8. Chapter Eight
8
Luca
My fingers fumbled on the slide catch of the Glock I was attempting to field strip, and I slammed it down on the table in frustration.
Julian took it from me and calmly separated the two pieces. "So…Dominic’s back. Any thoughts?”
"What's your point, Julian?" Dante grunted, not looking up from the sniper rifle he was cleaning. We were in his basement 'shop,' if it could be called that, wall to wall with a shocking assortment of guns and knives.
"Dominic brutalized that girl and dumped her body in an alley like trash. If the cops find out—"
"The cops ain't going to find out," Dante gave him a look. "I took care of it. Give me a little more credit than that."
It was true. Beth's body had been found that morning on the T tracks in Cambridge, three blocks down from her apartment. A tragic, alcohol fueled accident, tripping off the rain-slicked platform and falling to her gruesome death. I clenched my jaw, vowing that Sofia would never know what we'd done with the body.
Julian crossed his arms and scowled. "My point is, nobody in the family is talking about it."
"That's because nobody cares."
"I do."
I sat down on the bench next to Dante and gave him a look that said shut the hell up. "We all care about anything that affects Sofia, and that includes Beth's death."
"This isn't just about Sofia, although I want to throttle Dominic for it." Julian looked at Dante. "How does Sal give a hit to him and not you? Why is he letting that psycho off his leash? And how much does he know about Sofia’s involvement in this?"
“And better yet, where’s Sal been keeping that sick fuck. I thought we were done with him after that last go ‘round with the Irish.” Dante shrugged, wiping his hands with a rag. "But whatever. It's not my place to question it, and neither should you."
Julian threw his hands up in frustration. "You're telling me you aren't angry about this? Dominic is a loose cannon, and we are all going to pay the price. This is exactly what I was talking about. Things like this is just asking for the cops to stick their noses in. He might as well have signed his name on the body."
"I didn't say I wasn't angry, Julian. But you saw how well Sal took to your regime change suggestion."
"Yeah, and what's next? Where does this end?" Julian argued. "It's not just Sofia, it's our whole way of doing business. It's our livelihood. This proves my point. Sal's methods are outdated and will cause nothing but trouble."
I picked the Glock back up and sighted down the barrel. My left hand gripped fairly well, but the right trembled and fumbled with the tools, embarrassingly slow. Next to me, Dante pretended not to notice and handed me a clean rag and a bottle of gun oil.
"What's your suggestion?" I asked, setting the piece down and oiling the rag.
"Keep in mind that Sal's going to veto anything you suggest," Dante muttered, loading a clip.
To my surprise, Julian sat down at the bench opposite me and pulled a revolver towards him, starting to strip it down. Grabbed a barrel brush and started cleaning, grime and grease staining his fingers. As a capo, he obviously knew his way around weaponry, but I couldn't remember the last time I saw him get his hands dirty. He'd always been a strategist, the mastermind behind the muscle. But there was a determined line to his mouth as he worked, like he had a point to prove.
"Maybe I'm past asking. Maybe it's time for me to do something about it." Julian looked up at me. "We almost lost Emilia. You. Now Sofia. I'm not going to wait until a bullet finally hits home and takes someone I love. We need to do something before it's too late. Before the cops come sniffing around."
That got a rare grin out of Dante. "You staging a coup?"
Julian's face couldn't be more serious. "If that's what it takes."
"You don't think Sal would expect that? You'd be signing your own death warrant; you haven’t exactly been subtle about your disillusionment. He'll put a bullet in you. Probably order me to do it, too."
"What if it were Aria wrapped up in this?” Julian shot back. “Do you honestly tell me you wouldn't do anything?"
Dante scoffed. "My sister is a spoiled princess more concerned about her manicure and her bank account than anything else. She wouldn't be caught within fifty miles of actual work. She doesn't know a thing about our business."
"She's a Moretti," Julian said, his voice cold as steel. "She has the same blood as us. Same as Sofia, same as Luca, and it can be spilled just as easily."
Dante was silent. We both knew he loved his sister, despite his indifference.
I turned back to Julian. I wasn't sure how much use I'd be, but I'd already made up my mind. "I'm in. Dante?"
