Chapter 11
Lucia
The anger radiating off Romeo by the time we climb back into the car is palpable.
“Fuck!” he bellows, slamming his fist down on the steering wheel. “Fuck!”
“It’s okay,” I say, placing my hand on his leg, in a pathetic attempt to calm him down. “I know they messed up your gate and the door to your garage, but at least we got here before they stole your tools.”
His gaze snaps towards me. “I don’t give a fuck about my tools, Lucia.”
“Oh, I just thought—”
“Well, you thought wrong. Do you want to know why I’m so mad?”
I wince slightly because I think I know what he’s going to say. I broke my promise to him again. I said I’d stay in the car, and I didn’t. I had every intention of doing just that, but when I heard the blood-curdling scream and I saw the neighbours peeking out the window, I freaked out.
I bow my head and stare down at my lap. “Because I didn’t do as I was told?”
He leans his head back against his seat and blows out a frustrated breath. “There’s that,” he eventually says. “But I’m fucking livid right now because I care about you, Luc. I know my mother, she’ll do anything for a quick fix, and I’ve just put you in danger by bringing you here tonight.”
“You care about me?”
He turns his face in my direction and frowns. “Of course, I care about you.”
“Oh.”
“Oh,” he repeats, cocking an eyebrow. “You thought I didn’t?”
I lift one shoulder. “I know you bought me a Kindle, but I thought that was more out of guilt for blowing Big-O to smithereens.”
“That fucker had it coming. I have no regrets about what I did there, but I do feel like an arsehole for making you feel blue. That’s why I bought the Kindle … not out of guilt for being responsible for the demise of your vibrator. It may not seem like it at times, but I like seeing you happy.”
“I am happy,” I tell him. “Sure, I miss my freedom, my sister, Dante, and my baby niece and her squishy little cheeks, but playing house with you has been a highlight of my life.”
“We’re not exactly playing house, Lucia,” he grumbles.
“We could be.”
“You’re not going to give up until you break me, are you?”
“Is it working?” I ask sheepishly.
“Not even close.”
“Lucky I’m persistent then,” I counter.
He barks out a laugh before sighing as he scrubs one of his hands down his face. “This may all be over once your brother-in-law finds out what I’ve done.”
“Romeo,” I say, turning in my seat to face him. “You’re the victim here.”
“I doubt he’s going to see it that way. I’ve put your safety in jeopardy, and that’s inexcusable. I take full responsibility for what happened here tonight.”
I purse my lips, folding my arms over my chest. “If Dante comes after you, he’ll need to get through me first.”
“I appreciate that, Luc, but you need to let me sort it out on my own.”
“I’m not going to stand by and let you get in trouble for this.”
“It’s my job to protect you.”
“And you have. I’m fine, see?” I hold my hands out in front of me. “Besides, I’ve decided it’s my job to protect you too.”
I catch the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he reaches out and cups the nape of my neck. My eyes widen when he pulls me closer and presses a kiss to my forehead. It’s not my lips, but I’ll take it.
“I don’t know what I did to deserve you, Lucia Rossi, but I’m damn lucky to have you in my life.”
My heart trips over itself at his words. God, this man.
“I’m lucky to have you too. And I’m serious, I’m here for you. I know you’ve got the Famiglia, but I’m gathering they don’t see the sides of you that I do. You’ve been handed a raw deal, Romeo. You deserve better.”
He gives me a quiet nod, then lets go of my head and shifts back to his side of the car.
“My mum deserved better too.”
“Your mother made her own choices. That’s not on you. You said it yourself, you didn’t ask to be born.”
“Yeah ... I guess.”
“It’s true. You’ve given that woman way more chances than she deserves. You’ve never mentioned your dad … is he still in your life?”
“He died before I was born. My mum didn’t like talking about it, but from the little I know, he crashed his motorbike with her on the back. She was pretty badly injured … her leg got fucked up. That’s how her addiction to pain meds started.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She found out she was pregnant with me when she was in the hospital. Her parents—my grandparents—wanted her to terminate me; when she didn’t, they disowned her.”
“How sad.”
“She once told me she only kept me because I was all she had left of him. Not because she wanted a kid or because she loved me. I was just a reminder of the man she lost. A souvenir.”
I swallow hard. “Oh, Romeo …”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but his eyes say otherwise.
