Chapter 5
LUCA
The moment I step through those ornate doors, the weight of a thousand judging eyes crashes down on me.
The grand foyer of my childhood home teems with New York's criminal elite, all dressed in somber black and speaking in hushed tones meant to convey respect but mostly hiding calculation.
Death always brings out the vultures.
I straighten my tie and move through the crowd.
Hands reach out to grasp mine, faces I barely recognize offering condolences with varying degrees of sincerity. I nod and murmur appropriate responses.
"Your father was a great man."
"Lorenzo will be missed."
"The family has our support during this difficult transition."
I spot my siblings across the room, a united front.
Alessandro stands tall and rigid in the center, every inch the heir apparent, flanked by Adriano and Valentina.
The picture of Dante solidarity minus the black sheep, of course.
Taking a deep breath, I cross the room and position myself beside them, completing the family portrait.
"Play nice," Valentina murmurs under her breath, barely moving her lips.
Alessandro doesn't turn to acknowledge me, but his posture shifts minutely, shoulders tensing.
He's been watching me since I walked in, those calculating gray Dante eyes tracking my every move.
Every few seconds, his gaze flickers my way, wary and assessing.
The warning is clear.
Don't step out of line. Don't challenge me. Don't think for a second that you belong here.
I keep my expression neutral, but beneath my expensive suit, every muscle is coiled tightly.
I'm surrounded by people, standing shoulder to shoulder with my own blood, and yet I've never felt more alone.
Allesandro quiets the room. “Thank you all for coming. My father was a great man who will be missed.”
I do my best not to roll my eyes. Especially when he finishes speaking and we can now disperse, which I do quickly.
"You're making him nervous," Valentina says, appearing at my side with two crystal tumblers of whiskey. She hands me one, nodding toward Alessandro. "He's convinced you're here to challenge him for the throne."
I accept the drink, letting the amber liquid swirl. "I didn't come back for a crown." I don’t need it. I have my own kingdom in Chicago. And I have it without the complications of family.
"Yet here you are, looking every bit the returning prince." She raises her glass in a mock toast. "Welcome home, Brother. The kingdom's a mess."
We drift toward a quieter corner of the room. Valentina has grown into her beauty, all sharp angles and knowing eyes. The little sister I left behind is gone, replaced by a woman who clearly knows how to navigate the treacherous waters of our family.
"Father's death wasn't random," she says, voice dropping low. "The Bratva's been unusually quiet, which speaks volumes. And the Alberto family just doubled their security. They know something's coming."
I take a careful sip. "You think they were involved?"
"The bomb was sophisticated. Russian-made components, according to our sources." Her eyes scan the room. "But the Morozovas wouldn't move against us without backing. Someone financed this, someone who wanted Father out of the way."
"The Albertos have always resented our territory in Brooklyn."
Valentina's lips curl into a humorless smile. "And now they're meeting with the Chinese. New alliances are forming while we're busy burying our dead."
I study her face, searching for the grief I expected. "You don't seem particularly broken up about losing him."
"Father was many things, but warm wasn't one of them." She drains her glass. "Alessandro's different. Colder, more calculating. At least Father had moments of humanity."
"And Adriano?"
"Lost." Her gaze drifts to our youngest brother, who stands rigid beside Alessandro. "He's become Father's hammer without Father's restraint. Alessandro points, Adriano swings."
I absorb this information, piecing together the new landscape I've walked into. "And where do you fit in this new order?"
“Wherever I can.”
I start to ask another question, but the words die in my throat as Katerina enters the room.
She moves through the crowd with regal grace. Time and even our cool encounter in the church haven't dulled the impact she has on me, that immediate, visceral reaction that turns my blood to fire.
"You're staring," Valentina murmurs, amusement in her tone.
I tear my gaze away, downing the rest of my whiskey in one burning gulp. “If her family is involved, she has some nerve—”
“She lives here.”
My attention jerks to Valentina. “What? Since when? Why?”
"Since you left." Valentina takes my empty glass, replacing it with a fresh one from a passing server. "Father kept her close. Said her diplomatic skills were too valuable to lose, especially with the Bratva breathing down our necks."
I watch as Katerina navigates the room, stopping to speak with Alessandro.
Even from here, I can see the easy familiarity between them, the way she leans in slightly when she speaks.
Something sharp and ugly twists in my chest. Maybe I will challenge him for the throne.
"Has she been here the entire time? Seven years living under this roof?"
Valentina studies me, her eyes too knowing. "She tried to leave once. Father convinced her to stay."
"Convinced her how?" If my father weren’t already dead, I’d kill him for touching what’s mine.
"Not like that." She rolls her eyes. "He gave her the cottage, complete privacy. Her own staff. Freedom to come and go."
Alessandro catches me watching them and whispers something to Katerina.
Her head turns, those blue eyes finding mine across the crowded room.
For a heartbeat, everything else fades away.
I drag my attention away from them, not wanting to give my brother any leverage over me.
A small figure, a boy maybe six or seven, darts through the crowd, weaving between guests.
He reaches Katerina, tugging insistently at her hand.
She bends down, her face transforming into something soft and unguarded as she speaks to him.
"Who is that?" I roll my shoulders, not liking the agitation building there.
Valentina follows my gaze. "That's Enzo."
The boy gestures emphatically, clearly upset about something. Katerina cups his face, smoothing his hair back with tenderness.
I can't tear my eyes away from them.
"He's her son," Valentina says.
A red mist clouds my vision as rage and shock surge through me like electricity.
The crystal tumbler in my hand threatens to shatter under my grip.
Who dared touch her? Who touched what was mine?
And judging by his age, this man touched her not long after I left.
“Who’s the father?”
Valentina shakes her head. "She refused to name him." Her eyes track Katerina across the room.
