Chapter 10 Luca
LUCA
For the first time in my life, I’m unsure of myself, of who I am, and what I want.
It hits me, standing in the entryway of the Ciresa mansion as I see Giulia come down the stairs, wearing a cream-colored silk gown that makes her skin glow, and her hair look like ink.
Alessandro is waiting for her at the bottom, his hand extended like he has the right to touch her. Like she belongs to him.
My hands curl into fists at my sides, and I have to consciously force myself to relax them and to breathe. To remember that I'm—
Who? What I feel like right now is a man who's slowly losing his fucking mind because he can't stop thinking about two women who are both completely out of reach.
Giulia takes Alessandro's hand, and I see the tiny flinch, so small that if I weren't watching her the way I always watch her, I would have missed it.
But I see it. I see the way her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes and the way she holds herself just slightly away from him, like she's trying to maintain distance even while appearing close.
I want to commit murder.
The thought is so clear, so visceral, that it shocks me.
I want to cross the hallway, grab Alessandro by his perfectly tailored collar, and break every bone in the hand that's touching her.
I want to make him understand that he doesn't get to touch her, doesn't get to look at her like she's already his, doesn't get to exist in the same fucking space as her.
But I can't do any of that. I have no right to feel protective of her or care who she marries. I have no right to want her the way I do.
She's the don's daughter. She's being married off to secure an alliance. And I'm just the soldier who rose higher than he probably should have because he made friends with the don’s son. That's all I am, and it’s all I can ever be.
But the feelings won't go away. They're getting worse, actually. More intense, more consuming, like a fire that's been smoldering for years and is finally catching and spreading, burning through everything I thought I knew about myself.
I watch them walk toward the front door. Alessandro's hand on the small of her back now, proprietary and possessive, and the rage is so intense I can taste it. Metallic and bitter, like blood in my mouth.
"Luca."
Romeo's voice cuts through the haze, and I turn to find him watching me with an expression I can't quite read.
"Walk with me," he says, and it's not a request.
We go outside, past the guards stationed at the perimeter, into the garden where the jasmine is blooming, and the air smells sweet and cloying. Romeo doesn't speak until we're far enough away that no one can overhear.
"You need to keep your distance," he says finally, his voice low and serious. "From Giulia."
I force myself not to flinch back. "I don't know what you're—"
"Don't." He cuts me off, his eyes hard. "I've known you for ten years, Luca. I know when something's eating at you. And I think I know what that something is."
I want to deny it and tell him he's wrong, that I'm just doing my job, that there's nothing between Giulia and me because there can't be anything between Giulia and me.
But the lie won't come. He’s my best friend, and he’s also the don’s son. Another dichotomy I can’t always rationalize.
"It doesn't matter," I say instead. "Nothing's going to happen."
"It matters if it affects your judgment or makes you do something stupid.
" He steps closer, his jaw tight but his expression somewhat sympathetic…
I think. As close to sympathy as Romeo can ever get.
"I get it. She's beautiful, she's smart, and she's trapped in a situation she didn't choose.
But she's also Dante's daughter. And you're—"
"I know what I am." The words come out harsher than I intended. "I know exactly what I am and what I'm not. You don't need to remind me."
"Then act like it." His voice is firm now. "Keep your distance. Do your job. And for fuck's sake, stop looking at her like you want to burn the world down for her."
I want to argue that I'm not looking at her any particular way, that he's seeing things that aren't there. But I can't. Because he's right.
"I'll keep my distance," I say finally, on an exhale. "I promise."
Romeo studies me for a long moment, like he's trying to decide whether to believe me. Then he nods and walks away.
The problem, of course, is that I can’t stay away from her completely.
I go to some of these parties and galas as part of the security, and I’m often at the table for big family dinners and gatherings.
And every night that Giulia is there and so is Alessandro, I find it harder and harder to keep the violence under control.
I've always had a temper—it's part of what makes me good at my job. That willingness to do what needs to be done, to cross lines that other men wouldn't cross. But lately, it feels like there's something dark and hungry living just beneath my skin, waiting for an excuse to break free.
