Chapter 9 Luca
LUCA
Days later and several failed attempts to approach Katerina again, I’m distracting myself with the mission that had brought me home in the first place.
I sit on the edge of my bed, reviewing the note I received saying I needed to come home.
Plain black printed text on white paper. No signature, no clue to its origin.
Don Dante is dead. The family needs you.
My initial plan was simple—show up for the funeral, pay my respects, find out who needed me home, then return to Chicago where I answer to no one except myself.
But now…
I rub my face, feeling the stubble beneath my palms.
My father is dead.
The old bastard is actually gone.
The man whose approval I chased for decades, whose disappointment shaped me more than his pride ever did.
I should feel relief, maybe even satisfaction.
Instead, there’s nothing.
Maybe that’s good. It’s better than regret or grief, both of which I know too well.
And now I’m back to thinking about Katerina. And my son.
The thought hits me again with the same force as when Katerina first revealed the truth.
Enzo. My son.
I created a life I knew nothing about.
My brief glimpses of him show a child who has the Dante gray eyes.
Proof that my blood flows through him.
He’s a walking, talking, thinking, feeling person I helped create but haven't helped shape.
Does he like sports?
Is he quiet like Katerina was when I first met her, or does he have my temper?
Does he wonder about me?
I don’t know because Katerina is avoiding me. Normally, I wouldn’t allow such disrespect, but what the fuck do I know about kids?
I want to meet him, there’s no doubt.
But I don’t want to traumatize him or make him hate me off the bat by bullying my way into his life.
I think back to the funeral, when I fucked Katerina against the wall of my father’s—or I guess it’s Alessandro’s now—study.
God, it was so fucking good. My dick twitches at the memory of her nails digging into my back.
That was how it was with us seven years ago, wild, desperate sex that I’ve never been able to have with another woman.
I wonder if she knew she was pregnant before I was exiled.
Did she try to tell me, and I missed it, too wrapped up in my own issues?
"Fuck.” I rise from the bed, restless energy coursing through me. There's no returning to Chicago now.
Not until I understand what happened to my father and who called me home.
Not until I know my son.
The determination settles in my soul, hard and uncompromising. I will know Enzo. I will be his father.
Even if I have to tear down every wall Katerina has built between us.
While I’m at it, I won’t leave without her either.
Some things are worth fighting for.
And this boy and the woman I’ve never gotten over are worth it.
Even if it pits me against my family.
Against hers.
She’ll fight it. But one thing was made clear to me that afternoon in the study. I’m still a part of her.
She might not want me in her life. No doubt, she’ll continue to resist me.
But eventually, she’ll give in.
She’ll have to, just as she did in the study because she and I are as inevitable as the sunrise.
I just have to be patient, which isn’t my forte, but I’ve shown remarkable patience with her so far. I've tried to see my son three times now.
Three fucking times.
And each time, Katerina has a new excuse.
"He's at school."
"He's at a friend’s house."
"Now isn't a good time."
Irritation grows. Why doesn’t she understand that I had no choice but to leave, that my silence was to protect her, not abandon her?
Why wasn’t my touch enough to show her that I’ve never let her go?
I can still taste her on my lips from our encounter in the study. Can still feel her body trembling against mine, hear the way she gasped my name when she came.
For those brief minutes, we were us again.
The Luca and Katerina who couldn't keep their hands off each other, who planned a future together.
The moment the orgasm ended, she’d gathered her clothes and her dignity and walked away.
Fucking hell, no one walks away from Luca Dante.
I grab my phone, typing out another message.
We need to talk about our son. Stop avoiding me.
The three dots appear immediately, then disappear. Reappear. Vanish again. Finally,
There's nothing to discuss. He's my son. You're just passing through.
My jaw clenches hard. I left here a marked man.
Survived exile and betrayal.
Built an empire from the ground up with business sense and brutality, when needed.
This woman dares defy me, disrespect me.
And like a fucking pussy, I’ve allowed it.
Enough. I'm done playing by her rules.
If Katerina won't introduce me to my son willingly, I'll find another way.
I don't care if I have to wait outside his school, intercept him on his way to a playdate, or confront Katerina in front of the entire Dante household.
I won’t be denied.
I am his father. I have rights.
A judge might disagree, considering my lifestyle, but he’s my blood too.
Katerina is about to learn that the man who came back isn't the boy who left.
