Chapter 6 Luca
I CHANGED MY shirt three times before admitting I was being ridiculous.
The persona didn't get nervous about dates. Didn't stand in front of his closet second-guessing wardrobe choices like a teenager. Didn't check his reflection in the mirror multiple times to make sure everything was perfect.
But Luca—the real me underneath the performance—was terrified.
This was our first real date. Not the penthouse dinner where I'd been trying to prove something.
Not the desperate collision in my office.
An actual public date where we'd be seen together.
Where I'd be introducing Valentino to my world as someone who mattered instead of just an asset I was managing.
I settled on a navy suit with a white shirt, no tie. Formal enough for the restaurant I'd chosen but not so formal it looked like I was trying too hard. My reflection looked back at me with an expression I barely recognized—uncertain, hopeful, nervous.
Human emotions that the persona had trained himself not to feel.
My phone buzzed. Text from Valentino: Car just arrived. This is really fancy. You're trying to impress me.
I smiled despite the nerves and typed back: Is it working?
Maybe. We'll see how dinner goes.
The flirtation in his tone made something warm bloom in my chest. This was real. We were doing this. Valentino was choosing to show up, choosing to be seen with me, choosing this relationship despite all the complications.
I grabbed my wallet and keys and headed down to street level. The restaurant was only a few blocks away—I could have walked, but I wanted to arrive a few minutes early. Wanted to be there when Valentino showed up so he wouldn't have to walk in alone.
The October evening was crisp and clear. Manhattan sparkled with lights as the sun set, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. Perfect date weather. Like the universe was cooperating for once.
I made it to Mezzaluna in ten minutes. The restaurant was one of my favorites—intimate Italian place tucked into a brownstone in the West Village.
Good food, discreet service, the kind of place where privacy was understood.
I'd chosen it carefully. Nice enough to show I was taking this seriously but not so over-the-top that Valentino would feel uncomfortable.
The ma?tre d' recognized me immediately. "Mr. Romano. Your table is ready."
"Thank you, Antonio. I'm expecting someone. I'll wait here."
He nodded and disappeared back into the restaurant. I stood near the entrance, hands in my pockets, trying not to look as nervous as I felt.
What if this was a mistake? What if taking this public was too much too soon? What if Valentino walked in, saw the reality of being with me in a social setting, and realized he'd made a terrible decision?
The spiral of anxiety was interrupted by a car pulling up to the curb.
Valentino stepped out and every thought in my head evaporated.
He wore dark jeans and a grey sweater that made his hazel eyes look almost silver in the fading light.
His curly hair was slightly tamed but still had that wild quality I'd come to associate with him.
He looked nervous and beautiful and so completely out of his element that my protective instincts immediately kicked in.
Then our eyes met and he smiled.
Just a small smile. Uncertain but genuine. And I felt everything click into place.
I met him on the sidewalk. "Hi."
"Hi." His voice was quieter than usual. "This place looks expensive."
"It's not as expensive as it looks." A lie, but a kind one. "Come on. Our table's ready."
I wanted to touch him. Put my hand on his back, or take his hand, or do any of the small intimate gestures that couples did. But we were in public and I didn't know what he was comfortable with yet. So I just walked beside him into the restaurant, hyperaware of the space between us.
Antonio led us to a table in the back corner. Private but not isolated. Perfect for conversation without being overheard but still part of the restaurant's atmosphere.
"Your server will be with you shortly," Antonio said. "Enjoy your evening."
I held out Valentino's chair and he looked at me with surprise before sitting. Small gestures. That's what I could do. Show him I was serious about treating him well.
"You're being very... gentlemanly," Valentino said once we were alone.
"Is that a bad thing?"
"No. Just different. The persona meets modern dating etiquette." But he was smiling. Teasing. Some of the nervousness easing.
"I'm trying." I leaned forward. "This is our first real date. I want to do it right."
"Define right."
"Treating you the way you deserve to be treated. Like someone important instead of someone I'm controlling." I met his eyes. "Like someone I'm falling for."
The words hung between us. Too honest maybe. Too much too soon. But I'd promised him honesty and I meant it.
