Chapter 15 Luca
LUCA
I sat alone at the bar and stared at nothing or focused on my phone.
Carvel’s name popped up along with a message. Did you hear about the Vatican? He dropped a link to a news article.
I didn’t reply, but I opened the article and scanned it quickly. The headline read Vatican Museum Robbed. Investigation Underway. When I skimmed the article, the truth became glaringly obvious.
I texted Carvel. Aristocrats.
Yep.
The Vatican must have had some French pieces in the museum, and the Aristocrats were pissed about it. Out of my jurisdiction, so not my problem.
Thank god for that. Fucking psychopaths.
I set my phone down and took a drink before I looked across the bar again. It’d been a few days since I’d seen Aliénor. We hadn’t spoken. I assumed that was done, but if it was done, why did I still think about her? Why was I frustrated beyond sanity but equally obsessed?
What was it about this goddamn woman?
A text popped up on my phone.
It wasn’t Carvel or one of the other guys.
It was her.
Want to come over for dinner?
I stared at the message. Read it not once, but twice. Didn’t touch the phone. Just sat there and stared at the screen until it turned black again. All I had to do was ignore her and ghost her.
But I couldn’t do it.
I couldn’t do it, and it pissed me the fuck off.
Her message popped up again. I’m not the best cook, but I can whip up a couple decent things.
A woman had never cooked me dinner before. Not even my own mother.
Ignore her. Just ignore her.
I drank from my glass, and when it was empty, I ordered another. I pushed her from my mind and tried to think of all the shit I had to do tonight.
But my mind always came back to her.
Why the fuck was this happening to me?
I snatched the phone and groaned as I smashed my thumbs against the screen. When?
Tonight. Or any night that you’re free.
The ball was in my court. I’ll be there in thirty minutes. I had a long night ahead of me, but I canceled it for her. Like some kind of pussy-whipped little bitch.
She sent a red-heart emoji.
Instead of knocking on her door, I walked inside. She expected me, so I didn’t want to bother with the dance. When I shut the door, it clicked in place, and that was when she knew I was there.
She stood over a hot pot on the stove, wearing a bright-red apron. She was a little spooked, like she hadn’t expected me to walk in like that, but she quickly shook it off. She stepped over to the counter to remove her apron, wearing a long-sleeved shirt and black jeans, and walked up to me.
I had been mad when I walked in the door, but I wasn’t angry when I looked at her.
Eyes green like the northern lights. Soft and delicate like a flower that had just bloomed in spring. Packed with vulnerability and emotion that practically leaped from her eyes. Her gaze locked on mine, and there was a pause.
A pause that I physically felt.
Then she rose onto her tiptoes and came into me, hungry lips landing on mine, her fingers digging into the back of my hair, her arm reaching to hook around my neck as far as it would extend with our height difference.
She kissed me like she’d missed me, like she’d been thinking of me every moment we’d been apart, thinking of me as hard as I tried not to think of her.
And I was fucking lost.
My hand moved to her ass in her jeans, and I squeezed it as I pulled her into me, my arm curled around the small of her back, my other hand digging deep into her hair like I’d find gold in the strands.
Kissing was the thing I was the least interested in, but whenever my lips touched hers, I felt the fire.
I felt a desperation that slowly burned hotter and hotter, a searing heat that burst between our mouths, an ache in my chest that only grew worse the longer I kissed her.
She was the gasoline poured over my flames—and our chemistry was fucking combustive.
Jesus Christ.
I was the one who pulled away first. Dumped the water on the flames and watched the smoke. Tried to contain a forest fire that had scorched most of the earth. I could still feel the heat on my mouth like she was ablaze.
She remained on her tiptoes, her hand on my cheek, her face close to mine, stars in her eyes. “I’m glad you’re here.”
My eyes were locked on hers, seeing a woman who made me sane and fucking crazy at the same time.
The sincerity of her words and her expression made me feel a lot of shit.
I let her go and moved around her. “What’s for dinner?
