Chapter 18
Luciano
A few rays of early dawn filter through the window curtains, casting golden streaks across the room, soft and dreamlike. The kind of light that makes everything feel suspended, as if time itself is trying to hold still.
Frankie’s head rests on my chest, her breath warm against my skin. My fingers drift through her hair, slow and tender, as if I were memorizing her feel, strand by strand.
Last night, we did everything but fuck. And I can say, without a single ounce of doubt, that it was the sexiest night of my life. Just having her next to me… was enough. Her warmth, her breath, her heartbeat syncing with mine—that was intimacy on a level I didn’t know I craved until I had a taste of it.
We barely slept, too greedy to waste even a second of this stolen time. But now that the first signs of a new day threaten to burst the spell we’re under, I’m reluctant to say goodbye to the night because that will mean I’ll have to let her go. And I’m not ready for that. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready for that.
“I should go back to my room,” she yawns, but instead of moving away, she just nuzzles in closer.
“No,” I murmur, wrapping my arm tighter around her. “You’re exactly where you belong.”
She giggles, the sound soft and sleepy. “You’re awfully possessive this morning.”
“Get used to it.” I slap her bare ass lightly and grin when it jiggles just for me.
She lifts her head slightly, giving me a half-lidded, amused look. “Did you just spank me?”
“That was a love tap, babe. But if that turned you on, I’m more than happy to give you the real deal.” I wink. She rolls her eyes instead of giving me the green light, her smile lazy and perfect as she rests her head back on my chest. “Next time, then,” I add with a smirk.
“You’re incorrigible,” she mumbles, already drifting.
No, Frankie. What I am is yours. But for what feels like the millionth time in the past twenty-four hours, I keep that loaded truth to myself. Again. The words have been clawing at the back of my throat all night. Words like, I’ve fallen for you. I love you. You’re mine now. Possessive and sappy rom-com movie shit like that.
There’s this burning ache in my chest that needs to unburden itself and tell her all my secrets, starting with the fact that I’ve fallen in love with her. But I can’t. Not when I’m not sure she’s even close to feeling the same for me.
I know Frankie’s attracted to me. Hell, she might even like me a little. But love? I don’t know if she’s there yet. I don’t know if she’ll ever be there… not when that whole joining-the-nunnery plan of hers is still lurking like a shadow, creating a wedge between us.
I want to ask if what we shared last night together has changed anything for her. If she’s starting to see a future that isn’t draped in robes and vows of celibacy.
But fear’s a motherfucker. And fear of rejection? That’s a whole different breed of beast.
“Frankie,” I say quietly, almost afraid to break the spell. “Can I ask you something?”
“Can I stop you?” she teases, giggling as I give her another light tap on the ass. “Hey, quit that,” she scolds, but I don’t miss the way she instinctively shifts, rubbing herself against my thigh, her body betraying the ache she tries to hide.
God, part of me wants to give in. Let my hands roam. Let my mouth worship. Let lust drown out the noise of fucking insecurity. But my heart won’t let me. That stupid fucking organ is demanding center stage this morning. It wants to know her heart. Wants to know every thought that is running through her mind. Wants to know if any of her thoughts include me in them.
Ugh. This love shit really has me by the balls.
Instead of asking Frankie what last night meant to her—if it even meant anything at all—I ask her the first question that pops into my head, “Last night, you said some of the kids at the orphanage ran away…” I pause, tracing a lazy circle along her spine. “Have you ever thought about it? Running away with Darius?”
She grows quiet. Then slowly shakes her head. “Never. The streets are no place for a child. And they’re no place for a woman either.” Her voice gets soft. Too soft. “Some of the girls who ran away… return more broken than when they had left. Why would I risk that?”
My chest tightens at the fear in her eyes.
“So… you’re happy at the orphanage?” I ask, the question tasting bitter on my tongue.
She shrugs. “As happy as someone like me can be.”
Fuck. That lands like a punch to the gut.
Someone like her? Doesn’t she know? Doesn’t she see?
She deserves everything. Joy. Safety. Love that doesn’t come with conditions or expiration dates. If I could… if she’d let me… I’d spend every goddamn day showing her exactly how happy she deserves to be.
Still, I don’t say any of it. All I do is hold her a little tighter and ask, “If you’re not truly happy at the orphanage, what makes you think you’ll be any happier in a convent?”
A long, heavy silence stretches between us. Then, finally, she says, “Maybe I won’t.” And for a split second, hope claws its way into my chest, only for her next words to stomp it out. “But I’ll be safe. And I’ll be close to Darius. That’s enough for me.”
I gently nudge her chin up, needing her to look at me. “Is it enough? Is that life really enough for you? Knowing everything you’d have to give up?”
Her eyes lock on mine, sadness swimming in their depths as she nods. “It has to be.”
And just like that, my heart fucking breaks. After everything we’ve been through—every touch, every kiss, every whispered secret in the dark—it still feels like I haven’t made a dent in the wall she’s built around herself.
