5. Elio De Luca
Chapter 5
Elio De Luca
It feels as though the room itself is holding its breath. Every single one of us has our guns out, safety off, pointed at the main door, ready for anything. My grip is steady, my pulse is controlled beneath my skin. Gio stands to my right, Jackson to my left, both as sharp and tense as I am. The familiar feeling of my fingers around the butt of my gun grounds me, reminds me this is not a game.
Then Steven’s voice crackles through my earpiece. “Vinny is unarmed and alone. We checked him. He’s at the door, we’re right behind you.”
I exchange a glance with Gio before lowering my gun slightly. Jackson does the same. Steven wouldn’t call it if he wasn’t sure.
The main door creaks open.
Vinny steps in, flanked by Steven and two of our men. He wears a suit, though it’s wrinkled, his tie loosened like he’s been through hell. His dark hair is disheveled, strands falling across his forehead. There’s something about the way he carries himself—calm like he’s walking into a goddamn family dinner instead of a firing squad.
He smirks. “Brother, mio fratello .”
The room doesn’t answer him.
“Don’t you fucking brother me,” I growl, storming towards him.
Vinny barely has time to brace before I grab him by the collar and slam him against the wall. The room goes silent except for the ragged sound of his breath, his feet barely scraping the ground.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now?” I hiss, my voice sharp as a blade. My grip tightens with the force of barely restrained rage.
Vinny coughs, struggling to breathe. “B-because I’ve got information,” he rasps. “Threatening N-nica—threatening you—our n-new little sister—”
I hesitate and put him down.
“What information? Spill it, now.”
“He’s lying,” Nica says, I can fell he tense body next to me.
Turning to her, I notice the fire in her eyes, and before I can react Nica’s fist connects with Vinny’s face before he can say another word. His head snaps to the side, and blood wells from his split lip. He groans, spitting red onto the cold marble floor.
“That’s for what you did to me back then,” she says. Her hands are shaking.
Vinny tilts his head back, laughing bitterly. “Yeah. I deserved that. Now, do you have the balls to end me?”
“Probably?” she snaps, stepping closer, but Gio catches her wrist, pulling her back. His fingers twitch towards the handle of his gun.
“What the h-hell is happening? Why is this dog alive and talking? We take him out, now,” Jackson mutters, his eyes flicking between his glock and Vinny. Steven stands by the door, stone-faced but alert, a subtle tightening at the corner of his eye.
Vinny wipes the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “I know I’m fucked up, and I deserve most of the shit you’re giving me. I tell you what, don’t trust me. But trust the person who did this.”
He yanks up the hem of his shirt, revealing a deep bruise over his ribs—dark purple and ugly, with a raw wound at the edge. A bullet grazed him, just enough to tear skin but not enough to take him down.
“Someone tried to kill me,” Vinny says.
My eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”
Vinny exhales shakily. “Someone is targeting me, they’re after me.”
The room tenses. Jackson’s expression darkens, his hand resting on his gun. Steven shifts slightly, his attention sharpening.
“He’s a liar,” Jackson says.
I don’t know what to think, my brother has always been an excellent liar, but this time, there’s something in his eyes… is it truth?
“Who?” Gio’s snarls. “Who’s after you? And why should we care?”
Jackson lets out a rough grunt, his grip tightening on his gun as he points it at Vinny’s chest. He reeks of cheap whiskey. “I should k-kill you.”
“Easy there, detective,” Nica says, resting a hand on Jackson’s shoulder, grounding him—grounding herself. Her pulse is hammering, but she keeps her voice steady. “Let’s hear him out before we blow his head off.”
That’s my girl.
Vinny turns to me. “Brother then— you’ll listen to reason, won’t you? Keep your dogs in control? I’m not sure who’s behind it, but I tracked someone down from a company called Broad Corporation. The same car that followed yours the other day.”
Broad again.
“How do you know about that?” I ask.
“I was stalking you as well, from the hospital—anything else?” he smirks, but his expression turns serious.
That’s how he knows about Celeste, damn it.
My jaw clenches. “What about the fucking car, Vinny? I’m running out of patience.”
