33. Lucia
33
LUCIA
T he warmth of the afterglow lingers as we lie on the couch, my head resting on Saverio’s chest and his arm draped lazily around me. I don’t know how we got into this position, but it feels comfortable, safe. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my ear is soothing, and I find myself tracing idle patterns on his skin with my fingertips. The room is quiet, save for our soft breathing and the distant hum of the city outside. Saverio’s fingers absently play with strands of my hair, sending pleasant shivers down my spine.
For a moment, everything feels perfect. We’re in our own little bubble away from all the chaos of the world, and it’s times like these where I imagine the rest of our lives together.
But reality starts to creep back in when my stomach growls. I know we can’t stay here forever, as much as I wish we could—the outside world beckons with all its responsibilities and complications. When we rise from the couch, we’ll go back to business as usual—the demands of our jobs, the complexities of our relationships, and everything in between. If only we could stay in this house for the rest of our lives, everything would be perfect. But life doesn’t work that way, and part of me knows that these stolen moments are precious precisely because they can’t last forever.
“You should stay for dinner,” I say, the words slipping out before I can second-guess them.
Saverio tilts his head down, giving me a crooked smile that makes my heart skip a beat. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere anyway.”
A small, pleased smile tugs at my lips as I push myself up from the couch, my muscles still relaxed from our earlier activities. I slip out of my clothes with languid movements, finding my panties discarded on the floor by the coffee table. I’m comfortable walking around with Saverio in just my undergarments; our intimacy has grown to a point where such casual nudity feels natural between us. “I could use your help in the kitchen,” I tell him, my tone conveying a playful invitation. I leave him behind to get dressed, padding barefoot towards the kitchen.
Saverio follows a few moments later. He’s removed his shirt, and his pants ride low on his hips, showing off his well-defined body and beckoning me to do more than just look.
I avert my eyes before I replace my hunger with something physical. Saverio can’t sustain all my needs, no matter how much he wishes he could.
I start pulling ingredients out of the fridge. I’m not exactly a gourmet chef, but there’s something comfortable about chopping vegetables and throwing together a meal from scratch. Tonight, I’m making chicken stir-fry with lots of fresh veggies. It’ll keep both of us busy for a few minutes, but it’s a quick enough dish that we won’t be standing in the kitchen for hours.
“Start with these,” I announce as I hand Saverio a cutting board and a knife. I slide a bell pepper and some broccoli next to him as I grab some carrots and zucchini for myself.
He takes the knife without a word, his movements smooth as he slices the vegetables with practiced precision. The rhythmic sound of the blade hitting the cutting board fills the kitchen. It’s a strange, almost surreal feeling, cooking alongside him like this. I steal glances at his focused expression, noticing how his brow furrows slightly in concentration. This is domestic in a way I don’t usually imagine domesticity with him, a glimpse into a life we could have under different circumstances. Our interactions are often colored with sex and fighting, passionate and intense; this feels comfortable and mundane in a way I’ve only ever dreamed of.
I turn some music on and let it play from my phone’s speaker, the two of us moving in the kitchen in otherwise comfortable silence. Momentarily, I wonder where Raffaele is. It’s been nice not having him shadow me all afternoon, but I’ve grown so used to his presence that the quiet feels almost unnatural.
“Where’s Raffaele?” I ask casually, glancing over at Saverio as I start chopping the zucchini.
“I gave him the night off,” Saverio replies.
I pause, the knife hovering over the cutting board as the implication of his words sinks in. If Raffaele won’t be around later, Saverio plans to stay the night. My heart gives a little flutter at the thought, and I can’t decide if it’s excitement or anger—or maybe a mix of both.
“Why are you here, anyway?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light, but a twinge of unease springs up in my chest.
Saverio sets down the knife mid-chop, his expression turning serious. “I don’t want to lie to you, Lucia.”
The anxious flutter in my heart intensifies into a throbbing sensation. “Then don’t.” There’s a lump in my throat, and swallowing past it feels like I’m choking on rocks.
