21. Luca
21
LUCA
T he soft glow of chandeliers bathes the restaurant in warm light as we step inside. La Stella is the epitome of luxury, all polished marble and rich mahogany, with the gentle notes of a grand piano filling the air. It’s the kind of place where deals are made, secrets are shared, and tonight, victories are flaunted.
I guide Mia through the restaurant with a hand on the small of her back, acutely aware of the eyes following our progress. My beautiful wife is a vision in the deep blue dress I chose for her, and I can’t help but feel a surge of possessive pride.
Marco and two other of my most trusted men are already seated at strategic points around the dining room. They nod almost imperceptibly as we pass, their watchful eyes scanning for any potential threats.
I may have agreed to give up my vengeance in exchange for Mia, but old habits die hard. In our world, you can never be too careful.
The ma?tre d’ leads us to the best table in the house, a secluded booth with a perfect view of the entire restaurant. As I help Mia into her seat, I catch a whiff of her perfume—something light and floral that makes me want to bury my face in her neck. I resist the urge, reminding myself that we’re here for a purpose.
“This place is beautiful,” Mia says softly as she takes in our surroundings. Her eyes are wide with wonder, and for a moment, I’m struck by how young she looks. How innocent.
“Only the best for my wife,” I reply, picking up the wine list. “I hope you like it.”
A faint blush colors her cheeks. “It’s lovely, thank you. Though I can’t help but feel a bit out of place.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Out of place? You were born for places like this, Mia. You’re a Marino. . . and now a Strambo. This is your world.”
She looks down at her lap, fiddling with her napkin. “I suppose I’m just not used to it. In my family, we didn’t go out much. Papa preferred quiet dinners at home.”
The mention of her father sends a pang through me. From the wistful note in her voice, it’s clear that she desperately misses her father.
I understand the feeling.
But I push the feeling aside. “Well, you’ll have to get used to it. I intend to show you off at every opportunity.”
Our waiter arrives then, saving me from the conflicted emotions swirling in my chest. I order a bottle of their finest Barolo and leave the food selection to the chef’s discretion. Mia looks impressed, and I can’t help but feel pleased.
As we wait for our wine, I find myself studying Mia. In the soft lighting, she looks almost ethereal. Her dark hair falls in soft waves around her face, and her eyes seem to sparkle as she takes in our surroundings. She’s breathtakingly beautiful, yes, but there’s something more. An intelligence, a curiosity that shines through.
“So, Mia,” I say, leaning forward slightly, “before we got married, what books were you reading?”
Even though I’m well aware that Mia likes to read, I’m curious to test just how well-read she is. There’s only so much of Charlotte Bronte, Jane Austen, and other classic novels that I can stomach.
Besides, those are books that a woman of Mia’s station is expected to read, along with trashy YA novels.
Mia’s eyes light up with genuine enthusiasm.
“I was re-reading One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez,” she says, her voice animated. “Have you read it?”
I nod, intrigued by her choice. “Years ago. It’s quite a complex work.”
“Oh, it’s brilliant,” Mia continues, her hands moving expressively as she speaks. “The way Márquez weaves magical realism throughout the narrative is simply masterful. And the cyclical nature of time in the story. . . it’s a beautiful metaphor for the repetition of history, both in families and in societies.”
Well, shit. I wasn’t expecting that out of her. Any English professor would have been thrilled to have her in class.
“That’s an astute observation. What do you make of the incest motif in the novel?”
Mia doesn’t hesitate. “I think it serves multiple purposes. On one level, it’s a literal representation of the Buendía family’s insularity. But more broadly, I see it as a metaphor for the dangers of refusing to learn from the past. The family’s inability to break free from their patterns of behavior ultimately leads to their downfall.”
I’m impressed despite myself. This is not the naive, sheltered girl I expected. Mia’s analysis is thoughtful and nuanced.
Yep, an English professor would definitely cream themselves.
“You’ve given this a lot of thought,” I say, unable to keep the admiration from my voice. “I didn’t expect. . .”
Mia’s eyes flash with a hint of defiance. “You didn’t expect a ‘spoiled princess’ to have opinions on literature?” she challenges, though her tone remains light.
I have the grace to look slightly abashed. “I apologize if I’ve underestimated you. It seems there’s more to you than meets the eye, Mrs. Strambo.”
She smiles then, a genuine smile that lights up her whole face. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Luca. I may have grown up protected, but I was never ignorant. Books have always been my window to the world.”
As our first course arrives—a delicate carpaccio of beef with shaved truffles—I find myself eager to continue our conversation. “Tell me more,” I encourage. “What other authors do you enjoy?”
And just like that, we fall into a deep discussion that spans classic literature to contemporary works. Mia’s knowledge is broad and her insights sharp. She talks about the existential themes in Camus’s works with the same passion she dissects the narrative structure of Italo Calvino’s If On a Winter’s Night a Traveler .”
