33. Luca
33
LUCA
I pace the length of my study, my eyes flicking to the clock every few seconds. Mia’s been gone for hours, visiting her family. The house feels empty without her, a stark reminder of how quickly I’ve grown accustomed to her presence.
Shaking my head, I force myself to focus. I can’t spend the day moping around like some lovesick teenager. I have responsibilities, a business to run. And… I have my mother.
The thought of her sends a pang through my chest. It’s been too long since I last visited. With a sudden determination, I grab my keys.
If Mia can spend time with her family, so can I.
The drive to the care facility is familiar, a route I’ve traveled countless times over the years. As I pull into the parking lot, I steel myself for what’s to come. These visits are never easy, but they’re necessary.
The moment I step through the doors, I know something’s wrong. The air feels charged, tense. The receptionist’s eyes widen when she sees me, and she immediately picks up the phone.
Dr. Jones appears moments later, her face grave. “Mr. Strambo,” she says, “we were just about to call you. Perhaps we should speak in my office.”
The walk to her office feels like it takes hours. My mind races, imagining every possible scenario. Has my mother had another episode? Did she hurt someone?
As soon as the door closes behind us, Dr. Jones turns to me, her eyes filled with sympathy. “Mr. Strambo, I’m so sorry. Your mother… she attempted to take her life again in the early hours of this morning.”
I feel my breath catch in my throat. This isn’t the first time, but each attempt feels like a fresh wound.
“Is she okay?” I manage to ask, my voice sounding strange to my own ears.
Dr. Jones’s expression crumples, and I know. I know before she even says the words.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Strambo. This time… this time, she succeeded. We found her body less than an hour ago.”
The world seems to tilt on its axis. My mother… dead? It can’t be. She’s survived so much, for so long. How can she be gone?
The next hour passes in a blur. I’m led to a room, sterile and cold. And there she is. My mother. She looks small, fragile. Nothing like the vibrant woman I remember from my childhood.
I stand there, staring at her still form, and I feel… everything. Grief, anger, guilt. It’s overwhelming, suffocating.
And then, cutting through it all, a familiar feeling. A burning in my chest, a tightening in my gut.
Rage. Pure, unadulterated rage .
This isn’t fair. None of this is fair. My mother should have had a long, happy life. She should have seen me grow up, should have met Mia, should have held her grandchildren.
But she didn’t get any of that. Because of the fucking Sicuras. Because they took everything from us.
The thought hits me like a physical blow. I’ve been trying so hard to let go of my anger, to move past my need for revenge. For Mia’s sake. But now, standing here, looking at my mother’s lifeless body, it all comes rushing back.
“Why?” I whisper, my voice cracking. “Why did you do this, Mom?”
Of course, there’s no answer. There will never be an answer again.
I take a step closer, my hand reaching out to touch her cold cheek. “Was it something I did? Something I didn’t do? Did you think I wouldn’t care?”
The questions pour out of me, each one more desperate than the last. “Didn’t you know how much I needed you? How much I still need you?”
My voice rises, echoing in the sterile room. “You were all I had left! The only family I had in this world, and you just… you just left me!”
Tears blur my vision, but I can’t stop now. All the pain, all the anger I’ve been holding back for years comes rushing out.
“Do you have any idea what it was like? Growing up, watching you slip away a little more each day? I tried so hard to be enough, to give you a reason to stay. But I guess I failed at that too, huh?”
I’m shouting now, my fists clenched at my sides. “You were supposed to be there for me! You were supposed to see me get married, to meet your grandchildren someday. But instead, you chose this. You chose to leave me alone.”
My legs give out, and I sink to my knees beside the bed. “I’m sorry,” I choke out, my anger giving way to gut-wrenching sorrow. “I’m so sorry, Mom. I should have been there more. I should have tried harder. Maybe if I had, you wouldn’t have…”
I can’t finish the sentence. Instead, I lay my head on the bed next to her hand, my body shaking with silent sobs. “I love you, Mom,” I whisper. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”
I don’t know how long I stay there, lost in my grief. Eventually, a gentle hand on my shoulder pulls me back to reality.
“Mr. Strambo,” Dr. Jones says softly. “I’m so sorry, but we need to…”
I nod, understanding. They need to take her body, prepare it for… for what comes next.
As I stand, I lean over and press a kiss to my mother’s forehead. “Goodbye, Mom,” I murmur. “I hope you’ve found peace.”