“It is what it is. She did what she could. But love and nurturing weren’t in the cards.
She often referred to me as a ghost when she was high.
I’m not even sure what she meant by that, but I can only assume it was because I reminded her of him. ”
“Still,” I murmur. “No kid deserves to grow up like that.”
His jaw tightens as he gazes out the window. “She never really let me forget that I ruined her life. That if it weren’t for me, she could’ve moved on. Gotten clean. Been someone else.”
My throat tightens. “That’s not on you.”
“Maybe not. But when someone tells you something enough, it starts to sound like the truth.”
I reach out, my fingers wrapping around his. “That’s not your truth, Romeo. You didn’t ruin her life. She made her choices. You just survived them.”
He squeezes my hand, finally meeting my eyes. There’s something broken behind his calm. Not a crack, but a whole damn fracture that’s been there too long.
“She once said that every time she looked at me, she saw the wreck. The blood. The loss. She didn’t see a son, just a mistake that kept breathing.”
“You’re not a mistake,” I say quietly. “You’re the best thing to come out of her mess.”
He lets out a sharp breath, like he’s trying to laugh but can’t quite manage it. “Do you actually believe that?”
“I do,” I say, because it’s the truth.
His life could’ve turned out so differently, but he made the best of a bad situation and flourished.
A long silence stretches between us, heavy and bitter. Then he leans his head back against the seat and closes his eyes. “You keep saying shit like that,” he mutters in a rough voice, “and I might actually start believing you.”
His confession has me making a mental note to do just that. I’m going to make it my daily mission to remind this man just how wonderful he is.
Changing the subject, I say, “You messed up her boyfriend pretty bad; it was awesome.”
He chuckles. “Would you believe me if I told you a priest taught me how to fight?”
“Really? A priest?”
“I went to a Catholic school. My uncle paid for my tuition because my mother sure as hell couldn’t. That’s where I met Dante. We went to the same school. I was the poor kid with a junkie mother, easy pickings for the stuck-up rich pricks who thought I didn’t belong. I got bullied. A lot.”
I gasp. “By Dante?”
He shakes his head. “No. He was a year ahead of me, the golden boy who everyone loved. We didn’t really talk back then.
But years later, my uncle brought me to a dinner at Dante’s place.
He recognised me straight away and, I don’t know …
something clicked. He took me under his wing.
Treated me like I was family from that day on. ”
“He’s a good guy,” I admit.
“The best,” he says quietly, like he means it.
I tilt my head to the side. “So where does the priest come into this?”
He lets out a breath, followed by a ghost of a laugh. “Before Dante and I became friends, I was copping it pretty bad. Relentless shit. Fuck, I hated school back then. It was a nightmare. And with what was waiting for me at home ... I didn’t have anywhere safe to land.”
That confession hits me square in the chest. The thought of him dealing with all that alone, as a kid, is brutal. My mother was my safe space, and when I lost her, Arabella became that person.
“Father Flannery was an Irish descendant who grew up on the streets but eventually found his calling. He ran a youth club next door to the school. Took in rough kids … kids slipping through the cracks. I wasn’t exactly wayward, but he saw something in me and thought boxing might help.”
I blink. “A priest taught you to fight so you could beat up your bullies?”
He smirks, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Basically, yeah. Though, to be fair, I’m pretty sure he was teaching me how to defend myself.”
I raise an eyebrow. “With a right hook?”
He chuckles. “Sometimes a good right hook is the most righteous thing you can throw.”
“That’s badass. The priests in Italy were more interested in getting you to submit to their ways by guilt, or by putting the fear of God in you.”
“Most here are too. But Father Flannery was different. Tough as nails, but never judged. Just gave me gloves, showed me how to throw a proper jab, and listened when I needed to talk. We still keep in touch. Every now and then, he checks in.”
I smile. “He sounds like the kind of priest the world needs more of.”
He nods, gazing off into the distance. “Yeah. He probably saved me, in more ways than one.”
He sits up straight in his seat, turns on the ignition, then reaches for his seat belt. “Are we leaving? What about your gate and the door to the garage?”
“I text one of my men, he’s getting it sorted. Given everything that happened tonight, I should get you back to the safe house.”
I’ll admit that the flyer spooked me. Who knows how many more are out there? But Romeo gave his mother and her boyfriend a final and deadly warning before they left.