"You know, I didn't stay alive this long sticking my neck out for other people," Dante replied, setting his gun down and looking at both of us. "But you've got a point, Julian. Sal's bringing too much heat."
"So, are you in?" Julian asked.
"Yes. Fuck." Dante ran a hand through his dark hair. "I'm already regretting this."
***
We moved the rest of Sofia's things into my apartment that afternoon. I got Dante to help for two reasons: One, because I knew he'd keep his mouth shut about it around Julian, and two, because despite the workout I’d been getting the past few days, I was still a little wobbly with the heavy lifting and didn’t want Sofia trying to help. I had been hoping for an opportunity to speak to Dante privately, but he was strangely tight-lipped for once.
Probably still thinking about our handshake mutiny plan. I know I was.
Sofia had brought her laptop and books, and the rest of her boxes were filled with clothing. It made me a little sad to see how little she really had. She really had left her old life behind. Two suitcases of clothes, a box of shoes and books, her laptop and school supplies, a few I made a mental note to buy her some stuff for the apartment. I could afford it, and I wanted her to have things.
Sofia had been quiet on the car ride over, but once she started unpacking her things, I could see she was happy to be here. The sight of it made me oddly happy, too, an emotion I hadn't felt in a while. I tried not to think too much about it, because I was worried about what it might mean.
"Sofia?"
She looked up from the kitchen cupboard, a plate in her hand. "Yes?"
"Where do you want this?" I gestured to the box of books in my arms.
"Just put it by the couch," she said, opening the door to the empty cupboard and starting to arrange the plates.
I set it down and stood there awkwardly. "You need any help?"
"No, I got it." She turned to look at me. "Do you want to sit down? You're looking a little pale."
"I'm fine."
"Okay." She shrugged and turned back to her task.
I didn't sit down. I couldn't. The past few days had been a whirlwind of chaos, but now that everything was settling into place, I was terrified.
Sofia. Here, in my personal space.
I went into my bedroom and opened the closet, staring at the row of weapons I had in there. The sight of all that hardware in a space I was going to share with Sofia set my teeth on edge; I didn’t want her anywhere near a gun. That still didn’t change the fact that she was in danger, though. At least here I could keep an eye on her. At least here, beside me, Sofia would be protected.
I scrubbed a hand over my face and shuffled into the bathroom. Damn, I was exhausted. Dante had done most of the heavy lifting, but even a little bit of physical activity wore me out. Already, my head was throbbing.
Splashing my face with cold water, I studied my reflection. The headaches were getting worse. There really was no denying it anymore. Even though I'd started taking my pain meds again, they didn't seem to put much of a dent in the headaches that came on almost too sudden to get ahead of.
Popping open the pill bottle, I swallowed down two. Sofia was already worried about me enough as it was. I didn't need to add this to the list.
I went back into the living room, seeing her stacking books on the coffee table. She saw me looking and smiled. "I like your bookshelf."
I was confused. "What's that?"
She looked at me like I had two heads. "You have a ton of books."
I looked at the bookshelf. "Oh, I didn't notice. They're mostly my grandfather's."
"I didn’t know you were a big reader.”
"Not really anymore." I couldn't focus for long on the words, the way they jumped all over the page. I didn't like to admit it, but I'd stopped reading after my accident because it was too hard. It made me feel inadequate. Angry. Frustrated.
Like a lot of things did lately, it seemed.
"Oh, okay. I can put some of mine away. I don't want to clutter up your space."
"Sofia, you live here now. Take up space, make yourself at home." I didn't like that she thought she had to ask permission to do something as simple as putting her own books on my bookshelf.
She looked at me, her face softening. "Okay. If you're sure."
"I'm sure." I sat down on the couch, watching her.
She smiled and grabbed a couple of books off the coffee table, putting them on the shelf. I watched her, unable to take my eyes off her. I'd never had a woman in my apartment before. I'd had women, of course, but always at their place or in hotels. Never in my own space. I'd never been able to relax enough to let them in, and I'd never wanted to.
But Sofia... she was different.
She was beautiful, yes. I couldn't deny that. But it was more than that. She was kind and caring, and she didn't seem bothered by what I’d become. She treated me like I was normal, and I couldn't remember the last time someone had done that.
I watched her as she put the books on the shelf, and then turned to me, smiling. "I think that's the last of it."