Vinny’s gaze darts around the room, then back to me. “It was the same car that followed you from the hospital, that afterwards found me, and a guy inside tried to shot me. This isn’t random. It’s not the first time.”
“Why should we care?” I say.
And I don’t, at this moment I don’t care about what happens to Vinny.
“Because—they’re targeting all of us, all of us De Lucas and those connected to us.”
“Who?” I say. “And how do you know?”
“Fuck do I know who is after us. If I knew I would have killed them already. All I know is that they’re trying to wipe out the family,” Vinny continues, his voice hoarse. “Or what’s left of it.”
“Answer my question now, or I’ll kick the shit out of you,” I say, “Why are they after all of us? How do you know that?”
Silence. Heavy. Suffocating.
“In the safe house—I was there to get—information about you. I knew the location of the safe house, I used it with Don many years ago. I knew it was abandoned, since Don death. After I smashed the camera at the house, I went it. I found pictures, addresses, of you, Victoria, Maria, even old Gambini. But the thing was, most of it was gone. Someone came there before me. Ripped off the information for god knows what reason. But after I saw that car follow you, and the attempt on my life from the same person inside, I’m pretty damn sure that who ever owns this Broad corporation is out to wipe of the whole De Luca clan.”
“Who were you with in the safe house?” I ask, and press him up against the wall with one arm, gun in the other hand.
“It doesn’t matter, an associate—” Vinny gulps.
Nica’s arm shakes, and I squeeze tight. He was responsible for hurting her, for damaging her, and now that he’s here, I find it damn hard not to slice his throat.
Didn’t Nica say that Jackson found a note with the Broad name in the hut? How does that fit? Is he working with them?
“You’re lying,” I say, but my grip loosens just slightly.
Vinny coughs, wincing as he rubs his throat. “I’m not. Just let me go then if you don’t believe me. Or do I need to bleed a little more first?”
I don’t answer right away. I look at Jackson, at Gio, at Steven. Then, finally, at Nica.
No one says a word. The only thing I see is distrust. The fear that has always been there.
Nica’s voice cuts through. “We can’t trust him. Rats lie. If it smells like a rat, if it looks like a rat—” She takes a moment.
Vinny glares at her. “Why the hell would I walk into room full of people who want to kill me if I was lying?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Yeah. Why would you?”
What is he trying to pull? Does he think he can mess with me? With us?
I slam him against the wall again, harder this time. He lets out a choked gasp, but I can feel his pulse steady beneath my grip.
That fucking shit again. Why am I not ending it already?
He should be scared.
He should be begging me to stop.
But he’s not scared. Why?
Because whatever is out there scares him more…
Vinny’s eyes find mine. “You need me alive. You know I’m right.”
I hold him there for another second. After another long, drawn-out moment of hesitation, I look over at Steven, who just nods. I know he wants him dead, too. But not now. Not here.
Then I let go.
Vinny staggers, coughing as he rubs his throat. My fingers press into my temples.
Shit. I think he’s telling the truth. Or something close to it.
“What were you doing at the safe house? The truth this time.”
My jaw is tight, ready to hit someone.
Vinny rolls his eyes, like this entire interrogation bores him. “You saw it yourself didn’t you?”
“Answer me,” I growl.
He drags a hand over his brow, fingers still brushing his throat where my grip left its mark.
“Can I get a glass of water? Is old maid Gambini still around?” His gaze flicks around the room, calculating, always thinking a step ahead.
Nica moves before I do, her steps quiet, controlled. She grabs his collar and jerks him forward, her gun pressing hard against his temple. “Answer Elio’s questions, or else–” she pants, then clicks her tongue against her teeth, mimicking the sharp, mocking sound of a gunshot.
Vinny’s jaw tightens. Just for a second. Was that fear?
“Fine,” he exhales. “I was looking for information about you all like I said, okay? I wanted fucking revenge of some sorts. To make my way back into the family business. To find something to blackmail you with. Alright? I wanted to screw you over—mess with you, okay?”
“And?” I say.
His lips press together, “And then things, the information, was missing from the safe house, and afterwards someone tried to kill me—and things didn’t add the fuck up.” He looks straight at me, eyes dark, defiant. Not asking for sympathy. Just stating facts. “I changed my mind. Got fucking spooked.”