Valentino's breath caught. "Luca—"
"You don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to know." I picked up my menu, giving him an out. "The osso buco here is incredible. But everything's good."
He stared at me for a moment longer before picking up his own menu. "You can't just say things like that and then talk about food."
"Why not?"
"Because it's disorienting. You go from this intense emotional confession to restaurant recommendations like it's nothing."
"It's not nothing. But I don't want to overwhelm you." I studied him over the menu. "Am I overwhelming you?"
"Yes. But not in a bad way." He focused on the menu. "Maybe in a good way. I don't know yet."
Fair enough. We were both figuring this out as we went.
The server arrived and took our drink orders. Wine for me, whiskey for Valentino—"I need something stronger than wine for this"—and left us to decide on food.
"The ma?tre d' knew you," Valentino said. "You come here often?"
"For business dinners sometimes. Antonio's discreet. Doesn't gossip about who eats here with whom."
"That's important to you. Privacy."
"In my line of work, yes. But also—" I set down my menu. "I wanted somewhere I knew you'd be comfortable. Somewhere we wouldn't be photographed or bothered. Just us."
"Just us in a very expensive restaurant in the West Village where you're clearly a regular."
I couldn't help but smile. "You're never going to let me just do something nice without pointing out the wealth disparity, are you?"
"Probably not. It's hard to ignore when we live in completely different worlds." He leaned back in his chair. "You have a penthouse with a view of the entire city. I have a studio apartment in Brooklyn where I can hear my neighbors fighting through the walls."
"You could move in with me."
The words came out before I could stop them. Valentino's eyes went wide.
"What?"
"Sorry. That was—" I ran a hand through my hair. "Too fast. I know that's too fast. But you said yourself you can hear through the walls. My place has actual soundproofing."
"Luca." He said my name like he was trying to ground himself. "We've been in a real relationship for like three days. You can't ask me to move in."
"I know. You're right. Forget I said anything." But I didn't want to forget it. The idea of Valentino in my space permanently, of waking up with him every morning, of building something domestic and real—I wanted that. Wanted it more than I should after only three days.
The server returned with our drinks and we ordered food. Once we were alone again, Valentino took a long sip of his whiskey and studied me with those sharp hazel eyes.
"Why me?" he asked.
"What?"
"Why me specifically? You could have any number of journalists on your payroll. Could have handled the raid footage threat a dozen different ways. Why did you choose me?"
The question I'd been avoiding asking myself for months.
"Because you were brilliant," I said finally. "The Bianchi exposé proved that. You dug deeper than anyone else had. Found connections other journalists missed. You were hungry and talented and exactly the kind of threat I needed to neutralize."
"That's the practical answer. What's the real one?"
He saw through me too clearly.
"Because when I saw you in that coffee shop, I thought—this is someone who cares. Who gives a shit about getting it right. Who has principles." I took a drink of wine. "And I wanted that. Wanted to be close to someone who still believed in truth when I'd spent a decade building an empire on lies."
Valentino was quiet for a long moment. "That's the saddest thing I've ever heard."
"Which part?"
"That you had to threaten someone into being close to you because you didn't think you deserved it any other way."
The observation hit harder than it should have. "I didn't think about deserving. I thought about control."
"Do you still?"
"No." I met his eyes. "Now I think about you. About us. About whether I can be someone worth choosing."
"You already are." His voice was soft. "I'm here, aren't I? Chose to come tonight even though I'm completely out of my depth with fancy restaurants and wine lists. Chose to give this a chance."
"Why?" I asked. "Why did you choose to stay? After everything I did?"
"Because underneath the architect, I saw you.
The real you. And I wanted to know that person.
" He leaned forward. "And because as fucked up as it is, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since that first coffee shop meeting.
Even when I hated you. Even when you terrified me. I wanted you."
The admission made heat coil in my stomach. "I wanted you too. From the beginning. That's what made the control so dangerous. I didn't just want you compliant—I wanted you mine."
"Possessive."
"Extremely." I didn't apologize for it. "But I'm trying to channel that into something healthier. Wanting you to choose me instead of forcing you."
"How's that working out?"
"Terrifying. But also—" I gestured around us. "Here we are. You chose to come. That's better than anything I could have forced."