Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Luca’s POV
I stood barefoot on the veranda of my penthouse, the wind off the East River grazing my skin as I stared out at the silver glint of Roosevelt Island in the distance. Sunday mornings followed a ritual: workout, breakfast, then this—silence. Solitude. The kind only this place could give.
It was why I moved out of the city five years ago. I needed quiet. Not just around me, but inside me. When the property went up for a ridiculous price, I hadn’t bothered negotiating. I wanted it. I needed it. Not for the luxury or the view, but for the distance. From her.
She was everywhere, even when she wasn’t.
In the hallways of Vaughn Industries, in the cracks of my sanity.
I’d walk into boardrooms and smell her perfume like a ghost. Turn a corner and catch a memory so sharp it winded me.
I couldn’t come home to that, too—not to her scent in my sheets, or the ache of remembering her in my arms.
So I moved here.
This place gave me what I wanted. Peace. A buffer between me and the world. Between me and her. Focus. Until recently.
I took a slow sip of rum, feeling the burn in my throat. Since leaving the park, I hadn’t been able to steer my thoughts away from her. The same loop kept playing in my head.
I recalled the moment in the park when I’d slid my hands around her waist. The way her body reacted to my touch like it never forgot—like it still remembered who it belonged to.
I wanted more. I wanted to drag her out of that crowd, slam the door on the world, and press her against the nearest wall just to hear the way she used to moan my name.
I knew that kind of love. Or at least I thought I did.
Then there was Blaze, the bastard who’d dared to put his hands on her.
But what the hell did she mean by, “I made it worse?”
Lord knows what that man might’ve done if I hadn’t shown up when I did. I’d expected at least a sliver of gratitude. Something. Anything other than the verbal hell she unleashed on me.
She’d been terrified of him. I saw it clear as day in her eyes.
At first, I thought he was someone to her. An ex, maybe. Some sorry excuse of a lover. But that didn’t sit right. Leila had standards. And Blaze? With tattoos covering every inch of his skin like a walking billboard? That wasn’t her type of guy.
At least, not the Leila I knew.
But then again, people change. And Leila had changed so much in the last five years.
Maybe he was someone from her past. Someone she still felt the need to protect.
Her former lover? Ollie’s father?
The thought hit like a punch to the gut—hot and irrational and fucking infuriating.
Was that why she’d looked at me like I was the villain for stepping in? Like I was the threat?
My jaw tightened. My fists curled.
I needed to know—who the hell was he to her?
As I turned over the question in my head, the landline rang, slicing through my thoughts. I turned and stalked into the living room, snatching the receiver off the hook.
“Mr. Vaughn, I’m so sorry—I tried to stop him—your father is on his way up and—”
I didn’t need to hear the rest. Another incompetent security detail I’d be firing before the end of the week.
Barely twenty seconds later, the door slammed open, and my father stormed in, radiating the kind of anger only he could wear like a crown.
I put the receiver down, jaw clenched tight as I tried to tamp the irritation burning through me.
Monday to Saturday, I answered his calls. Endured the lectures. The legacy speeches. But Sundays? Sundays were mine. And he’d just interrupted my peace.
“I thought you’d be in Dubai this week,” I said dryly, already heading for the minibar. I poured two glasses of rum—one for me, one for him.
“Are you trying to sabotage the pack?” His voice thundered through the room like a war drum.
I didn’t need to see him to know his face was pulled tight, that the hard lines around his mouth were set like stone—just like they always were whenever he was ready to bury someone alive.
“You’ll have to be more specific, Father,” I muttered, trudging back toward his vibrating frame with the glasses in hand.
He tossed a tablet onto the coffee table just as I dropped the drinks. The screen lit up on impact. It was a photo. Of Leila and I at the park. She was a few feet away, mid-gesture, her mouth open, probably scolding me. Must’ve been taken right after the encounter with Blaze.
Blaze.
Just the thought of that bastard made my blood start to simmer again. Before I could lose myself in the fantasy of what I’d do to him if I ever caught him near her again, my father’s voice cut through it.
“I spent my entire morning negotiating a payoff with the damn journalist who threatened to release those pictures,” he barked. “And I bet he would’ve done it under the most asinine headline because look at you, Luca! You look like a goddamn lovesick puppy just staring at her!”
I didn’t respond. I just sat there, glass in hand, letting him rant.
My father’s fury was legendary—cutthroat, sharp enough to gut a room. There was a time when it scared me. When I walked on eggshells, did everything exactly how he wanted, shaped myself into the heir he demanded.
But that time was long gone. Now, his rage didn’t faze me. It just tired me.
“What did I do to deserve two disappointments for sons?” he muttered.
“Victor’s problem is that he’s irresponsible.
Your problem is you think with your cock.
” He jabbed a finger toward the tablet, toward the image of Leila.
“I thought that woman was old news. I thought you’d finally seen her for what she was—a fraud.
A slut. So what the hell are you doing with her, Luca? ”
“What’s so wrong about running into an old friend, Father?”
“She’s not a friend. She’s a leech.” His voice was venom now. “People like her? They latch on. They suck you dry until there’s nothing left—until your name, your power, your legacy is tainted.”
My jaw ticced. But I said nothing.
“I thought the years had made you wiser. I thought you were finally starting to understand what it means to be Alpha Heir of the Manhattan Pack. Clearly, I was wrong. You think you can do whatever you like just because I gave you power?”
