Chapter 4
LUCA
I'm losing my fucking mind.
I can feel myself unraveling thread by thread. Every time another suitor shows up at the Ciresa house, every time Giulia smiles politely at some bastard who doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as her, something violent and possessive rises in my chest like a beast clawing its way out of a cage.
I have no right to feel this way. No claim on her.
No future where she's mine. But watching Alessandro touch her hand during yesterday's lunch—his fingers lingering on her skin, his thumb brushing across her knuckles like he's already memorizing the feel of her—it took everything in me not to break every bone in his hand.
I imagined it in perfect detail: the snap of each knuckle, the way his face would contort, the satisfying crunch of cartilage giving way.
I'd start with his index finger, the one that dared to stroke her skin, and work my way across.
Slowly. Making sure he felt every second of it.
It feels that way with every single one of them—watching Enzo make her laugh two days ago, leaning in close with that predatory smile, whispering something in her ear that made her cheeks flush.
I wanted to put my fist through his face until there was nothing left but blood and broken teeth.
I wanted to feel his nose collapse under my knuckles, wanted to see that smug expression shatter along with his jaw.
I wanted to keep hitting him long after he stopped moving, until my hands were slick with his blood and there was no chance he'd ever smile at her again.
Or when I saw Marco assess her like she's property he was considering purchasing, his cold eyes cataloging her worth.
I've had detailed fantasies about what it would feel like to put a bullet in his skull.
How the light would leave his eyes. How satisfying the silence would be after.
I've imagined it so many times I can feel the weight of the gun in my hand, can see exactly where I'd place the barrel.
Right at his temple. Close enough that he'd know what was coming in that final second.
Close enough to see the fear bloom in his eyes before I pulled the trigger.
The violent fantasies about what I’d like to do to these men who would claim Giulia as their own are almost as prevalent as the other kinds of fantasies that I can no longer control, either, no matter how hard I fucking try.
I managed to not think about her with my hand around my cock after that first dinner party, regardless of how fucking hard seeing her in that green dress made me.
I didn’t even touch myself that night; I just drank myself to sleep.
But after she showed up in the sunroom, asking me to help her pick a dress… fuck.
I’m fucking ashamed to admit I didn’t even wait until that night.
After she left, I found one of the bathrooms in that huge fucking mansion and locked the door behind me, got my cock out and stroked it thinking about her trying those dresses on for me, stripping each one off slowly before stepping into another, all while I sat sprawled in a chair with a glass of whiskey in one hand and my cock in the other.
I imagined her stepping out of the second in lingerie, walking to me, and sinking down to her knees while I fed my cock between her lips…
I didn’t make it further than that. I came so hard I had to nearly crack my teeth to keep from groaning aloud, spurted into one of the fancy Ciresa mansion sinks, and watched all my guilt spiral down the drain.
I’ve jerked off thinking about her every fucking morning and night since. I can’t stop.
I haven’t gotten laid in weeks. For a while, I just didn’t have the time.
And then, since that fucking dinner party and seeing her in that green dress, I haven’t been able to find the urge to go out and pick someone up.
It would be easy—it’s always easy—but God, I don’t want just anyone.
I want Giulia fucking Ciresa, and I’m going to end up rubbing my own cock raw while I go mad imagining what that would be like.
Or I’m going to commit homicide in front of the Ciresa family and get a bullet in my own skull for killing one of her suitors.
I need something to take the edge off. Drinking does it at night, but I need something else. Something to get her out of my fucking head for good, and I have no goddamn idea what that would be.
Otherwise, I’m going to make a mistake. A bad one.
I'm an enforcer. Violence is part of my job, part of who I am. I've done things that would make most people sick, and I've never lost sleep over any of it. In this life, violence is a tool. I've killed men before. I'll kill men again. It's never bothered me because it was never personal.
But this is personal. This is the kind of violence that comes from a place I've spent years keeping locked down, the kind that turns men into monsters. And what disturbs me most isn't the violence itself—it's how little it disturbs me. How natural these thoughts feel. How right.
I should be horrified. Should recognize this as a warning sign that I'm losing control, that I'm becoming exactly the kind of liability Romeo warned me about.