As our main course arrives—a perfectly cooked ribeye for me and a delicate sea bass for Mia—I realize that I’ve almost forgotten why we came here in the first place. The pleasure of Mia’s company, the satisfaction of our earlier fuck in the bedroom, the excellent food and wine—it’s all combined to push thoughts of revenge to the back of my mind.
But then I see them.
Dom and Sofia enter the restaurant, followed closely by Bianca and Rork, and Chiara and Dante. The Marino sisters and their husbands, out for an evening together.
Suddenly, I’m acutely aware of why we’re here.
Of what I set out to do tonight.
Mia hasn’t noticed her family yet, engrossed in a discussion about a recent television show she’s watched. I let her talk, nodding at appropriate intervals, but my attention is focused on the group being led to a table across the room.
I watch as they’re seated, as they laugh and talk among themselves. They look . . . happy. Carefree. And for a moment, I feel a stab of something that might be envy.
But then I remember everything they’ve taken from me. Everything the Sicuras have cost me. And my resolve hardens.
“Mia,” I interrupt, perhaps more abruptly than I intend, “I think it’s time we were going.”
She looks surprised, glancing down at her half-finished meal. “Already? But we haven’t even had dessert.”
“I have a craving for something sweeter,” I say, my voice low and suggestive. I see the blush spread across her cheeks, and I can’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction.
She’s mine, in every way that matters.
I signal for the check, paying quickly and efficiently. As we stand to leave, I see the moment Mia spots her family. Her whole body tenses, and I can practically feel the conflict radiating off her.
“Luca,” she says softly, her voice tight with emotion. “My sisters…”
“I know,” I reply, wrapping an arm around her waist. “We’ll stop by their table on our way out. It would be rude not to say hello, wouldn’t it?”
She looks up at me, her eyes wide with a mix of hope and fear.
As we approach the table, I can see the moment they notice us. Sofia’s face goes pale, while Dom’s darkens with anger. Bianca and Rork tense, ready for a fight, while Chiara looks like she might burst into tears at any moment and Dante angles his body toward his wife.
“Well, well,” I say, my voice carrying just enough to be heard over the ambient noise of the restaurant. “What a pleasant surprise. The whole family, out for a night on the town.”
Dom stands abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Luca,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous. “What are you doing here?”
I tighten my arm around Mia, pulling her closer to my side. “Why, we’re just out for a romantic dinner celebrating our recent marriage. Isn’t that right, baby?”
Mia nods, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, it’s… it’s been lovely.”
Bianca’s eyes narrow, her voice sharp. “Mia, blink twice if you need help.”
I chuckle, the sound devoid of humor. “Always so dramatic, Bianca. Your sister is here of her own free will. Don’t you remember?”
“Free will?” Dante scoffs, speaking up for the first time. “Hard to be free will when you were threatening to kill Dom in front of us!”
Sofia stands then, her eyes fixed on her youngest sister. “Mia,” she says, her voice choked with emotion. “Are you… are you alright?”
Before Mia can respond, I cut in. “She’s more than alright,” I say, my voice hard despite my smile. “She’s my wife now. And I have to thank you, Dom, Sofia. You’ve provided me with such a satisfying resolution to our… disagreement.”
I can see the shock and pain on their faces, and I savor it. This is what I wanted. To make them suffer as I have suffered.
Chiara struggles to stand up, her pregnant belly throwing off her center of gravity. “Mia, please. You don’t have to do this. We can protect you.”
Mia stiffens beside me. “Keeks, I… I made my choice. To protect all of you.”
“Some choice,” Rork growls. “Forced to marry a monster to save her family. You’re no better than a common thug, Strambo.”
I laugh, cold and mocking. “A thug? Oh, O’Malley, you wound me. I prefer to think of myself as a businessman. And this?” I gesture between Mia and myself. “This is just good business.”
“She’s even better than the bride I’d originally intended to take,” I continue, my eyes locking with Sofia’s. I see the color drain from her face as she remembers that night, so long ago, when I nearly succeeded in making her mine.
Dom looks like he might lunge across the table at me at any moment. His fists are clenched at his sides, and I can see the vein pulsing in his temple. “You fucking bastard,” he hisses. “If you’ve hurt her?—”
“Hurt her?” I laugh, the sound cold and mocking. “Oh, Dom. I would never hurt my wife. In fact, I intend to cherish her… in every way possible.”
The implication hangs heavily in the air. I can feel Mia trembling beside me, but whether from fear or something else, I'm not sure.
Bianca stands now, her eyes flashing dangerously. “You disgust me, Luca. Using an innocent girl to further your sick vendetta.”
I shrug, unperturbed. “Innocent? Perhaps. But I assure you, she’s a quick learner. Aren’t you, my love?”
Mia’s face flushes bright red, a mixture of embarrassment and anger. “Luca, please,” she whispers. “That’s enough.”
“This isn’t over, Luca,” Rork growls, his scarred face twisted with anger.
I smile, all teeth and no warmth. “Oh, I think it is, O’Malley. You see, Mia is mine now. Legally, lawfully, and in every other way that matters. And there’s nothing any of you can do about it.”