“No, Father,” I said, voice flat. “I know exactly what being the Alpha Heir means.”
“Then act like it.” He stepped closer, his anger wrapping around the room like a vice. “Your duty is to your legacy, not your lust. You owe everything to the pack. That is primary. Everything else—including, and especially, your love affairs—is secondary.”
He studied me, and I could already feel it coming. The speech. That goddamn speech.
“That means marrying Elena. She’s the daughter of an Alpha—a powerful Alpha—from one of the largest packs in New York. That alliance would cement our influence in the North. Wealth. Territory. Power for generations. A Vaughn dynasty.”
“I know,” I said through clenched teeth, already sick of hearing it for the hundredth time.
“No. You don’t, Luca,” he snapped. “If you did, you wouldn’t risk everything for that bastard-born mutt who—”
“Watch your mouth.” The words came out low. More like a growl. My wolf surged beneath my skin, pacing, snarling, tired of being kept in check while my father spat filth about Leila.
He recoiled at my words. His eyes widened—just a flicker—before they narrowed to slits, darkened by fury. His nostrils flared, jaw clenched, and for a second, the air between us turned lethal.
We stared each other down in taut, suffocating silence.
And after what felt like hours, he backed off, his lips curling into something that was half sneer, half disappointment.
“So, she still has that kind of pull on you,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “You’re pathetic, Luca. After what your mother did. After she left you. You still let yourself fall in love with another woman. They’re all the same. Why can’t you fucking see that?”
I stood slowly, letting my full height and power rise with me. My father may have always ruled every room he walked into, but I towered over him, and as I met his eyes, he had to look up.
“I don’t care what you say about me. But you don’t get to talk about her like that. Not in front of me.” It took everything in me to keep my tone even, but the warning was clear
He scoffed and stepped back, moving toward the minibar like he owned it.
Like he owned everything. Because in his mind, he did.
He owned the title, the name, the pack. And me.
To him, I was just an extension of his power—bred, raised, and sculpted to serve it.
Every decision I made, every thought I had—he believed he had the right to control it. To question it. To fix it.
“She’s a liability,” he said after a long pause, pouring himself a glass of my strongest gin. The words came out rough, like even he had to grit his teeth to say them. “She’s half werewolf, half fucking human. You think the pack will ever accept her as Luna?”
“I never said I was marrying her.”
“So what the hell do you want with her? What did you think Sterling Moreau was going to do when he saw you frolicking with that woman?” he sneered.
I didn’t answer.
But of course, he did.
“He’s been looking for an excuse to back out of this deal from day one. You think he trusts you? Especially with his daughter? No. And I get it—because you keep thinking with your cock, not your head.”
My fingers curled into fists inside my pockets. I stared past him, at nothing, at everything. Because I knew.
He was right. Not about the lust, not about the bullshit fantasy he’d built around me. But about the rest of it. The pack would never accept Leila as Luna. Not a woman like her. And Moreau…he wouldn’t hesitate to pull the plug the second things got complicated.
But what my father would never understand—what he could never wrap his head around—was that this thing with Leila? It wasn’t about lust. It wasn’t about rebellion. It was deeper. Primal. No matter how hard I tried to remind myself of the past, of what she did, this pull wouldn’t let go.
My wolf didn’t just want her. It needed her.
“I won’t say it again, Luca,” he continued, pouring the last of the gin down his throat. “Stay away from that woman. Whatever this is—end it. And do what’s required. You don’t have to love Elena. Just marry her.”
He turned and strode toward the door, flung it open. Then paused in the doorway. He didn’t look at me when he spoke next.
“I named you Alpha Heir of Manhattan Pack.” A beat of silence. “I can just as easily take that title away.”
And with that, he walked out. The door slammed shut behind him, echoing through the silence he left behind.
I didn’t move. I just watched the door like his presence hadn’t fully left with him.
A few minutes later, the door opened again. I thought it was my father, back with more venom to spit. But then in walked Charles.
“Your father just gave me the dirtiest look on the planet,” he said, eyeing me. “What happened? World War III?”
I scoffed and moved toward my room. I’d called Charles earlier to come pick up the hair samples—Ollie’s and mine.
That day at the park, after Leila had stormed out, I’d crouched beside Ollie to tell him I’d go check on her.
He gave a small nod, and as I stood to leave, I reached out to tuck one of his curls behind his ear.
One strand clung to my fingers. I plucked it.
I returned to the living room and handed him the Ziplock bag.
“I’ve got another assignment for you,” I said.
He arched a brow. “What now?”
“Look into the name Blaze.”
“Blaze what?”
“No idea.”
“In connection with what?”
“Leila.”
Charles gave me a knowing look but said nothing. He slipped the Ziplock into his pocket while I rounded the corner and sank onto the sofa.
“Are you really sure you want to know the truth, Luca?”
His question cut through my thoughts.
“I mean, if you find out he is your son—what then?” Charles asked, steady and quiet. “This could change everything. Your marriage to Elena. Your position as Alpha Heir. And if word gets out you have a son with a half-blood…”
I hadn’t yet evaluated all the consequences. But one thing was certain—if Ollie was mine, there would be no pretending otherwise.
I looked him dead in the eye. “If Ollie’s my son, I don’t care what the public has to say. Let them pick it apart. Let the press feast on it. I don’t care if the marriage with Elena collapses or the deal with the Moreaus falls through.”
I leaned forward slightly, my voice firm. “Some things are more important than duty and legacy.”