Chapter 10 Luca #2
This is the last thing I need. The absolute worst possible assignment. But I can't say that. I can't tell him that being near Giulia is torture, that every moment in her presence makes the wanting worse, that I'm barely holding on as it is.
"Of course," I say instead, my heart thudding in my chest. "Whatever you need."
"Good." He stands, signaling that the conversation is over. "Start tomorrow. And Luca? Keep your temper in check. I won't warn you again."
I leave his office feeling like I'm walking toward my own execution.
The first day of the new assignment is a dress fitting. I drive Giulia to an exclusive boutique in Manhattan. She's quiet in the car, staring out the window, and I can feel the tension radiating off her in waves.
I want to tell her that she doesn’t have to do this. That she doesn’t have to marry a man she doesn’t want. But that’s not my place, and it never has been. It never will be.
It doesn’t matter that she's miserable, that she flinches when Alessandro touches her, that she's being forced into a marriage that will slowly kill everything bright and beautiful about her. None of it matters because it’s what’s good for the family.
We arrive at the boutique, and I follow her inside.
The staff fusses over her, bringing out dress after dress, each one more elaborate than the last, and I stand there and watch as she comes out in each one and looks at herself in the mirror with dead eyes, as she smiles and nods and plays the role of the happy bride.
It’s torture. She looks gorgeous in every dress, and it’s fucking impossible for me not to imagine her wearing them for me. Walking down an aisle to me. My hands taking them off of her later…
My cock twitches, swelling at the thought, and I grit my teeth, looking away. Giulia glances over at me, and I hear her voice call out my name. The sound of it gets me halfway to hard.
“What do you think?” she asks, and I force myself to look at her.
She’s wearing a dress that’s fitted through the top, made of lace in an intricate floral pattern, catching the light from something sewn into it. It has half-sleeves and a full, gauzy-looking skirt.
I open my mouth to say something neutral and casual, something that will deflect it and be the kind of thing her bodyguard for the day should say. But instead I hear myself say, “You look beautiful.”
Her face softens, and her lips part slightly. I swear I see a sheen in her eyes before she looks quickly back at the mirror, swallowing hard.
"I'll take this one," she tells the consultant, and just like that, the decision is made.
The days blur together after that. I spend my mornings and afternoons with Giulia, accompanying her to cake tastings, florist appointments, and meetings with wedding planners.
I watch her make decisions about flowers and centerpieces and menu options, and every choice feels like another nail in a coffin.
And on the nights they’re open, I go to the club.
I go to Valentina.
I lose myself in her body, in the way she responds to me, in the brief hours where I can forget about duty and family and all the reasons why I can't have what I want.
The two worlds are bleeding together, and it's making me feel like I'm losing my mind.
During the day, I'm hyperaware of Giulia's every movement—the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she's thinking, the way she bites her lower lip when she's trying not to cry, the way she holds herself so carefully, like she's afraid she'll shatter if she relaxes even for a moment.
At night, I'm hyperaware of Valentina's every response.
The way she gasps when I touch her, the way she arches into me like she's been waiting for me her whole life.
The next time I’m with Valentina, I almost call her by Giulia’s name.
We step into the room, and as she kicks her heels off, she twists a piece of her hair around her finger nervously.
It’s a gesture that I’ve seen Giulia do before…
exactly like that. I feel stunned for a moment, like I’ve been slapped.
It's all so similar to Giulia that for a moment, I can't tell them apart.
But that's impossible. They're two different women. Two completely separate people who just happen to—
I push the thought away and bury it deeply, where it cannot resurface. If I let myself think about it, if I let myself see the similarities, I'll go insane.
So I focus on the differences instead. Valentina's hair is different. Her voice is different. She's confident and uninhibited in a way that Giulia, trapped by duty and expectation, could never be. They're not the same person, no matter how much I might wish that they were.
And later, as I come buried inside of her, my worries about our lack of protection long gone in the face of how addicted I’ve become to fucking her raw and filling her up, I’m very careful not to call her by anything except the name she’s given me.