” I’d already had dinner at home a couple hours ago, but I could eat again. I could always fucking eat.
“Caesar chicken with penne pasta.”
“Never had it.”
“I think it’s pretty good.” She turned back to the stove and turned off the burner so the pot with pasta would cool off. “Take a seat. Do you drink wine?”
“Wine is fine.” I didn’t feel any particular way about it.
I moved to the small four-seater table, a little vase there with flowers she must have grabbed from the market.
I watched her work in the kitchen, bend over to take the pan out of the oven and set it on top of the stove.
Then she plated everything before she placed it before me and retrieved the wine.
She poured two glasses and took the seat across from me.
“Thank you for dinner.” I laid the paper-towel napkin across my lap and cut into the chicken. It seemed to be roasted in a Caesar dressing that would go on a salad. Never seen anything like it, but I wasn’t picky about food. I’d eat pretty much anything.
She smiled. “Wow, you have manners.”
I took a bite of the chicken and chewed as I stared at her, enjoying the taste more than I expected to. I didn’t take offense to what she’d said because it was a fair assessment. There were a lot of things I should say that I forgot to share. And I also said some shit that was better left unsaid.
She focused on her food and sliced into the meat before she took a bite with a couple of the penne pasta pieces that were submerged in a light, buttery sauce. “I know it’s not fancy, but it’s easy.”
“I like it.”
“You do?” she asked. “Or are you just being polite?”
I finished my bite as I stared at her. “Am I ever polite?”
“Well, you did say thank you.”
“I said it because I meant it.” I’d been angry for days, pissed off the moment I walked in the door, but when I was with her…
it was gone. “Not because of some societal obligation to appear grateful.” I cut straight to the chase, brushed off all the fluff, and it made me very unpopular.
Bastien was better at diplomacy. Could walk the fine line between straightforward and charming.
I was not charming.
We continued to eat in silence. My phone vibrated in my pocket more than once, but I ignored it. It went off all the time, and if it was a real emergency, I knew it would be a call instead of a text.
“How have you been?” she asked.
“Work.”
As she took a drink of her wine, she raised her eyebrow. “What?”
“I’ve been working.”
“But that didn’t answer the question,” she said with a slight chuckle.
“I’m the same every moment, every day. My state of mind doesn’t change.”
“Okay, then what’s your default?”
I finished my dinner in a couple bites. The contents of the plate were a meal for her but a snack for me. “I don’t know.”
She watched me from across the table, a stare that was long and deep. She eventually reached for her nearly empty glass and took a drink until there was nothing left. “What’s been going on at work? The pension plan crisis still averted?”
She actually listened to me? “The Aristocrats robbed the Vatican Museum. But that’s not my problem, thankfully.”
“I saw that headline online today. But who are the Aristocrats?”
“A cult of weirdos.”
“A cult…?”
“They believe all French history should belong to them because they’re each descendants of the greatest figures in French history—monarchs, emperors, politicians, generals. A kids club for insecure men…”
She didn’t seem interested in her dinner anymore, focused entirely on what I revealed to her. “I had no idea there was such a thing.”
“You aren’t supposed to. That’s why I’m here, so people like you can see Paris for its beauty rather than its corruption and lies.
So tourists continue to flock here and spend their money.
So the world will continue to believe we’re a society of refinery and elegance.
But truth is, we’re no different from Chicago or New York City in America.
At least until the Fifth Republic and the French Emperors were formed. ”
It’d been lighthearted a moment ago, but now she was focused on my face across the table, her mind working behind her eyes.
“I didn’t pay attention to the news much these last eight years.
I was so focused on the hit men who wanted me dead that I didn’t pay attention to anything else going on in the city.
Didn’t notice a change when you guys came into power. ”
“It was about four years ago. There’s been a distinct surge in our economy ever since. It’s been to the betterment of our society because we were on the precipice of societal ruin. Our health care system was almost affected.”
“I didn’t realize tourism was so important.”