“Father had to have insisted.” We lived in the twenty-first century, but Mafia families still lived by an ancient archaic code when it came to women. No way would my father be okay with an unwed pregnant woman in his home unless… Alessandro? Adriano? Father himself?
“Like I said, he was fond of her. Protective even. Said anyone who questioned her further would answer to him personally." Valentina’s tone holds a note of jealousy. I don’t blame her. Our father was never fond of any of us. So why Katerina, the daughter of Bratva?
"So everyone just… accepted that?”
Valentina's voice drops lower. "People had their suspicions, but no one dared voice them. Not with Father shielding her."
I drain my glass, welcoming the burn that does nothing to douse the inferno building inside me.
Instead, it fuels it.
I set the empty glass down, though what I really want is to hurl it against the wall. "Excuse me."
Valentina catches my sleeve. "Luca, think before you—"
I'm already moving, cutting through the crowd with purpose.
Conversations halt as I pass, heads turning to track my progress, as if they sense danger.
My focus narrows to Katerina, who's sending Enzo away with what appears to be a housekeeper.
She stiffens as I approach, clearly sensing my presence before she turns.
Those blue eyes widen slightly. She recognizes my expression, knows the storm that's coming.
Without a word, I grasp her upper arm, firm enough to brook no argument but careful not to hurt her.
Heads turn, whispers follow us as I guide her from the main hall, through a side door, and into the empty study.
"What do you think you're doing?" Her voice is ice, but I detect fear beneath.
I release her once the door clicks shut behind us, creating distance between us as if proximity to her might cloud my judgment.
"Who is Enzo's father?" The question bursts from me, and I hate that it’s coming from pain. How could she have done this to me?
Her face goes blank, her cool mask sliding into place. "That's none of your business."
"How long was I gone before you were fucking someone else? A month? A week?" My fists clench. “Who’d you spread your legs for, Katerina?”
Her face flushes crimson, eyes narrowing to icy slits. "You don't get to ask me that. You lost that right when you disappeared without a word."
"Like hell I don't." I close the distance between us, watching her chin lift defiantly as I tower over her. "We were together for two years, Katerina. Two fucking years, and then what? I leave and you jump into bed with the first man who shows interest?"
"Not your business," she repeats.
"It is my business." My voice drops low. "So I'm asking you one more time. Who. Is. His. Father?"
Katerina crosses her arms, and I hate that I admire her ability to withstand my anger.
My men would be pissing in their pants if I went off on them like this.
"Why?" She tilts her head, studying me. "Are you planning to kill him?"
I bark out a laugh. "Maybe I should. Any man who abandons his child deserves a bullet."
"If I promise to tell you who Enzo's father is, do you promise to kill him?" Her voice is steady, but her eyes burn with a cold fire I've never seen before. "The man who abandoned me, who left me alone and pregnant, do you swear you'll make him pay?"
Something dark and primitive rises in me.
The thought of anyone hurting her, using her, leaving her to face pregnancy alone, it fuels the most violent parts of myself.
Is that why my father kept her here?
Protected her?
Was he making amends for some man's cruelty?
"Yes.” The word is a vow and a death sentence rolled into one. "Tell me his name, and I'll make sure he never hurts you or your son again."
A strange smile twists her lips.
"He's here," she says softly.
I scan my mental roster of every man who attended the funeral, every bastard who might have access to her, who might have—
"Where?" My hands already itch for my gun.
"Turn around."
Confusion ripples through me, but I follow her instruction, pivoting slowly until I'm facing the wall behind me.
My father's antique mirror hangs there.
My face stares back at me, features hardened by years and violence, gray eyes blazing with fury.
For a moment, I don't understand what I'm seeing, what she's telling me. Then it hits like a sledgehammer to the chest.
"No." The word escapes as barely a whisper.
I see her reflection join mine in the mirror, standing just behind me, her face a careful mask.
"Yes." One simple word that tilts my world on its axis.
"That's impossible." But even as I say it, I know it's not. The timing fits perfectly. The boy's gray eyes, the set of his jaw. He's mine. My son. My blood.
"I was already pregnant when you left," she says quietly. "I didn't know until three weeks after you disappeared."
I whip around to look at her.
Every cruel accusation I just hurled at her comes rushing back, filling me with guilt, and at the same time, a new anger rises.
"Seven fucking years, Katerina."
"Don't you dare." It’s not just anger blazing in her eyes. It’s hate. "Don't you dare act like the victim here."
"You kept my son from me! My own flesh and blood, and you never thought I deserved to know?"
"Deserved?" She laughs derisively. "You left me without a word, Luca. No explanation, no goodbye. Just vanished. What exactly did you deserve?"
My hands clench at my sides, restraining the urge to put my fist through the wall. "I had no choice—"
“Poor, poor Luca.” She steps closer, unflinching in the face of my rage. "I chose to protect my child from a man who could disappear without a second thought. I chose not to chase after someone who clearly didn't want to be found."
"You had no right to make that decision."
"I had every right." Her voice drops dark and low. "I earned that right the moment I realized I was carrying your child but you were gone. The moment I faced your father, terrified he'd cast me out or worse, and refused to name you as the father to protect you, even after you abandoned me."
The truth of her words slices through my anger, leaving a profound sense of guilt. I turn away, unable to face her or the mirror that shows what I've become. "Does he know anything about me?"
"He knows his father couldn't stay."
Something breaks inside me. "I have a son." The idea of it is terrifying and miraculous all at once.
"Yes. And he's perfect, Luca." Her voice softens. "He's brave and stubborn and too smart for his own good."
Like his mother, I think but don't say.
Her eyes are sharp as they hold mine through the reflection in the mirror. “So, now that you know who his father is, are you going to keep your promise?"