Chapter 3 Luciano
Luciano
The phone ringing finally shatters my silence. My nerves already frayed from hours of waiting, I quickly snatch it up. “Joseph,” I bellow impatiently. “Is it delivered?”
Joseph pauses on the other end. “Si,” he says cautiously, “directly to Charlotte.” But there’s hesitation in his voice. “Can I… maybe offer you a piece of advice, Don?”
“What?”
“Be careful,” Joseph warns, choosing each word very carefully. “There’s something about Charlotte. She’s not to be underestimated.”
“Ciao, Joseph,” I snap, slamming the phone down before he can say another word.
Seeing Charlotte the other night at the club set off every alarm in my body.
She’s trouble, no doubt about it. I knew from the moment she threw her drink on me that the next year is going to be hard.
Anger starts to flare inside me at the thought of her.
How could Caterina dump this mess on my shoulders, expecting me to babysit and teach her daughter the way of our life?
I’m supposed to be the underboss—shit, now interim Don—of one of the most ruthless mafia families in the country, not a fucking babysitter for some reckless brat.
I know I wanted to find out more about her, but not like this.
The more I think about it, the more fire builds inside me, and in a burst of fury, I hurl the whiskey bottle against the wall. The glass explodes into shards, scattering around the room like the last of my patience.
“Luciano, tesoro, va tutto bene lì dentro?” Luciano, sweetheart, are you alright in here? Rosa’s voice floats gently from the doorway, soft with concern. She always has that calming presence, like she can sense when the storm inside me is about to break.
I blink, irritation flaring. I thought I was alone in the mansion; normally everyone has gone to bed by now. “Scusa, Rosa.” Sorry, Rosa. I take a deep breath to calm my edge. “Didn’t mean to disturb you. Shouldn’t you be home by now?”
Rosa enters the room with the quiet authority only years of loyalty can grant.
She has been the silent pillar of the Carlisi estate since I was a teenager.
She’s more than just staff; she is the heartbeat that keeps the entire estate in perfect rhythm.
Looking after the chefs, the maids, the gardeners, and yet, today, she broke the silence I’ve been craving, a gentle reminder that even in the darkest, coldest nights, I am never truly alone—there is always someone lurking around the mansion.
Her smile is soft but knowing, while her voice carries the warmth of a thousand unspoken truths. “I was just about to head over to my cottage,” she says. “There were some last-minute things I needed to organize.”
Frowning, I press my fingers into my temples. “Rosa, what are you talking about?”
She gives me a sly wink, a sparkle of that old magic in her eyes. “Change is coming, my dear. I felt it today. The east suite needs to be cleaned and ready by next week.”
Without waiting for a reply, she turns and strolls out, her steps light but purposeful, disappearing toward her small sanctuary on the estate.
How does she do it? Always one move ahead, sensing the shift in the air before it even happens.
Call it a sixth sense. The weight of her words lingers.
With a steady breath, I make my way through the sprawling Carlisi mansion, toward my own private corner of the world—the south suite, the room across from Charlotte’s soon-to-be room.