—
A few days later, I see Alessandro show up uninvited to a dinner party at another family’s house.
I came along as security for Romeo, and I know there were only supposed to be two other families there—neither of them the Ferruccis.
But Alessandro is there all the same, smiling at Dante across the table, and I feel like I could choke him with my gaze alone.
I was supposed to have a night free of this little shit, and for some fucking reason he’s here anyway.
I shouldn’t listen in to their conversation, and it would probably be better for my sanity if I didn’t, but I can’t help myself.
He's talking to Dante, making small talk about the event, and then he throws out something that makes me pause.
"I heard you're expanding operations into the port district. Smart move, given the shipping routes."
Dante's expression doesn't change, but I see the way his eyes sharpen.
That information—about the port district expansion—isn't knowledge that’s been shared outside of our family and a few select other associates.
Giulia certainly knows nothing about it; I only do because Romeo talks to me. So how does Alessandro know about it?
"We're always looking for opportunities," Dante says smoothly, deflecting.
But Alessandro just smiles. "Of course. And with the new customs arrangements, it should be quite profitable."
Another detail he shouldn't know—another piece of information that's supposed to be confidential.
I watch the exchange, and something cold settles in my gut. Either Alessandro has sources within the Ciresa organization—which would be bad enough—or he's been doing reconnaissance. Studying the family, learning their operations.
I file the observation away and make a mental note to mention it to Romeo. But I don't say anything yet. I don't want to raise alarms without proof, but my instincts are screaming that something is wrong.
I’m relieved when Romeo comes to me three days later with the same concerns.
"Something's off about Alessandro," he says without preamble. "I can't put my finger on it, but my gut is telling me we need to look deeper."
"I've been thinking the same thing," I admit. "He knows things he shouldn't know. Details about our operations that aren't public."
Romeo stops pacing and looks at me. "You noticed it too?"
"At the gala. He mentioned the port district expansion and the customs arrangements. Both of those are confidential."
"Fuck." Romeo runs a hand through his hair. "I tried talking to Dante about it, but he won't listen. Says I'm being paranoid, that Alessandro's family is well-connected and it's natural he'd hear things."
"But you don't believe that."
"No. I don't." He sits down behind his desk, his expression grim. "I want to run a deeper background check. Really dig into his history, his connections, his finances. But I need your help."
"What do you need?"
"I need you to assign your best men to surveillance. Have them follow Alessandro, see who he meets with, where he goes. And I need you to keep it quiet. If Dante finds out I'm investigating his future son-in-law without permission, there will be hell to pay."
The request should make me hesitate, think about the consequences of going behind the don's back, especially given my own censure recently. But all I feel is relief, because finally, I have an excuse to do what I've been wanting to do for weeks.
"I'll handle it," I say. "Discreetly."
Romeo nods, and I can see the gratitude in his eyes. "Thank you. I know this puts you in a difficult position."
He has no idea. The truth is darker than he realizes.
Yes, I want to protect the family. Yes, I want to make sure Alessandro isn't a threat.
But more than that, I want him gone. I want him out of Giulia's life, out of her future, out of existence entirely.
And if this investigation gives me a reason to make that happen, then I'll take it.
Even though I know I can never have her myself, that removing Alessandro won't change anything, won't make her mine, won't give me the right to touch her the way I want to. I know, logically, that if it’s not him, it’ll be someone else.
But there’s nothing I can do about those other men. I can do something about him now. So I'll do this. I'll find out what Alessandro is hiding. And if he's a threat to the family—if he's a threat to her—I'll eliminate him without hesitation.
I tell myself it's about duty. About protecting the Ciresa family. But I'm lying.
This is about her. It's always been about her.
I assign three of the best men I know to the surveillance, ones I know won’t talk if they know Romeo wants this done quietly and without Dante’s knowledge.
They’re soldiers I've worked with for years, men I trust to be thorough and discreet.
I give them their orders: follow Alessandro everywhere, document everyone he meets with, report back to me directly. And I wait.