“It’s more than tourism. It’s also Parisians staying out late and getting coffees and drinks and taking taxis…it all works together. I hate Americans as much as anyone else, but when they come here, they spend money, so I can’t hate them that much.”
“I don’t mind them. Why do you hate them?”
“They come here and gawk at our women.”
She gave a slight scoff. “I’ve never heard a man be possessive over an entire gender before.”
“French women are beautiful, and I pride myself on that fact.”
“Well, the French men aren’t so bad either.” When she looked at me across the table, there was a smile in her eyes. “I like this.”
“What?”
“When you talk.”
Like a searchlight had found me in the dark, I stilled.
“That’s why I ask you about work. It’s the one thing I can get you to talk about.”
I reached for the wine and finally took a drink, which tasted like juice compared to the scotch I had at the bar.
My arms crossed over my chest as I relaxed in the cheap chair, the curtains over the windows open to reveal the nearby buildings.
It was an overcast night and would probably rain at some point.
“What were you doing before the Fifth Republic?”
I almost didn’t answer, wanting to be stubborn and uncooperative. But there was something about her that made my dam open and the water rush out. “I was lower on the food chain. A coke dealer. The 16th arrondissement was my jurisdiction.”
There was no judgment in her eyes at all. As if she’d been exposed to drugs her whole life. “How did you go from that to this?”
“I already abided by the code. Didn’t involve innocent people in my affairs. Didn’t deal in the eyes of the public. If a woman was in the wrong place at the wrong time, she was always excused.”
“Meaning?”
I almost didn’t want to tell her, in case she didn’t realize the horrible things that used to happen to women in this city.
“They weren’t raped or trafficked. At least, not by my crew.
If they accidentally got hooked on our line, we always tossed them back into the water.
Other dealers would grab them and put them to work against their will…
And made them do other things against their will too. ”
She didn’t react to that, either because it wasn’t news to her or she didn’t want to show me she was disturbed.
“How do you go from that to a French Emperor?” Her dinner had been abandoned like she’d lost her appetite or simply couldn’t eat everything she’d plated.
She grabbed the bottle of wine and poured another glass.
“President Martin hired Bastien for a job, and that’s how the whole thing began.”
“Hired who for what job?” she asked.
“Bastien was a hit man before he became First Emperor. He appointed me as his second, along with three other guys to make up the five. We have our different jurisdictions because there are too many gangs for one man to police. But we all report to the first. And when Bastien left, I became the first.”
“And how do you know Bastien?”
“Everyone knows everyone in this game,” I said. “He appointed me to the position because he knew how I conducted my business. Together, we picked three other guys. Now, there are four of us.”
“Will you find a fifth?”
I considered the question before I gave a slight shrug. “It’s not a necessity right now. It would have to be a huge hit to take out all four of us at once.”
“Why did Bastien leave the French Emperors?”
“Met a woman and settled down.”
She gave a slow nod. “He couldn’t have both?”
I was about to tell her about all the shit that had happened to Fleur, but I didn’t. Kept it to myself. Selfishly. “They wanted to travel.”
“Are you close?”
Fleur was the right woman for him, and I was happy he’d found a new purpose in life, but it stung that he was gone. The friendship was still there, but it wasn’t the same, not with his new priorities. “As close as brothers.”
She smiled and her eyes warmed. “That’s sweet.”
Why did I tell her that?
“Do you have a biological brother?”
“No.”
“Sister?”
“No.”
“Only child?” she asked in slight surprise.
“Yes.”
“Were you spoiled?”
I almost laughed. Almost. “No.”
She seemed to notice the invisible barrier I put up, like this was a boundary I didn’t want her to cross, because she digressed. “My sisters drove me fucking crazy, but I’d cut a bitch for them in a heartbeat.” Her eyes moved down to her wineglass. “I miss them…”
Words I didn’t know how to say floated to the surface entirely on their own. “I’m sorry.”
Her eyes immediately flicked up to mine like she knew how special those words were coming from me. Then she smiled, just a little bit. “I know.”