Chapter 5 Luca
Luca
Luca didn’t move until the car disappeared at the end of the block.
Not because he wasn’t capable, but because he was thinking.
He was always thinking. The street noise crept back in slowly—voices, traffic, the distant pulse of the city—but none of it touched him.
His focus stayed locked on the space where that car had been, his jaw tight, his mind already pulling the situation apart piece by piece.
They’d moved too fast and were too bold, which meant one thing.
They weren’t afraid of him, and that alone was a problem.
Behind him, Isabella shifted slightly. He felt it more than heard it—felt her presence like a change in the air, like something unpredictable had stepped too far into his territory.
He turned to find that she was still standing there, chin lifted, eyes sharp, like she hadn’t just come within seconds of being taken.
Like she hadn’t just proven exactly why he wasn’t going to be able to take his eyes off her.
“You’re not going home alone,” he said.
Her eyes narrowed immediately. “We already had this conversation.”
“And I already gave you my answer,” he said.
“I didn’t agree to it,” she spat.
Luca took a step closer, slow and deliberate. “That wasn’t a request. Your agreement isn’t necessary.” Her lips parted—ready to argue, to push, to test him again, but she didn’t get the chance.
“Dante,” Dante was behind him in seconds, already scanning the street, and reading the tension in Luca’s posture.
“Boss,” Dante said, waiting for his orders.
“I want two cars,” Luca said, his voice even. “One in front and one behind. No stops and no deviations.”
Dante’s gaze flicked briefly to Isabella, then back to Luca. “Where’s she going?”
Luca didn’t hesitate. “My house.”
Isabella’s head snapped toward him. “Absolutely not.”
He didn’t even look at her. “Make it happen,” he said to Dante.
He nodded, and Luca knew that he could count on his second in command to ask no questions.
He didn’t hesitate. He turned and moved, already pulling his phone out.
That was how Luca’s world worked. Orders were given and followed.
There was no debate, ever. His word was law.
“Luca,” Isabella snapped. He looked at her, and she sighed as though relieved to have his attention. “You don’t get to tell me where I go,” she said.
His expression didn’t change. “Tonight, I do.”
“I have my own place,” she insisted.
“And now they know where to find you,” he pointed out. That shut her up for half a second, but no longer.
“They already tried,” she shot back. “I handled it.”
Luca’s eyes darkened. “You didn’t handle anything,” he said, voice dropping. “You got lucky that I came along.”
Her chin lifted higher. “I don’t believe in luck.”
“Then start believing in consequences,” he growled.
Silence snapped tight between them. He was fine with that because he wanted her to understand that the danger that had just found her wasn’t going away. That’s not how family business worked. But she still didn’t seem to get it, not really.
Luca stepped closer again, close enough that there was no ignoring him, no stepping around him without making a choice to flat-out disobey him. From the look in her eyes, that was exactly what she wanted to do.
“They didn’t grab you because I walked out that door,” he said, quieter now—but no less lethal.
“That’s the only reason you’re still standing here.
” Her breath hitched—barely noticeable, but he caught it.
“They’ll try again,” he continued. “And next time, you won’t be standing in front of my club with half my men inside. ”
Her jaw tightened. “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” he insisted. He knew the kind of men who made moves like that, and they didn’t stop at one attempt.
They adapted, they escalated, and they took what they wanted.
Unless someone stopped them, and Luca didn’t lose what was his—or about to be his.
Isabella was going to be his wife, and he was betting that those men knew that. He wouldn’t let them take her.
Dante returned, stepping into Luca’s peripheral vision. “Cars are on the way.”
“Good,” Luca said.
“Want me to double the perimeter at the house?” Dante asked.
“Yes,” Luca agreed.
Isabella exhaled sharply. “I’m not going to your house.”
Luca didn’t even glance at her this time. “Yes, you are.”
“I said no.”
“And I said yes.” Dante shifted slightly, clearly deciding this was a conversation he didn’t need to be standing in the middle of. He was a smart man. He stepped back, giving them space without actually leaving.
