as a way to hold him back. “She can say whatever she wants when the kid we put inside her is making her puke her guts out.”
“Is that so?” Valentin purred.
“That’s fucking so, you asshole,” Ana snarled as she shoved herself upward, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
Even with tears streaming down her face from the morning sickness she was gorgeous—spun silk compared to our roughhewn weaves.
Valentin grinned and stepped toward her. She turned her face away when he bent down to press his lips onto her forehead. “Brush your teeth, princess, then come beg my forgiveness for calling me an asshole.”
Her eyes sparkled as she looked up at him, and then her face turned green and she dropped down to her knees again. Valentin knelt beside her, stroking her back, murmuring praise into her ear as she heaved.
“I fucking hate you,” she muttered.
He just hummed and continued to rub the small of her back, encouraging her as she emptied her stomach.
I shoved away from the bathroom and threw on some pants. She’d be downstairs and ravenous for fresh fruit with her morning coffee in a few minutes.
Angelo joined me in the kitchen, his brow furrowed with worry.
“You all right?” I asked him as I made our individual coffee orders with the fancy machine Valentin upgraded to because it made Ana smile.
“Do you think the thirst for violence is hereditary? And the psychopathy?”
Oh.
I turned to face a man who’d made his reputation by murdering his father’s enemies as violently as possible.
“You’re not a psychopath,” I said firmly. “You love too deeply for that.”
He shook his head. “Only here, in this apartment, with you all. When I’m out and on my own, the thirst never stops.”
“But you stopped for her,” I protested, resuming my careful pulls of espresso.
“I did,” he agreed. “She’s good for me.”
“This relationship isn’t about her being good for any of us,” I snapped.
Angelo tilted his head, running his eyes up and down my bare chest before settling on my face, as if weighing and measuring me. “It’s about loving her and each other. But that doesn’t change the fact that our fiery, fierce, loyal Ana is good for us.”
Mollified, I began building the frothy confection that Ana loved so much.
“You’re going to be a fine father,” I said finally. “You defend those you love more fiercely than anyone I’ve ever met. And whatever bloodlust you carry in your veins, it’s far outshined by your love for Ana.”
Angelo watched me thoughtfully. “Our love for Ana,” he said quietly.
Valentin joined us a moment later, his normally cold features pinched with worry. “She told me to stop fussing and kicked me out.”
“It’s normal,” I reassured him, discomfited to find myself the one least worried about our girl. “It goes away after the first trimester for most women.”
Valentin raised an eyebrow at me. “No need to condescend to me, whelp. I understand how pregnancy works.”
I ignored him, instead setting his espresso in front of him. “Eggs are in the fridge,” I said as he sipped. Ana forced herself to eat the nutrient and protein filled breakfasts Valentin made her each morning, but otherwise, she wanted pastries from the bakery downstairs.
“Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing,” Valentin snarled as he passed by me in the kitchen. “Distracting me by giving me something to do.”
“That’s why he’s the family peacemaker,” Angelo said with a breathtaking smile. “It’s why we love him.”
Valentin rescued the cup in my hand before I could drop it. “Speak for yourself,” he growled but squeezed my shoulder affectionately. “Thank you for—” He stopped and took a deep breath. “Thank you for curbing the worst of my excesses.”
I blinked, then blinked again, still wrapping my head around Angelo’s declaration.
Valentin chuckled, the deep sound sliding against the still healing wounds in my soul. He took the mug out of my hands and set it on the counter, then steered me to sit down beside Angelo while he worked his magic.
Angelo elbowed me in the side with a grin. “You don’t have to say it back,” he teased.
“No, I—” I began, discomfited, but sitting with it. I frowned. “I love you too, both of you,” I said. “And I don’t know how or when the fuck that happened.”
Valentin’s toothy grin was as cruel as it was amused. He didn’t say the words, but my omelet was the first to be served, and exactly how I liked it—with a side of bacon so crunchy it was almost burned.
When Ana appeared at the top of the stairs wearing a simple summer dress that showed off the curves of her breasts and blessed us all with her bright smile, all three of us fell over ourselves to make her comfortable and make sure she got exactly what she craved for breakfast.
Even Valentin. Especially Valentin, much to Angelo’s and my amusement.
Fuck, I loved these assholes so goddamned much.
A month ago, my younger sister, Sofia, forced the Italian American mafia families in Yorkfield to add a sixth seat to their table. I’d stood behind my father as he’d faced his daughter and sourly accepted that she was his equal.
Today, Ana sat in Gio Costa’s old seat, staring across the table at our father. Sofia’s best friend. My lover. The mother of our future child. And the presumptive head of the Costa organization.
Sofia slid into the seat beside her, and the two blonde heads leaned toward one another, like peas in a pod. I smiled to see these two women I loved together again.