Jackson’s voice snaps through. “And we’re supposed to believe you’ve gone all s-saint on us? You’re not fooling me! You k-killed Carol, you fuck—”
He lunges, fury twisting his face, but I’m faster. My hand clamps onto his arm, yanking him back. Jackson struggles, kicking and fighting, but he’s too weak from the alcohol. I force him onto the couch, holding him there until the fight drains out of him.
“I didn’t fucking kill some Carol chick. I’ve been – clean for a while now,” he says and straightens his jacket, brushing imaginary dust from the lapels. “I’m not doing this to be some damn nice guy, fuck no.” His voice drops lower, like gravel scraping against steel. “I need you assholes to survive, for me to survive. Can you get that through your thick fucking skulls?”
Nica doesn’t blink. “Who did you meet at the safe house?”
“An associate, I told you already,” he stammers.
“The truth,” she presses.
Vinny clears his throat, the sound dry, rough. “S-Seraphina.”
Liar .
The name lingers in the air. My gut says he’s full of shit, but I don’t call him on it. Not yet.
Instead, I watch him. Watch the twitch of his fingers, the way his throat works around the lie.
He thinks he can play us? He should know better.
“Take him to the secure room upstairs, two men on him all times,” I command.
“The old house holding cell?” Vinny says, “that’ll feel just like home.”
Shaking my head I sigh and look around, what else will this day bring?
* * *
The pale dawn light slices through the blinds, painting stripes across the wall. I rub the sleep from my eyes, a nice little souvenir of a restless night. I push myself out of bed, the chill of the floor jolting me awake.
I remind myself that Vinny is in the house, pinching my arm to confirm it isn’t a dream.
Everything is real now, including the possibility that he’ll go off the deep end and say or do something he shouldn’t. He’s fucked up, unreliable, a liar.
Nica and I have a meeting with Tuvio. It’s routine, yet I feel a different energy. I can’t shake the feeling that something’s shifted.
It’s probably cause my crazy brother is in my house.
Nica is already awake; I can hear the muffled sounds of her moving around downstairs. We’re driving in together.
I splash water on my face, the cold a welcome shock, and my fingers rasp against the rough stubble of my jaw. I need to shave.
My gaze drifts to the phoenix tattoo rising from my chest up my neck– a De Luca will always rise from the ashes. Right now, I feel like I’ve risen from nothing more than a restless night.
I ache to crawl back into bed. With Nica. I shake my head, forcing the thought away. I return to the bedroom, pull on an Armani suit, and dress quickly.
Downstairs, Nica waits, her posture tense, and she has a slight tremor in her hand as she checks her watch. Her dark hair frames her face, and those powerful eyes search, assess—as if she can see through me.
“Where’s Vinny?” she asks.
“Locked up with Gio and Steven outside his room, as ordered. Good morning to you, too,” I reply.
“Good,” she says, then approaches me, rising on her toes, offering her rosy lips.
I pull her close, one hand on her lower back, and meet her kiss. A surge of desire, involuntary and immediate, tightens my body as she presses against me. I can’t help the flicker in my eyes as she teases my groin with her hand.
“Elio,” she whispers against my lips, “good morning to—all of you,” her hand briefly teases over the fabric of my suit where my now-hardened cock is visible.
I deepen the kiss instead of replying. Her taste is toothpaste, her scent, shampoo, and cinnamon. Her.
Damn, all I want is to take her back upstairs. Fuck .
“Fuck the meeting, let’s go back upstairs,” I murmur, my thumb tracing the soft outline of her slightly swollen lips. “It’s just Tuvio.”
“We need to go,” she states, with no hesitation, though I can feel her body responding to mine, her breasts pressing against my chest as she arches into me. Damn it.
“Really?” I draw her closer, my hand gliding down her waist, stopping at the soft silk blouse where it meets her blue pencil skirt.
She gasps as I slide two fingers inside the band of her skirt, meeting her warm skin.
“Come on, Elio. We have work to do. I want to ask Tuvio about the Broad company, if he found something.”
“Right,” I mutter, disappointment settling in my body.
“I’ll make it up to you later,” she teases, winking, then swats me away and heads for the door.
