Chapter 24 Luca
LUCA
I checked in with the guards in the entryway of the church before I was granted permission to enter the altar and then the inner sector, a place steeped in ancient French history, a building as old as the Louvre.
Statues of famous politicians and poets and grand thinkers were within.
Artwork and sculptures and old records. The place was big enough and adorned enough to be a museum itself.
Marcus, the new head of the Aristocrats, met me in front of the grand fire, the hearth containing flames six feet high because of the gas mechanism installed below the grates. It created a distinct glow across everything and a heat I could feel on the back of my neck.
In his long-sleeved gold robe, he stared at me, hands together, neither hostile nor welcoming. “We have a problem, from what I understand.”
“You thought there would be no retaliation?”
A man as old as the Pope, he considered himself to be the equivalent even though their religion was elitism and their god was Emperor Napoleon.
Some of the richest in society praised the Aristocrats for their supremacy.
Gave donations to their church. Even Bastien had donated some of the family heirlooms he had from his ties to Napoleon—his attempt at diplomacy.
“Every item we took belongs in the French Republic. Crafted by French artisans, they belong here, not abroad.”
“Just because the artist was a French native doesn’t mean any painting he made in Italy is under French ownership. That’s not how it works.”
His eyes flicked back and forth between mine. “I respectfully disagree. They were consigned during the Renaissance to make Florence as beautiful as Paris. In the shadow of our artistry and perfection, they tried to build their own sun.”
Fucking lunatic.
“They even took our word Renaissance—which means rebirth in our tongue.”
“The Renaissance affected all of Europe, not just us.”
His eyes sharpened slightly like he didn’t appreciate that. “We took only what belonged to us and spared the rest. None were hurt or killed in the infiltration. We have no ill will toward the Pope or the Vatican. We simply wanted our things back.”
“Why didn’t you just ask?”
“Ask?” He cocked his head. “Would you ask for something that is rightfully yours?”
“It’s not rightfully yours—”
“The French Republic is the greatest wonder of this world, and I will not succumb—”
“Interrupt me again, and see what happens, Marcus.”
He hesitated, only briefly. “Father Marcus.”
I smirked. “Who’s copying whom now?”
“We’re the fathers of the Fifth Republic. We will usher in the new Renaissance. The old will join the new. You and I are on the same side, Luca.”
“It doesn’t feel that way,” I barked. “Not when I have the Roman Emperor breathing down my neck and President Bianchi threatening a trade war with France. All because you decided to spit on their holy ground with your thievery.”
“We can easily launch our own trade war against them in retaliation.”
“Let’s leave politics to the government, shall we?” I snapped. “We need to return every item that you stole to the Vatican.”
Father Marcus straightened like my words were absurd. “I can’t return something that never belonged to them.”
“Constantine said he wants every piece returned—and the heads of those who took them. He already knows you’re behind this because it’s not exactly hard to figure out who had the motive.”
“We respect the Fifth Republic. We honor the code. We violated no rule that the French Emperors and President Martin imposed. You should be protecting us—not persecuting us.”
“Then I guess we need to amend the law and include that none shall provoke wars with allies.” It hadn’t crossed our minds before because no one seemed stupid enough to do it. “My hands are tied, Marcus.”
“Father Marcus.”
I almost rolled my eyes. “Priests are called father because they’re spiritual leaders. There’s nothing spiritual about what you do.”
“I disagree. France is the greatest country this world has ever seen—”
“We fucked up pretty bad during World War II, in case you forgot.”
He turned quiet.
“We have to return the pieces.”
“And should I cut off my own head, or did you bring an axe?” he sneered.
“I won’t be handing over any heads. Gonna try something else first. But I need those pieces if I want to negotiate in good faith.”
His hands came together in his sleeves, and that stubborn gaze filled his eyes.
“It’s not worth your life, Father.”
He took a slow breath then stepped away.
“Perhaps once the relationship is mended, we can offer to purchase the items that you want.”
“The Pope will never agree.”
“Everything has a price.”
“Men of God have a different currency.”
“I will try my best to negotiate something for those pieces,” I said. “But right now, we’ve got to focus on you and the others behind this theft keeping their heads. We’ve got a deal?”