There’s a business dinner at the house three days later.
The Ciresa family is hosting representatives from several allied families, and I'm working security with a handful of other soldiers. It's supposed to be a peaceful evening with good food, good wine, men getting together to talk about money. I go outside for a smoke, feeling that jittery sensation that won’t quite go away these days, when I see one of Alessandro’s men talking with one of ours.
I’m not even sure why he’s here—Dante looked surprised to see him.
But he didn’t say anything, probably not wanting to insult the man he’s counting on to marry his daughter.
They’re both smoking, one of them leaning against the wall of the building, close enough for me to hear them talking.
“Bet Alessandro can’t wait for the wedding night,” one of them says, laughing. I realize, with a flush of cold anger, that they’re talking about Giulia. "Bet she's a virgin. Bet Alessandro's going to have fun breaking her in."
The other one laughs, and the sound makes my vision go red.
“I wish he was the sharing kind,” his soldier says with a chuckle. “Think he’d pass her around if we asked real nice?”
The other one snorts, bending over as if it’s the funniest fucking thing he’s ever heard, and I lunge toward them before I consciously decide to move. One moment I'm standing by the door, and the next I'm grabbing Alessandro’s man by the back of his neck and slamming his face into the wall.
The sound of his nose breaking is so satisfying I swear I feel my dick get hard.
He screams, blood pouring down his face, and I hit him again. And again. My fist connects with his jaw, his ribs, his stomach. I'm dimly aware of people coming outside, shouting, of hands trying to pull me back, but I can't stop.
I won’t.
Not until he understands that he doesn't get to talk about her like that, reduce her to something crude and disposable. He doesn't get to exist in the same world as her and think those thoughts.
It takes three men to pull me off him, and by the time they do, the man is unconscious and bleeding on the floor.
"What the fuck, Luca?" one of the soldiers hisses. "You just put him in the hospital."
I'm breathing hard, my knuckles split and bleeding, and I don't care. I don't care about the political implications or any of it. All I care about is that he'll never talk about Giulia like that again.
I’m escorted to a side hallway, and Dante calls me to his office after the dinner party is broken up. I don’t need to be told that I crossed a line, that my behavior is becoming a problem, and that there will be consequences. But I still can't bring myself to regret it.
The don is sitting behind his desk when I enter, and his expression is cold. The kind of expression that means someone is about to have a very bad day. Me, most likely.
"Sit down, Luca."
I sit. My hands are folded in my lap, my posture respectful. But inside, I'm still seething.
"Dario Santoro is in the hospital with a broken nose, fractured jaw, and three cracked ribs," Dante says, his voice dangerously calm. "His family is demanding an explanation. And compensation."
"He was disrespectful," I say, keeping my voice even. "He made crude comments about—"
"I don't care what he said." Dante cuts me off, his eyes hard. "I care that you lost control in front of representatives from three different families. I care that your behavior is becoming a liability."
The words sting, but I don't let it show.
"The other families are watching us," Dante continues. "Looking for weakness, for any sign that we're unstable, that we can't control our own men. And you just gave them exactly what they were looking for."
"I apologize," I say, and I mean it. Not for what I did to Dario—I'd do that again in a heartbeat—but for the position I've put Dante in. "It won't happen again."
"It better not." He leans back in his chair, studying me.
"You're one of my best men, Luca. One of the most trusted. But trust only goes so far, as does my son’s affection for you.
If you can't control yourself, if you can't put the family's interests above your own feelings, then you're no use to me. "
The threat is clear. Get control or face consequences. "I understand," I say as calmly as I can. "It won't happen again."
Dante nods slowly, like he's considering whether to believe me. Then he says something I'm not expecting. "I'm reassigning you. Temporarily."
My stomach drops. "Sir?"
"Romeo can handle his own security for a while.
I need you to focus on Giulia." He says it like it's a simple logistical decision, like he has no idea what he's asking.
"The wedding is in a few months, and there are a lot of errands to run—dress fittings, venue visits, meetings with vendors.
I want someone I trust keeping an eye on her. "
No. No, no, no.