I want to say something. Anything. Words that could maybe sway her, open her eyes to another possibility. One that includes me in it.
However, Frankie quiets every word in my chest by resting her head on it again, her voice small. “Don’t let me fall asleep. I need to sneak back to my room before the house wakes up.” She yawns and snuggles closer, pressing a chaste kiss to the spot where my broken heart beats her name, then settles back in, using it as her favorite pillow once more.
I don’t answer. Just keep running my fingers through her hair as I listen to her breathing slow, soft and shallow until she slips into her slumber.
The party downstairs went late last night, so the house will be dead quiet until noon. I could carry her back across the hall to her room, but I don’t. Instead, I watch her sleep, wondering if at least she’s making room for me in her dreams since it’s clear that soon, I won’t have any space in her life.
God, I wish that was enough. But it’s not.
I’m wide awake now, staring at the ceiling while her body rises and falls with each breath, my heart stuck on her words.
But I’ll be safe. And I’ll be close to Darius. That’s enough for me.
As I suspected, Frankie’s not entertaining taking her vows because she feels called to some holy purpose. She’s doing it to ensure she stays close to the one person she’s always protected. Joining the convent is her way of keeping the promise she made to a scared little boy. That and the need to feel safe. Frankie is not running toward faith but running away from fear. And that shit kills me. Because I could protect her. I would protect her. I’d give her and Darius the whole damn world if she let me.
Unfortunately for me, Frankie wouldn’t believe me if I offered her something like that. She’s not the kind of girl who believes in fairytales, and I’ve made it clear I’m no white knight. She doesn’t see herself as some damsel in distress, either. She’s making decisions based on what she can do, on how she can save herself with her own hands. I don’t fit into that equation. And if I do, in her mind, I’m probably the villain who is cracking a chink in the armor of her carefully laid plans for the future.
My Frankie is not just stubborn. She’s proud. She’d see anything I could offer her as charity. She would probably mistake my love for that, too.
My sullen thoughts are momentarily put on pause when she shifts on the bed, turning her back to me, and on instinct, I wrap my arm around her, the curve of her body melting to mine. Then, my eyes fall to the gold bracelet on her wrist, one she never takes off—the only thing her parents left her when they dumped her like trash. She clutches the St. Peter medallion in her sleep as if it means something. As if it still hurts.
And suddenly, it hits me. If Frankie had a family to call her own—her real family—maybe she wouldn’t feel like she had to give her life away and wear a fucking habit. Not that the fuckers who abandoned her deserve her mercy or forgiveness, but perhaps they could be the key.
I know Frankie. Deep down, all she’s ever wanted is to feel wanted, protected, and loved unconditionally. I fear that my love… might not be enough. If it were, she’d have changed her mind by now.
Quietly, I slide out from the bed and grab my phone. I snap a few photos of the bracelet, then pull on some sweatpants. I pull up the bedsheet to cover her, brushing my knuckles along her cheek one last time before slipping out the door.
It’s a long shot, but I’m going to do everything in my power to find them… find whoever left her on her own to fend for herself. And when I do? I’ll decide if they’re worthy of her. If they are, I’ll give her the choice to be reunited with them. But if they’re not? They’ll wish they’d never taken a breath on this earth. She might not think I can protect her from the world, but I can at least do this for her.
With new resolve in my step, I head straight to Enzo’s. I don’t even bother knocking—just throw the door open and stroll inside. In hindsight, knocking might’ve been smart… because whatever I was expecting to find, this definitely wasn’t it.
“Please tell me you didn’t fuck Rolo,” I say in way of greeting when I find Rolo face-down and half-naked on Enzo’s bed.
Enzo’s sitting in a chair beside him, laptop in his lap, looking absolutely unbothered by the question.
“Good morning to you, too,” Enzo says, smirking.
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“And I’m not giving you one.” His grin widens without looking away from the screen.
I walk over to Rolo, who’s currently slobbering over my brother’s pillow, drooling like a busted faucet. I take a step back when the stench of hard liquor, practically seeping from his pores, invades my nostrils.
“Well, if you did fuck him, it couldn’t have been that great. He’s out cold,” I say, nudging his shoulder. “But hey, kudos. He’s been on your ‘to-do’ list since you first saw him.”
“That he has,” Enzo says with a grin. “But we didn’t do anything. We spent the night talking. And maybe getting a bit drunk.”
I eye Rolo’s limp arm and lift it, flopping back down like dead weight when I release it.
“More like you talked, and he drank,” I smirk. “Lemme guess, you spent the whole night rambling about your priest obsession, and the poor fucker drank himself into a coma?”
“I’m busy, Lucky,” he retorts, glancing back at his laptop, his smug grin replaced by a frown.
“Too busy to help me?” That gets his attention.
“Depends. What do you need?”
I walk over to him and pull out my phone to show him the pictures of Frankie’s bracelet. He raises a brow, but the second he sees the image, he smirks.
“Looks like I wasn’t the only one who had a sleepover,” Enzo teases.