He takes a deep breath, his eyes locking onto mine. “I had my guy do a background check on Kristopher after the run-in at Tate’s; I was concerned we might have missed something. When I found out about the bastards, Mick did preliminary background checks to make sure nothing came up, but I didn’t ask him to do a full deep dive because I didn’t want to waste the manpower. They all seemed normal.”
Hesitance lights up his face as his brow furrows with unease. I know he’s kicking himself for whatever he found, or he wouldn’t look so concerned. “Anyway, Mick found some… questionable … material in Kristopher’s background. A lot of shit that we didn’t initially know about because…” he trails off.
My stomach tightens as I resume chopping, more to keep my hands busy than anything else. “Because of what?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
Saverio doesn’t sugarcoat it. “Kristopher isn’t exactly who he says he is. A more thorough investigation uncovered that he went by Kris Castiglione for a while, using the family name and connections to get himself an ‘in’ with a motorcycle gang in the area. He was involved with some pretty dangerous people. He ran guns for them, sold drugs, the works. And there’s a gap in his past where he just disappeared off the grid. Mick couldn’t find any trace of him.”
The uneasy feeling in my gut grows stronger. I think about how friendly Kristopher seemed at the bar, with his easy smile and charismatic demeanor. How effortlessly he charmed everyone that came in that night, from the regulars nursing their beers to the college kids ready to party. Even his brother fell under his spell, laughing at his jokes and clapping him on the back. It wasn’t until I came in with Saverio with my nagging suspicions that anything changed. Now, I can’t help but wonder how much of his charm is genuine and how much is a carefully crafted mask hiding the dangerous secrets beneath.
I keep chopping the zucchini, trying to focus on anything other than my growing discomfort. “Why are you telling me this?” I ask, unsure if I want to hear the answer.
“Because you deserve to know the truth,” Saverio says, his voice steady and firm. “And because there’s something else.”
I stop, my hand frozen in place as I look at him. Dread pools in my stomach and the little voice in the back of my head screams at me to run away before I hear something I don’t want to hear. “What else is there?”
Saverio hesitates for a moment before continuing. “Kristopher was in Topeka for a few months when you started at Whitson Elementary. Raffaele said your brother came down to help you install a security system because someone was harassing you. We looked into the time frame and it matches up with the time that Kristopher was in town.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from my lungs and sending my mind reeling. In my shock, I lose all focus, my fingers going numb and clumsy. The knife slips, its razor-sharp edge slicing across my palm with sickening ease. I gasp a sharp intake of breath that’s equal parts pain and surprise as the knife clatters onto the cutting board. Bright red blood wells up from the cut, beading along the length of the wound before trickling down my wrist. The sting of the injury barely registers through the haze of disbelief clouding my thoughts.
“Shit,” I mutter, grabbing a towel to wrap around my hand.
Saverio is at my side in an instant, his hands gentle but firm as he takes the towel from me and inspects the cut. “You need stitches.”
“It’s fine,” I say quickly, but my voice is shaky.
When Dante and Enzo came to help me with the security system, I had no idea who was breaking into my house and following me around. And when the person suddenly disappeared, it was a relief. I didn’t know who it was or why they were intruding on my life, but I could forget them and pretend their appearance hadn’t affected my life at all. But finding out that the person might have been Kristopher changes everything.
“Lucia,” Saverio’s voice is soft but insistent, cutting through my concern. “Look at me.”
I reluctantly look up, meeting his gaze. “What?” I ask stubbornly, feeling a wave of anger and uncertainty wash over me.
“I’m going to take you to the ER. You need stitches. Then we’re going to come back here and forget all about what I just told you. Do you know why?”
I don’t know how he expects me to forget it. “Why?”
“Because I’m going to take care of it. I promise you I will get to the bottom of this. I was lax before; I let Kristopher into my life without doing the proper research. That’s my fault. But if I find out that he was your stalker, there will be hell to pay.”
The crazy thing is, I believe him.
Saverio and I have been through a Lifetime movie’s worth of drama. We have hurt each other, and we have fought—it’s the very essence of who we are. But there’s no one else for Saverio, the same way that there’s no one else for me. We pretend we don’t need one another; we act like there are other options out there. But when the hurt is gone and the fight is over, we always come back to each other.