I barely remember leaving the facility. The drive home is a blur of red-hot anger and grief. I need to do something, anything, to make this pain stop.
As I walk into the house, the silence hits me anew. Mia isn’t here. She’s with her family .
Her family, who are alive and well and happy.
I reach for my phone, dialing Mia’s number without thinking. It rings once, twice, three times. Then goes to voicemail.
“Hey, it’s Mia. Leave a message!”
Her cheerful voice feels like a knife to my heart. I hang up without leaving a message, then immediately call again. Voicemail. Again.
Where the fuck is she? Why isn’t she answering?
With each unanswered call, my anger grows. It’s irrational, I know. Mia has no idea what’s happened. She’s not ignoring me on purpose. But in this moment, all I can think about is that I need her, and she’s not here.
I pace the study, my hands shaking with suppressed rage. How could my mother do this? How could she leave me? Didn’t she know how much I needed her?
I feel like I’m drowning—like the walls are closing in on me.
But even as the thought forms, I know it’s not fair. My mother was sick. She’d been suffering for so long. And now… now she’s gone.
And I’m alone.
The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. I’m alone. My father is dead. My mother is dead. I have no siblings, no extended family. No one.
Except Mia.
I dial her number again, my movements frantic now. “Come on, Mia,” I mutter as the phone rings. “Pick up. Please, pick up.”
Voicemail again.
This time, I leave a message. “Mia,” I say, my voice rough with emotion. “I need you to come home. Please. Something’s happened, and I… I need you.”
I hang up, feeling more lost than ever. What if she doesn't get the message? What if she decides to stay with her family overnight?
The thought sends a fresh wave of panic through me. I can’t be alone right now. I can’t trust myself.
My eyes land on the bottom drawer of my desk. The one that contains everything I’ve gathered on the Sicuras over the years.
Before I can stop myself, I’m opening the drawer, pulling out the files. Names, dates, locations. Everything I need to bring them down.
I spread the papers across my desk, my hands shaking with a mixture of grief and rage. It would be so easy. One phone call, and I could set everything in motion. I could make them pay for everything they’ve taken from me.
My mother’s face flashes in my mind. Not as she was in that cold, sterile room, but as she was when I was a child. Smiling, vibrant, full of life.
Before the Sicuras took everything from us.
The rage builds, a tidal wave of fury that threatens to consume me. I need to do something. I need to make them pay.
I reach for my phone again, but instead of calling one of my men, I dial Mia’s number once more. It goes straight to voicemail this time. She must have turned her phone off.
“Mia,” I growl into the phone, unable to keep the anger from my voice. “Where are you? I need you here. Now.”
I hang up, throwing the phone across the room in frustration. It hits the wall with a satisfying crack.
I pace the room, my hands shaking, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The silence that follows is deafening. I’m alone. Truly, completely alone.
My eyes land on the liquor cabinet. Before I can think better of it, I’m pouring myself a drink. The whiskey burns as it goes down, but it’s a welcome sensation.
Anything to feel something other than this crushing pain.
The alcohol dulls the edges of my grief, but it sharpens my anger. With each sip, I feel my control slipping further away.
I find myself back at my desk, staring at the files on the Sicuras. In my alcohol-addled state, revenge seems not just appealing, but necessary. An eye for an eye. They took my family from me, so I’ll take everything from them.
I reach for my phone, intending to call Marco, to set things in motion. But the phone isn’t where I left it. Right. I fucking threw it.
Cursing, I stumble across the room to retrieve it. The screen is cracked, but it still works. I pull up Marco’s number, my finger hovering over the call button.
One call. That’s all it would take to rain hell down on the Sicuras. To make them feel even a fraction of the pain I'm feeling right now.
But something stops me. A small voice in the back of my mind, cutting through the haze of alcohol and grief. My mother’s voice, mixed in with Mia’s.
“This isn’t you, Luca,” I imagine her saying. “This isn’t who you want to be.”
And in that moment, slumped on the ground in my study surrounded by plans for revenge, with the ghost of my mother’s memory haunting me and Mia’s absence a physical ache in my chest, I feel myself starting to spiral.
The rage, the grief, the loneliness—it’s all too much. I need Mia. I need her here, now, to pull me back from this edge.
But she’s not here. And as the minutes tick by with no word from her, I feel myself slipping further and further into the darkness.
What am I going to do?