CHAPTER TWELVE
LUCA D’AMORA
When I asked Mathias about ‘his girl,’ I was mostly fucking with him. The woman checked out as nothing more than a good Samaritan, which was why Mathias’s constant monitoring of her was hilarious.
I didn’t expect the bastard to bring her back to Blackchapel like a damn orphan puppy.
Another message updating me on Allie's arrival to the manor lights up my phone.
RAFE: I can’t believe you’re missing this. Where are you?
Ignoring him, I consider this latest development with Mathias.
He’s our group’s unofficial leader, and he’s usually calm and controlled. Rash decisions aren’t his typical MO, yet he flew Allison from North Carolina to Massachusetts on a fucking whim. As if we don’t have enough going on with our plan to ruin The Syndicate. As if the danger we’re constantly in is the perfect place for a woman.
Pot meet kettle.
These are warnings I’ve told myself, but it’s not like I’m actually putting Eden in harm’s way. I haven’t even talked to her.
I sit in the tree that looks into the large windows of her living room. That's all. There’s distance between us, one that provides a buffer of safety.
Because my life is a shitshow.
My father tried to kill me in Paris. We traced the license plates of the van involved to a couple of low-level goons in his organization, and there’s no way they would’ve gone rogue—assassinating their boss’s illegitimate son for fun. That would mean a quick trip to the morgue.
A lamp flashes to life, and I shove thoughts of Enzo D’Amora aside in favor of watching my favorite girl.
Eden Marino.
Sweet and innocent with so many curves it would take me days to explore them all. Not that I’ll get the chance anytime soon.
For now, I’m content to watch and wait. Bide my time until it’s safe to bring Eden home to the manor.
Obviously, my thinking is clearer than Mathias’s at the moment.
I smirk.
Maybe I should be the Blackchapel Bastards’ unofficial leader.