“Fine,” I grunt, not at all happy with how the morning has turned out. But she’s right.
She usually is.
We leave the mansion. Marcus waits by the car, the air crisp, the early sun glinting on the thin layer of frost on the estate. The gargoyle fountain by the main gate has frozen, and the water is still mid-spout. If I wasn’t so preoccupied, I might even find it beautiful.
“He didn’t meet Seraphina at the safe house, did he?” I ask once we’re settled in the car and it begins to move.
Nica shakes her head, a dismissive scoff escaping her lips. “No way. He’s lying.” She stares out the window, the city landscape a blur. “He needed a name, someone we might react to. Someone to throw us off.”
“Why would he lie about that, though? Why Seraphina?” I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, trying to piece together the puzzle. “She’s been off the map for years.”
Nica shrugs. “To confuse us. To make us look in the wrong places… Who knows.” Her gaze locks onto mine, sharp and cutting. “The point is, he’s not to be trusted. Not even a little.”
“I just hope he doesn’t make any trouble,” I murmur.
“Of course he will,” she replies and rolls her eyes.
Even with Gio and Steven watching Vinny, the mansion feels off. Vinny had actually approved of himself being locked up, and there was a disturbing glint in his eyes as he had added, “I like being looked after.”
Like some messed-up joke.
But I pretty sure he’s genuinely terrified. Whatever haunted him – whether real or imagined – got to him. And Vinny isn’t easy to scare.
I pull out my phone, dialing Maria.
I need to hear her voice, even if I resent her, even if her words are always tinged with that subtle undercurrent of disapproval.
“Maria,” I say when she answers, “How’s Celeste?”
“Oh, she’s good, Elio, a little angel, a little miracle,” she says. “A real De Luca.” Her tone has that familiar, cloying sweetness.
“Yeah?” I force a smile, ignoring the jab, the little dig. “She does this thing with her fists, clenching them. Like she’s strong,” my mother says, a chuckle bubbling up.
Since when does she chuckle?
“Oh yes?” I say, mirroring her tone. “Well, she’s getting ready to fight all the bad guys.”
Maria is quiet for a beat, then smoothly switches the subject.
“When are you coming to visit her? You sound tired.”
“Soon,” I sigh, not wanting to go there right now. “Tell her–hi from me, okay?”
“Sure.”
I hang up, leaving the familiar knot in my stomach.
I glance at Nica, gauging how much she’d overheard, but her head is already bent over a message.
“Who’s that?” I ask, careful to keep my tone casual.
She glances at her phone, a flicker of something I can’t decipher – anxiety? Resentment? – across her face.
“It’s my mother… She wants to meet,” she says, her voice clipped. I hold back my questions. Why?
“Will you meet her?” I ask, a wish to fix it for her stirring inside me.
“Maybe later—” she replies, her gaze drifting out the window.
I let the silence settle, knowing the walls she’s erected around this topic. She always pulls away when her mother is involved.
I wish she would trust me more. I don’t like to admit it, but it’s like tiny daggers to my heart when she doesn’t let me in.
* * *
We finally arrive at the office, deciding not to share Vinny’s sudden appearance with Uncle Tuvio just yet. The clatter of keyboards and the low murmur of voices do little to calm me down.
Fiona greets us with a crips, “good morning.”
Her sleek, blonde hair is arranged in a high bun, as sharp and controlled as a blade. Her outfit is a mix of grays and blues, she missteps on the smooth marble floor, but quickly recovers. I chuckle briefly, earning me a stern look from her ice-blue eyes.
“Don’t mess with her,” Nica murmurs, her elbow digging into my side with a playful warning.
“Right,” I reply, letting out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding and step into my office.
“Elio! Victoria!” Tuvio is already at the meeting table, a mountain of a man overflowing his chair. He rises, his movements surprisingly light, and pulls us in for a series of big, engulfing hugs.
“Tuvio,” I grunt between embraces, “Morning then.”
I’m not big on physical contact, except from Elio, but I give in.
He settles back across the table, his belly pressing against the edge. He’s already snacking on a plate of pastries. The sweet smell of cinnamon and sugar reaches my nostrils. A warm, steaming cup of coffee rests beside him, undoubtedly brought by Fiona. The white powder of the sugar dusts the upper part of his light-blue suit, clinging to his chin like freshly fallen snow.
