Chapter 11
"Iwant to apologize for that, uh, little display," he says, his voice steady and even. He's good at hiding any emotion beyond lust and anger; I'll give him that.
He extends his hand to me, an unspoken invitation to join him. "Let's go in the other room and dance, shall we?"
On the dance floor, we're surrounded by other couples moving to the jazz-infused music. As Luca's hands roam my waist, I can't help but remember how different Gabriel's touch felt - electric rather than repulsive.
"I hope that little scene didn't ruin your evening," Luca says, his voice low and seductive.
Of course it did. One, you're a pig, and two, it was your fucking wife.
"No, it's fine," I reply, trying to sound nonchalant.
Luca nods. "Isabella is...complicated. Our relationship is...complicated."
"It seems like it."
"Yes, she's my wife, but we have an understanding. I can't help but be drawn to beautiful women like you," he says and pulls me closer, his hand sliding a bit lower on my waist.
I smile, playing along.
"I appreciate the compliment."
Luca must sense my hesitation because he leans in closer, his breath hot against my ear. "Don't worry about her, Sofia. She's not important. You're the one I want to be with tonight."
"Is she gone?"
Luca's expression darkens for a moment, and he looks away.
"Yes. Well, she should be. I'm having her taken home."
I nod, unsure of what to say. I don't want to push it further, but I can't help feeling sympathy for Isabella. I suppose I knew he was probably married, but it's always different when you put a face to it.
I'm just playing a role. Hell, I haven't even fucked him and never will. I wish I could tell her that.
The song ends, and he smiles, "Now, let's go enjoy the rest of the event."
As we make our way back into the poker room, I sit next to Luca and watch as he plays.
He places his bet and the man sitting across does the same as he blows out a big cloud of smoke from his cigar.
"How's the thing with the guy?" the man smoking asks Luca.
I lean forward, pretending to adjust my dress while straining my ears to catch more of their conversation. The men seem oblivious to my eavesdropping as they're intently focused on their game.
"I tell you, Gio," Luca says, "he's been a loyal friend to the family. He's pulled their licenses, so we'll have that entire operation under control."
The men at the table laugh.
Licenses? What licenses?
Gio puffs on his cigar before replying, "A hefty payment but worth it to have that fucking Siberian freeze."
"Harry's good for it. It'll slow them down just enough for us to slide in. We'll make it back tenfold."
"I believe you. Those fuckin' city officials thought—"
I can't believe what I'm hearing. They're talking about paying off a city official to seize control of something. And the Siberian must be Ivan Morozkin of the Russian family. Maybe Agent Harris or Russell can see what city licenses have recently been revoked and who a person named Harry is.
After some time sitting there, I realize I need to move to get more intel, and frankly, I'm bored just watching them play cards.
I excuse myself from Luca. "I'm just going to grab another drink, darling," I tell him, trying to sound sweet so he doesn't balk at me leaving. Thankfully, he doesn't even look up from his cards, merely waves a hand dismissively.
As I make my way to the bar, I notice the Greek mobster from earlier who had gotten into a confrontation with the young Italian. He's leaning against the bar, deep in conversation with another man.
I order "water in a champagne glass" - a trick Bill taught me during training.
I take a sip of my "champagne" and move a little closer to a group of men talking.
"But why now? Why deal with us to take care of the Serb?" one of them asks, his tone firm and aggressive.
"You know how Enzo is. And the Russians and Irish in bed—who would have thought?"
"I'm not surprised. Damn Italians want too much. You make a decision?"
"No, they brought it to me tonight. I need to decide if what they're offering is worth the squeeze."
"Fucking Bonventis."
"Relax, relax. Enjoy yourself. Now's not the time."
The one who cursed the Italians sets down his drink and walks away. The man he was talking to turns to face me, and I recognize him instantly.
Nikolas Demitrakis.
He looks me up and down and then openly, without a care in the world, stares at my chest. A smirk comes across his lips.
"What's a pretty little thing like yourself doing at the bar all alone?"
I smile, keeping my nerves down. "Tired of watching Luca play cards."
The smile disappears from his face.
"Luca Romano?"
I nod.
"Don't drink too much of that stuff, honey," he says and walks away.
I don't plan to.
Nikolas Demitrakis is the leader of the Demitrakis crime family. The Greek family has been on the FBI radar for some time, but Bill told me they're small-time players and take what the Bonventis allow or don't want.
It seems the Italians are asking for the Greeks' help to go against the Russians and possibly the Irish as well.
I turn to look back at the table where Luca was playing cards, but he's gone. I scan the room, but he seems absent.
I leave my drink and walk out into the main room. I check the hallways, dance floor, and open areas, but he's not there.
I'm about to head outside when a strong hand grabs my arm, startling me.
"Where the fuck are we going?" Luca snarls, as he pulls me in the opposite direction.
"I—I was just getting some air," I stammer, trying to play it cool.
"Fuck that," he yells. "My wife is out there making a fucking scene in the backyard; we're leaving."
He continues to drag me toward the exit, his grip tight on my arm, and it starts to hurt. I don't fight or give any resistance; I feel like he'll snap my arm off.
We make it outside, and he approaches the valet.
"Bring me my car."
"What about your driver, sir?"
"Fuck waiting for my driver. I'm driving."
"Yes, yes, right away."
Luca's sleek black sedan with tinted windows pulls up, and he opens the passenger side door and shoves me inside, slamming it shut behind me.
As we pull away from the mansion, I can't help but feel a sense of dread.
What the fuck is going to happen?
The engine roars as Luca speeds down the winding road, leaving the sprawling mansion behind.
I sit quietly in the passenger seat, my hands clasped tightly in my lap.
There's nothing but silence between us, but I don't dare break it.
I can feel the rage radiating off him, and I don't want to provoke him further.
As the car swerves around a corner, I grip the seatbelt tighter, my heart pounding in my chest. I can't help but wonder what Isabella said to him that has him so enraged.
I got some good intel tonight, and I can't let myself get caught up in personal drama.
But I can't deny that Isabella's outburst has shaken me.
I never thought I would be caught in the crossfire of a mafia marriage.
I can't wait to put this fucker away and let Isabella know the truth, but I wonder if that would make her hate me even more.
I glance over at Luca, studying his profile in the dim light of the dashboard. His jaw is clenched tight, and his knuckles are white on the steering wheel. He looks like a man on the edge. I know he's capable of violence, and I don't want to be on the receiving end of it again.
As we continue to drive in silence, Luca's phone suddenly buzzes. He answers it with a curt, "Yeah?"
I can't make out the other person's voice, but Luca pounds on the steering wheel. "What? Now?" He listens for a moment. "At the place?" he asks before yelling, "Fuck! Okay, fine. I'll be there."
He ends the call and turns to me, his eyes cold. "We've got a problem. I need to take care of some business, and you're coming with me."
This can't be good.
I try to keep my voice steady as I ask, "What kind of business?"
Luca keeps his head straight and eyes on the road. "You'll see soon enough."
We drive for what feels like an hour, winding through the city streets until we reach the outskirts of town and find ourselves on a street of run-down houses.
I look up and down the street, trying to get a sense of where we are and what kind of business Luca might have out here.
I almost throw up when I see it. It's Gabriel's car.
We're at a fucking hit.