My phone buzzes again just as I'm pulling on my jacket, ready to hunt down Katerina and force this confrontation.
Victorio's name flashes on the screen.
I answer with a curt, "What?"
"Someone's in a good mood." His familiar laugh crackles through the speaker. "Got a proposition for you. We're moving a shipment tonight. Custom Berettas. Thought you might want to tag along, for old times' sake."
The tension in my shoulders loosens slightly. Victorio and I used to handle shipments together before everything went to shit.
Back when my father would clap me on the back and tell me I had potential.
"Arms delivery? Isn't Alessandro handling that these days?"
"He's busy with the Russians. Besides…" Victorio's voice drops. "It's not the same without you, Brother. Remember that run to Atlantic City? When those Jersey boys tried to jump us?"
Despite everything, I feel the corner of my mouth twitch up. "You pissed yourself."
"I did not! That was water from the—"
"It was piss, Vic. Own it."
His laughter fills the line, and for a moment, I'm nineteen again, unburdened by exile and all I’ve lost in the last seven years.
I’m just Luca, with the world at my feet and my best friend at my side.
"So? You in? Just like old times."
I think about my mission to force Katerina’s hand.
Maybe a night away from this house is what I need.
Clear my head, get some perspective.
Enzo isn't going anywhere.
And neither am I.
"Pick me up in twenty," I say.
"That's my boy!"
As I pocket my phone, I’m glad that not everything from my old life has been lost.
Although as much as I like Vic, I’d rather have Katerina and Enzo.
Victorio cranks the music as we tear through the darkness heading to Brooklyn. I can’t deny a sense of exhilaration. For the last few days, I’ve been navigating an uncertain world. But this is work I know. I need to feel competent, confident, in charge, and this run with Vic will give me that.
"Still drive like shit, I see," I say, gripping the handle above the door as he takes a corner too fast.
"Still complain like an old woman, I see." He flashes that same crooked grin I've known since we were teenagers stealing cigarettes and causing trouble.
We pull up to the warehouse on first avenue, the building silhouetted against the water of the New York Harbor. Two of Alessandro's men nod at us as we approach, their eyes lingering on me. I’m not sure if they're wary or curious.
"I don’t know if they trust me," I mutter.
Victorio shrugs. "They’ll get over it."
Inside, the shipment waits, five wooden crates of custom Berettas, each one hand-finished with mother-of-pearl grips. Beautiful pieces. Deadly art.
"Just like riding a bike, eh?" Victorio tosses me a crowbar, and I catch it one-handed.
The familiar routine soothes something in me. Checking the merchandise, confirming the serial numbers, preparing the paperwork that makes illegal guns look like industrial equipment. It feels good working again, away from the suffocating tension of the Dante mansion.
“So, I see Katerina is giving you the cold shoulder—"
The first bullet shatters the overhead light.
"Down!" I shout, diving behind a crate as gunfire erupts from multiple directions.
Glass explodes above us, metal pings against concrete. One of Alessandro's men drops with a gurgled cry, blood spreading across his chest.
I draw my Glock on instinct. This isn’t my first rodeo, or in this case, shootout.
Three shooters, maybe four. Coming from the east entrance.
"Cover me!" I bark at Victorio, who's already returning fire.
I roll to another position, get off two clean shots. A scream tells me I've hit someone. My blood sings with the rush of combat. This I understand. This makes sense.
A shadow moves to my right. I pivot, fire twice. The figure drops.
"Who the fuck are these guys?" Victorio shouts over the chaos.
I advance through the warehouse, moving from cover to cover, leaving the crates as I hunt down these fuckers. Another shooter appears in my sightline. I don't hesitate. The bullet catches him in the throat. His gun clatters to the ground as he falls.
As suddenly as it began, the gunfire stops.
"Vic?" I call out, scanning for more threats.
"Still breathing," he answers, voice tight with pain. "Took one in the arm, though. Fuck, that hurts."
I move to him, sitting against the wall in a secondary storage area.
“What the fuck just happened here?” Situations like this happen but are rare in organizations as established and deadly as the Dantes’.
No one has tried to fuck with me in Chicago for nearly three years because it never turns out well for them.
The Dantes have been around for generations. “Who has the balls to pull this shit?”
“Fuck if I know.”
I pull off my coat and press it to Victorio's wound, stanching the flow of blood. "Keep pressure on it," I order, moving to check the other men. One's dead, the other barely hanging on with a bullet in his chest.