He looked away, staring at a statue in one corner of the elaborate room, the treasury of heirlooms, keepsakes of history all hoarded and hidden from the people of the Republic. “Yes…we have a deal.”
Every piece that was stolen was packed in the shipping truck, which then began its long drive to Rome. Without traffic, it was a fourteen-hour drive, so I would fly out tomorrow and meet Constantine before the exchange was made.
By the time I got home, it was almost dawn.
Aliénor was asleep in my bed, swallowed by the sheets, making herself right at home like sleeping without me was no problem.
I took a quick shower and got into bed beside her, moving slowly so I wouldn’t wake her up when my weight shifted the mattress. But it was enough to stir her, and she turned and opened her eyes to look at me.
“What time is it?” she mumbled.
“Dawn.”
“You were gone all night…” She cupped my neck as she moved in close to me, her leg hiking up over my hip. “I missed you.”
“You did?” I teased slightly. “Because you look like you made yourself right at home.”
She picked up on the playfulness and smiled. “The first time I felt safe was in this place. I guess I feel comfortable here. I feel protected by you whether you’re here or not.”
It was definitely an answer that inflated my ego. Not that it needed further inflation.
“Everything okay?” Her hand moved to my arm, and she felt the muscle there.
“Just work.” I wouldn’t bore her or burden her with it.
She didn’t ask for details. Her eyes remained fatigued, still half asleep.
“Go back to sleep.”
“Why would I want to go to sleep when I can have you instead?” She came in even closer and kissed me, digging her fingers into my hair as she breathed into me, passion igniting from nothing, like she’d dreamed of me the whole time I was away.
I rolled her onto her back and slipped between her slender thighs, the heat from our bodies coming together and creating a fireball of warmth.
Without foreplay, I slipped inside her and felt the slickness that was already there, like it started the second I entered the room.
My arms moved behind her knees and pinned her in place, and I entered her with her head resting on my pillow.
I thrust inside her hard from the start, dead tired when I walked in the door but rock hard the second she said she wanted me.
Her hands gripped my arms, and her fingers dug into my muscles. “Luca Fournier…” She said my full name like I was some kind of celebrity, with adoration and obsession, worshipping my presence like I was a god she prayed to every night—on her hands and knees.
I’d felt wanted by all the women I’d been with, but it was different with her.
Very different.
When I woke up, I was alone.
I reached for my phone and checked the time. It was almost one in the afternoon. I turned to look into the living room and saw that the doors were closed, like Aliénor let herself into the other room so I could continue to sleep.
I got out of bed and stepped into the living room, seeing her on the couch reading a book, wearing one of my t-shirts like she lived there. She didn’t notice me right away, but she must have felt my presence before she actually saw me.
Her eyes dragged down my body because all I wore were my boxers. “Beautiful morning.”
Still tired behind the eyes, I didn’t smirk. “How long have you been awake?”
She shrugged and closed the book. “I’m a morning person now with my new job and all. But don’t worry about me. There’s no better way to spend my morning.” She left the couch and moved into me, rising on her tiptoes to embrace me with a hug and a kiss.
My hand automatically slid underneath her shirt to grab her ass. “I’ll order breakfast. Then I’ll have to head out.”
“You’re leaving again?” She couldn’t contain her disappointment.
“I’ve got to catch a flight to Rome.”
“Why?”
“Work.” I sat on the couch and fired off a text to Andre.
“Well, there are worse places to travel for work.” She sat across from me, one knee propped to show some of her thong underneath.
She wore no makeup, still having that morning glow from a good night’s sleep.
It was something I’d never paid attention to before, but she really did look beautiful first thing in the morning.
“Trust me, I’m not looking forward to it.”
She gave a slight nod but didn’t ask for details.
“There’s always next weekend.”
She perked up slightly. “There is?”
“And the days in between.”
Now, her smile was bright. “I don’t think I could go five days without seeing your handsome face.” She already had me, but she continued to flirt with me, continued to pump up my ego.
I didn’t need a boost, but it was still nice. I got compliments and advances from women regularly, but their intentions were unclear. Did they want my money, my dick, my protection—or did they want me?