Ana reached out to squeeze Sofia’s hand, then looked over her shoulder at me, her green eyes so full of love and affection, it made my heart beat faster in my chest.
Sofia looked between us and grinned toothily before elbowing her best friend. Ana mock glared at her, their friendly, teasing demeanors obviously making the four old men sitting around the table uncomfortable.
Ana and Sofia ignored their glares.
They’d more than earned the right to sit at the head of their respective organizations.
The mafia would have to change if it was going to survive. And these two women were going to lead the way.
My father cleared his throat. “Why are we here again? We don’t need to meet every time some upstart takes control over a family.”
Dante Oscuro, one of Sofia’s husbands, stood against the wall and glared at Tony Russo. Tony ignored him.
Internally, I laughed at the idea that anyone could ignore Dante Oscuro’s glare—the Sicilian boogeyman wasn’t to be taken lightly.
And yet, Angelo Costa, an enforcer and hitman just as scary, stood beside Dante, cleaning his fingernails with a knife, and I wasn’t scared at all.
Valentin stood at the other end of the room, ignoring us as he checked his email. The affairs of the American mafia meant very little to a French billionaire, I supposed.
“We have too many chairs at the table anyway,” Francesco Baresi said. His eyes cut to me before returning to my father. “I count three Russos.”
Ana raised her chin. “Luca will take my last name when he marries me.”
“The fuck he will,” Tony snarled as the table erupted in conversation.
The fuck I wouldn’t. Gio’s assets were held in trust for Ana’s future husband, and I intended to make it clear to the whole fucking world who was really in charge.
Ana rubbed her stomach, beginning to show, and she said softly, “My child will be a Costa.”
“And a Russo,” Tony snapped.
Francesco Baresi slammed his fist on the table. “Enough squabbling!”
“But you’re right,” Tony agreed. “Once Luca has married Ana Costa, I intend to retire.”
The table fell silent. I waited as the men looked at me, one by one. My sister’s smile warmed me from the inside out.
“At that time, I believe five chairs will be enough,” Tony said. His eyes met mine, and for the first time in my life, I saw a hint of pride in them. “Luca will lead the Russo family into the future and through the merger with the Costas.”
Ana reached behind her and wiggled her fingers behind her chair. I captured her hand in mine, then gently maneuvered it until my hand rested on her shoulders, her fingers twined in mine.
Sofia turned around and grinned. “Congratulations, big brother.”
Mario Carlotti cleared his throat. “Now that the Russos are finished congratulating themselves for taking over half the city, can we talk about what we’re going to do about the brewing war within the bratva?”
An hour later, Ana and Sofia kissed each other’s cheeks like they’d spent their entire lives in Europe and then climbed into their respective armored SUVs.
I hopped into the driver’s seat, and Angelo helped Ana climb into the back, bending to kiss her belly once she was seated. He hopped into the passenger seat, and Valentin joined Ana in the back.
He offered her his arm, and she scooted close to him, leaning her head on his chest. He reached over to lay a hand on her stomach, and she sighed with contentment.
Ana was fucking happy .
Angelo quietly took care of threats in Yorkfield, and his father was beginning to make noises about merging the two branches of the Costa family so that he could retire.
Valentin wanted to expand his construction business into the States. He’d met with Benedict Ford last week—an American contractor based in DC whose relationship was as unconventional as ours.
And me? All I wanted to do was make Ana my wife.
“Hungry?” Valentin asked Ana.
She nodded, her lips pursing in frustration.
“What’re you craving?” And I had to look away from the intensity in his expression.
“Whatever’s easiest,” she answered, then squealed a second later. Valentin’s fingers were locked around one of her nipples, twisting it hard.
“What are you craving, toy?” he repeated.
“Cannoli,” she whispered. “With chocolate and pistachios.”
He twisted her nipple again.
“ Ma?tre ,” she gasped. “Cannoli, please, ma?tre .”
“Baldino’s,” Valentin commanded from the back seat, as if I hadn’t grown up in Yorkfield and didn’t know the best place to get an Italian dessert.
“Rinaldi’s has better cannoli,” I answered.
“She needs a full meal first,” Valentin said firmly. “And she’ll just binge on pastries if we take her to a café.”
“Baldino’s, please,” Ana said softly. Valentin’s fingers strayed down her body to raise her dress and stroke along the inside of her thigh.
She whined, and I wished I had a better view of what was going on behind me.
“Is that what you want?” Valentin asked again.
“She said Baldino’s,” Angelo interjected. “Why are we still debating this?”
Ana moaned, and Valentin brought an absolutely dripping finger to his lips and licked her arousal off it.
“What Ana wants, Ana gets,” Valentin affirmed.
And if that wasn’t the truth, I didn’t know what was.