Instead, I find myself refining the fantasies—making them more detailed, more satisfying.
And I can feel it growing inside me every day, feeding on every smile she gives them, every polite laugh, every moment she spends pretending she's okay with this.
The images in my head feel like they’re driving me insane.
Giulia in a wedding dress, walking down the aisle toward Alessandro.
Giulia in bed with Enzo, his hands on her body, touching her in ways I'll never get to touch her.
Giulia growing old with Marco, her light slowly dimming under the weight of a loveless marriage.
I don't sleep well anymore. If I’m not trying to slake the seemingly endless lust she makes me feel, I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, my mind spinning through scenarios I can't control and futures I can't prevent.
When I do manage to drift off, I dream of her.
Sometimes they're good dreams—her in my arms, her lips on mine, her body pressed against me.
I wake up hard and aching, reaching for someone who isn't there.
Other times, I dream of the wedding, and standing there watching her marry someone else.
At the moment she says ‘I do,’ and I lose her forever.
I wake from those dreams with my heart racing, my hands clenched into fists, and violence singing through my veins with nowhere to go.
I'm on edge constantly, my temper fraying at the seams. Romeo's noticed. I can see it in the way he watches me during meetings, like I'm a weapon that might misfire. He's not wrong.
And two days later, I go off.
I'm at the Ciresa house for a meeting about a shipment coming in from Sicily—routine business. I should be focused, but all I can think about is the fact that Giulia is somewhere in this house and that Alessandro was here earlier. That in a few weeks, this might be his house too.
The meeting ends, and I'm heading down the hallway toward the exit when I hear a man’s voice.
"—tits on her. Did you see the way that dress fit?"
I stop walking.
"Dante's daughter?" Another voice, younger. "Fuck yeah. I'd love to get my hands on those."
"Alessandro Ferrucci's a lucky bastard. You know he's going to—"
I don't remember moving. One second, I'm standing in the hallway, and the next, I have the first guard slammed against the wall with my forearm across his throat.
"What the fuck did you just say?" My voice doesn't sound like my own. It's low and vicious, more animal than human.
The man’s eyes go wide. He tries to speak, but I'm pressing too hard on his windpipe.
"Luca, man, we were just—" The younger one starts.
I don't let him finish. I pull the one I have pinned away from the wall just enough to slam him back into it, harder this time. His head cracks against the plaster. "You were just what? Talking about Giulia Ciresa like she's a piece of meat? Like you have any right to even think her name?"
"We didn't mean—"
"Shut the fuck up." I press harder, watching the man’s face start to turn red. "You don't talk about her. You don't look at her. You don't even fucking think about her. Do you understand?"
He tries to nod, but he can't move. His hands come up to claw at my arm, but I don't budge.
"Luca." Romeo's voice cuts through the red haze. "Let him go."
I don't want to. I want to keep pressing until something breaks. Until this piece of shit understands that there are consequences for disrespecting Giulia, and he never makes that mistake again.
"Luca." Romeo's hand touches my shoulder. "Let. Him. Go."
Teeth gritted, I release the man, and he drops to his knees, gasping and coughing. The younger guard has backed away, his face pale. But I'm not done.
I grab the man by his collar and haul him to his feet. "Apologize."
"I'm sorry, I'm—"
"Not to me, you piece of shit." I shake him. "To her. You're going to find Giulia Ciresa and apologize for disrespecting her."
"Luca, that's enough." Romeo's voice has an edge now.
But the red haze is still there, pulsing behind my eyes. The man’s nose is right there, and I can imagine how easy it would be to break it. One quick jab. The crunch of cartilage. Blood pouring down his face.
I do it before I can think better of it.
My fist connects with his nose, and there's that satisfying crunch I've been craving. He screams, blood immediately gushing down his face, and I let him drop.
"Jesus Christ, Luca!" Romeo grabs my arm, yanking me backward. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
The younger guard is helping the other one up, both of them scrambling away from me like I'm rabid.
"Get him to a doctor," Romeo snaps at them. "And keep your fucking mouths shut about this. Both of you."
They disappear down the hallway, and Romeo rounds on me. "My office. Now."