“Just look at the bracelet, not the girl it’s attached to,” I snap.
“Touchy.” He holds his hands up in mock surrender but zooms in on the image, analyzing the medallion. “That’s some expensive-looking jewelry for an orphan to be rocking.”
“It’s all she has left from her parents. When the pricks abandoned her, they left her this. I want to know if there’s any way to trace where it came from. Who it belonged to. Anything that might lead us to her birth parents.”
Enzo lets out a low whistle and leans closer to the screen. “That’s a big ask, brother.”
“If anyone can do it, it’s you,” I reply confidently before AirDropping him the pics.
“You don’t have to stroke my ego, Lucky. I’ll look into it for you,” he says, eyes scanning the details of the bracelet, his tone softening. “I know how much she means to you.”
“Is it that obvious?” I ask, suddenly feeling out of sorts.
He looks up with his brown eyes—so similar to mine—glinting with amusement. “You’d have to be blind not to notice. You two were practically joined at the hip last night.”
“Yeah, it might have been obvious to you, but I don’t think Frankie has gotten the memo yet.” I sulk.
“Have you told her?”
“Told her what?”
“For fuck’s sake. You’re so fucking bad at this.” He shakes his head. “Have you told her how you feel? Have you had the talk? ”
“The only one talking here is you,” I scowl. “Enough chit-chat. Just get me what I need.”
I spin on my heel, ready to walk out of his room before my twin suggests something inane like me professing my love for Frankie.
“Looks like we might have a lead,” Enzo calls out from behind his laptop, voice thick with that smug little lilt he always gets when he knows he’s about to drop something juicy.
I turn around, still halfway out of his room. “Really?”
“Yep. Come look. There appears to be an inscription on the medallion,” he says, pointing at the screen. “I didn’t catch it at first since you didn’t get a good shot.”
“Neither did I.” I frown.
“Figures.” Enzo grins. “You were probably too busy drooling over the naked girl in your bed.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I mutter, walking back over.
I lean over his shoulder, eyes narrowing on the zoomed-in image of the bracelet. Sure enough, around the edge of the medallion is a faint engraving of Cyrillic-looking characters.
“Does that look Russian to you?”
“Only one way to find out,” he says, fingers flying across the keys. “ Ty esi Khristos, Syn Boga Zhivaogo, ” he reads aloud as he types. “It’s Russian, alright,” he confirms, leaning back. “It translates to ‘You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God.’ “
I blink, letting the weight of the words sink in. Then I blow out a slow breath. “So her parents might’ve been devout too.”
“Makes sense to me. You did say they left her at St. Mary’s Cathedral, right? It also might explain why your girlfriend is dead-set on becoming a nun. Maybe it’s in her genes.” Enzo shrugs.
“Frankie doesn’t know what she wants,” I grumble, eyes locked on the screen. “And how devout could they be if they just ditched their kid on the church steps like garbage?”
“Maybe they didn’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” I snap, my tone sharper than I mean it to be. “And they chose to leave her.”
Enzo lifts his hands as if backing off. “I’m just saying. You don’t know the full story. People do fucked-up things when they are backed into a corner.”
I don’t contribute anything to that remark. And I sure as shit don’t want to hear excuses for people who could walk away from someone like Frankie. Her parents willingly gave her up, knowing they were scarring her for life. If they loved her, they would have at least walked her into the church and explained their circumstances to someone before leaving her there. If they even gave a shit about her, they wouldn’t have left her to always wonder where she came from.
I understand people being unable to keep their children and wanting them to have a better life, one they couldn’t provide. What I don’t understand is leaving her to wonder that maybe they gave her up because they didn’t love her enough. That right there has me hating them. But if they can somehow manage to persuade Frankie to rethink her life choices… Well, maybe I’ll let them live.
“Just… see what you can find. Anything. Names, records. I don’t care how long it takes.”
“I’ll dig,” Enzo says with a nod, already scrolling through his contacts and resources. “Might take a bit, but I’ll let you know what I find.”
“Appreciate it,” I say, heading for the door again, but his voice follows me before I’m able to leave.
“Lucky… if you love her, tell her. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”
I pause with my hand on the doorknob. I don’t say a word. Don’t have to. It’s plastered all over my face that I love Frankie. He sees it. Hell, anyone with half a brain sees it. It’s in the way my jaw tightens every time someone talks shit about her. It’s in the way I want to hunt down ghosts just to make her feel whole. It’s in the way I can’t go a damn hour without thinking about her laugh or how her fingers tremble right before she kisses me as if she were afraid and brave at the same time.
Still, telling her I love her—just to be faced with the reality that she doesn’t feel the same—yeah, I’d rather not, thank you very much.
So, instead of taking my brother’s advice, I leave his room with a tight chest, my heart already pulling me back to the girl fast asleep in my bed.
If my plan to find her parents leads nowhere, she’ll be out of my bed—and out of my life—sooner than I can stand.
Which means every second I have with her now is one I won’t have to spend missing her later.