“Uncle Tuvio,” Nica says, “you got a little something on your face there—”
She gestures towards his chin and lets out a soft chuckle, taking her seat.
“What, where?” He replies, his voice slightly flustered, and desperately brushes at his cheeks, never quite reaching the sugar coating him.
“Never mind,” she says, settling into her chair.
I follow. The usual business agenda, so meticulously planned, feels strangely unimportant today.
Still, Tuvio slides the paperwork across the desk, his wide smile plastered as if someone had sewn it to his face.
“So, Elio, about these acquisitions…” he begins, “We have to decide before they go to our competitors, am I right?” He taps his fingers impatiently on the file.
“Right,” I reply, my eyes narrowing. “But are they actually worth it? It seems a little bit hasty, doesn’t it?” I tap my finger on a section of the paperwork, my finger tracing the line of numbers like a hawk circling its prey, highlighting the figures I disagree with.
Tuvio’s smile falters for a brief second. “Hasty? This is how we do things, Elio. Or do you want to lose out on all the gains?” He laughs again, but the sound doesn’t reach his eyes. He leans forward, “This is a top priority acquisition, my boy. You need to focus.”
“I just don’t think we have the resources for this right now, Tuvio, with all the other things going on,” I say, pulling my hand back and grabbing the file, putting a barrier between us.
He’s acting strange. Too eager. Too familiar. Or am I being paranoid? Seeing enemies around every corner?
Fiona enters the room, her heels tap-tap-tapping on the polished floor. She pours us steaming hot coffee, and the scent of roasted beans wakes me up. I nod a silent thank you, observing her movements. They are precise, almost mechanical. I briefly assess her build and posture, and involuntarily, my thoughts return to the grainy footage from the safe house. Her build… Does it match the figure Vinny had met there? But the thought is ridiculous.
She’s a secretary, damn it. And a woman. Paranoia. I have to stop this. I’m spiraling.
* * *
We sit for a few more hours, the afternoon light shifting across the room, discussing acquisitions, selling off illegitimate companies, dismantling drug smuggling channels, and trying to bring our jewelry operations into compliance with new regulations. It’s been almost a year since the new rules went into effect, and we’re still nowhere near done. At some point, Tuvio lets out a wide yawn, the sound heavy and prolonged.
“I was up at five this morning. Old man’s habits, you know,” he grumbles, glancing at his watch. “I need to get some rest.”
“I thought our kind was unstoppable,” I say. “Italian blood and all.”
“Unstoppable until after an afternoon nap—” he says and rises from his chair, his movements surprisingly nimble despite his size.
“I’ll talk to you later,” I say, dismissing him with a wave.
As Tuvio leaves, Nica moves swiftly. “Tuvio—” she calls and leaves the office quickly after him. I hear their conversation fade as she moves away from the office door, and my gut tightens.
A few minutes pass before she returns. “What was that about?”
“I asked him about Broad again,” she replies, her tone clipped, barely making eye contact with me.
“And?” I prompt.
“And he says he doesn’t know anything—” Her shoulders stiffen. “But I don’t know if I believe him.”
“Or maybe you’re being paranoid,” I say, the words come out before I can catch them, it’s a knee-jerk reaction I can’t explain even to myself.
Her face hardens instantly, her jaw clenching. “Oh, and you’re not? You were checking out Fiona as if she was some spy.”
Did she notice that?
“I’m just being careful—” I start, trying to reason.
“And I’m not? I’m not being careful?” Nica snaps, her voice rising. She turns away, her back to me, a silhouette of fury, and then leaves before I can say another word.
Where did all that anger come from? A hollow ache settles in my chest. But more importantly, is she right?
It’s time, I think, the words are a hard edge in my mind. Time I find out exactly what the hell this Broad Corporation is.
I glance down at the papers on my desk refocusing my attention.
My fingers fly across the keyboard on my computer, bringing up the communication log I looked at earlier and then my personal secure files. I navigate to the number I saved earlier, I type them onto my phone and hit dial. Maybe, just maybe someone on the other end will answer the phone.