"Good." I shifted on the couch, trying to find a comfortable position.
"Do you want to watch a movie?"
"Sure."
She put on some romcom that I didn't recognize. I watched for a few minutes, but I couldn't focus on the screen.
I glanced over at Sofia instead. She was sitting cross legged on the couch, engrossed in the movie.
My eyes trailed over her body. She was wearing a pair of short shorts and a tank top, and her tan skin seemed to glow in the television’s reflection. Her dark hair was curled around her face, framing it perfectly, and her amber eyes shone with an inner light. She was so beautiful, I couldn't look away.
I closed my eyes, letting out a breath. I couldn't let myself go there. She was too young, too innocent. I was a broken shell of a man, barely able to take care of myself, let alone a woman. I couldn't give her what she needed.
But still... the way she looked at me... the way she touched me, her hands gentle and soothing... I couldn't stop thinking about it.
I opened my eyes, watching her again. She was watching the movie, her eyes shining with laughter. She looked so happy, so carefree.
I wanted that. I wanted to make her happy. I wanted to make her laugh.
But I couldn't.
My head throbbed hard. The light from the television blanched out and doubled, spilling beyond the boundaries of the screen.
Shit. An aura. I was about to have a migraine.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to will it away. But the pain intensified, the room spinning around me. I swallowed back the nausea that rose in my throat, clamping my mouth shut against the bile.
The sound of the movie faded into the background, replaced by the rushing of blood in my ears. My pulse thudded behind my temples, and I squeezed my eyes shut even tighter.
"Luca? Are you all right?" Sofia's voice broke through the fog of pain.
"F-Fine."
"You don't look fine. You look like you're in pain."
Pain? Ha. No big deal, just over here getting run over by a freight train. I couldn't speak. Instead, I shook my head and immediately regretted it as a wave of dizziness washed over me.
“What meds do you need—in the bathroom. I’ll get them.” Sofia was no-nonsense, and somehow I managed to mumble the name to her. She was back in a second, two pills appearing between my lips. I tucked them into my mouth and gulped down the water that was offered next.
"Here." Her hand was on my arm, steadying me. "Lean back."
I did as she said, leaning against the back of the couch. My head was spinning, the pain making me feel sick. I closed my eyes, trying to breathe through it.
Her hand was still on my arm, her touch gentle and soothing. "Is there anything else I can do?" she asked softly.
I didn't respond. I couldn't. I was too focused on the pain.
Her fingers stroked my arm, her touch feather-light. She said something, but her words were lost beneath the blood whooshing in my ears. The vice on my head tightened, and I groaned low in the back of my throat.
The world faded away to bright light and pain as my brain tried to claw its way out of my skull. I dry heaved and tried to breathe through my nose, some vain part of me holding on to the last shreds of my dignity in a death grip. Shuddering my way onto my side, I gripped at my hair as Sofia's hands ran up and down my spine, and the only reason I didn't reach for her was because I was afraid I'd fall off the face of the earth if I let go of myself.
Lips brushed my cheek, and I felt the breath of words spoken against my skin even though I couldn't hear them. The hands left, and I bit down on my cheek until I tasted blood. The room suddenly flickered and dimmed, and Sofia curled up behind me in the blackness. I could feel her breasts against my back, her breath on my neck, and her arms wrapped around my chest, grounding me. She said something, her words muffled by the blood rushing in my ears, and then she was kissing my neck, her lips soft and warm against my skin, and despite the vortex I was spinning through, I felt myself relaxing, the pain starting to ebb.
My heartbeat slowed and my breathing deepened as the drugs kicked in. Sofia stroked her fingers through my hair, her touch light and soothing, the scent of vanilla and peonies blanketing the pain. It smelled...oddly familiar. Soothing in a way I couldn't quite put my finger on. I closed my eyes, letting myself relax into her touch. I couldn't remember the last time someone had held me like this, the last time I had let someone touch me like this. But I didn't want her to stop.
No. I wanted to hold onto her and never let her go.
Sofia's fingers traced my cheekbone, my jawline, my neck, each muscle relaxing as if she alone controlled them. In the wake of the migraine and her touch, my brain grew foggy, my limbs heavy. I didn't even try to fight it. I just let myself drift away, unburdened like I hadn't felt in a long time.