Luca’s attention stayed on Isabella. “You think this is about control,” he said.
“It is,” she insisted, “and you seem to need all the control. But I won’t let you control me.”
“No,” he corrected. “It’s about survival.”
“I’ve survived just fine without you.”
His gaze sharpened. “Not in my world, you haven’t.”
Another beat of silence, and then she took a step forward, closing the distance between them this time. Not him—her. “I’m not part of your world,” she said, voice low but steady.
Luca looked down at her. He could see the defiance and fire in her eyes. The way she didn’t back down—even when every instinct should be telling her to. “You’re a part of it now,” he said. “You’ll be my wife soon, and that makes you a part of my world.
“And I can walk back out,” she insisted.
“No,” he said quietly. “You can’t.” Something flickered in her eyes then. Not fear, not exactly, but something closer to realization. That was good because she needed to start understanding exactly where she stood and who she was dealing with.
“You don’t get to decide that for me.”
“I already did,” he said. Her breath caught again. This time, he didn’t pretend not to notice.
Dante’s voice cut in. “They’re here.” Two black SUVs rolled up to the curb, engines low, windows tinted. Doors opened almost immediately, men stepped out—his men—moving with quiet efficiency.
Luca didn’t break eye contact with Isabella. “Get in the car.”
“No,” she breathed. He exhaled slowly, like he was giving her one last chance to make this easy, but she didn’t take it. Of course, she didn’t.
He stepped forward as his hand closed around her wrist—firm and unyielding. Heat shot up his arm at the contact—unexpected and unwelcome, but he ignored it.
“You can fight me on this,” he said, voice low enough that only she could hear, “or you can walk to that car on your own.” Her pulse jumped beneath his fingers. He felt it.
“And if I don’t?” she challenged. His grip tightened—just enough.
“Then I carry you,” he said. Her eyes flashed, and he knew that he had her attention.
“Try it,” she dared him. For a second—just one—something dark and almost amused flickered through him. She really had no idea who she was dealing with, but she was about to learn. Instead of lifting her, though, he leaned in. Close enough that his mouth was right next to her ear.
“You’re not the only one asking questions tonight,” he murmured.
“I want to know who thought they could take you off my street without consequences.” Her breath hitched.
“And I’ll find out,” he continued. “But first, I need to make sure you’re somewhere they can’t touch you.
” He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes again. “Get in the car,” he ordered.
This time, she hesitated, but he could see the moment that she decided to submit. It wasn’t surrender, but calculation as she was trying to figure out her next move. She was smart—very smart, and he was running out of patience.
Finally, she yanked her wrist free from his grip and turned sharply, stalking toward the SUV. Luca watched her go, something tight in his chest loosening just slightly. She climbed in without another word, slamming the door behind her.
Dante let out a quiet breath beside him. “She’s going to be a problem.”
Luca’s gaze stayed on the vehicle. “Yeah,” he said, not denying it, deciding that it was best not to avoid the truth.
He accepted it because problems could be managed, even controlled.
Problems could be eliminated. But this didn’t feel like a problem.
It felt like something else entirely. Something he didn’t have a name for yet, and that made it dangerous.
Luca moved toward the second SUV, sliding into the back seat as the convoy pulled away from the curb.
The city blurred past the window, lights streaking against the glass, but his focus wasn’t on New York.
It was on the woman sitting in the car ahead of him—Isabella Romano.
She was his future wife, his biggest risk, and the one variable he couldn’t predict.
Luca leaned back slightly, his expression hardening as his phone buzzed in his hand. It was a message from an unknown number, with just three words: You should’ve let her go. Luca stared at the screen for a long second, and then he smiled. He knew that it was cold and deadly.
“Yeah,” he murmured to himself. “That’s not happening.” Because whoever sent that message had just made a mistake. A fatal one, and Luca Camorra didn’t just respond to threats. He ended them.