Chapter 22 – Luca
LUCA
I've been staring at the same information regarding Bellini’s insurance claim and repair estimates for twenty minutes.
The kitchen island is covered in papers, my laptop open to emails I should be answering, and an espresso grows cold at my elbow as I make absolutely no progress on my ever-growing to-do list.
Maybe it’s because I never work here. The lighting is too bright, and the interruptions too frequent. My study is designed for exactly this purpose, as Carmella just reminded me, wiping around me aggressively, clearly bothered by my presence.
Yet this morning, I found myself gravitating to the bright, open space with its wide windows and clear view to the rest of the house.
The sound of bare feet on tile makes me look up, and whatever hope of concentrating I had evaporates entirely.
Sienna stands in the doorway, sleep-rumpled and irritatingly beautiful, wearing nothing but one of my white dress shirts.
The hem grazes mid-thigh, revealing an indecent amount of those long, toned legs I had wrapped around my head less than 48 hours ago.
Her dark, silky hair is loose, tumbling over her shoulders.
She looks through me like I’m an acquaintance she doesn’t particularly care for rather than the man she’s about to marry.
I knew she’d be angry about the phone numbers, but I did it anyway. My wife is not going to be fielding calls from men I don’t know or trust. It’s for her safety and theirs. Sienna has yet to grasp how much her life is about to change.
"Good morning," I say politely, testing the waters.
She doesn't respond, just pads past me toward the refrigerator. The shirt rides up as she reaches for a bottle of water on the top shelf, revealing a flash of bright red underneath, and my fingers grip the edge of the counter, needing to hold on, or I’ll cross the room and grab her instead.
“Good morning,” I repeat, louder this time, and she turns, a fake smile plastered on her pretty face.
“Oh, you’re back.” She gives me a withering look. “I didn’t think you came home last night after whatever, or whoever, you were doing.”
Holding my tongue, I choose to ignore her sassy attitude, instead, focusing on how she called my house home, and that she appears to have been tracking my movements.
“That’s my shirt.”
"I assumed you wouldn't mind," she says flatly, as she twists off the cap.
"I don't."
What I do mind is that she's been avoiding me since yesterday's confrontation and is barely speaking to me now. Too agitated to sleep, I worked instead, and it seems my absence hasn’t gone unnoticed.
"Carmella told you the wedding planner is coming later? And you can make whatever changes you want within reason," I say, attempting to keep the conversation going, hoping the idea of putting her stamp on the wedding would lighten her mood.
It does not.
"She did. Since you were apparently too busy to tell me yourself.”
Not taking the bait, I continue undeterred.
“If the Langham doesn’t appeal to you, and in order to keep security airtight, we can have the wedding here instead. Marquees in the garden.”
She hesitates, a flicker of excitement shining through, then simply nods before taking a long sip of water. Her throat works as she swallows then licks the lingering moisture off her full lips.
“That might work,” she shrugs, non-chalant, but I can tell she likes the idea. She meets my eyes then, hand on her hip, the fire from last night still there, but maybe a little dimmer. Or not. “I think I’ll go swimming."
The heated swimming pool is a luxury I rarely use. Nobody here does. I work all day and night with little time for lounging. The spare time I do have is spent in the gym. The pool is more like landscaping to me, part of the decor.
"Tony told me the pool is heated," she states. "And Carmella had some bathing suits in the stuff she bought me."
I stare at the piles of work in front of me and then at her again. "Fine. I've got more work to do, but…"
Only when she ignores me completely, does it occur to me that she’s not asking me to join her.
“That’s okay. You don’t need to tell me what you’re doing or where you’re going, apparently.” She's already turning away, dismissing me, and frustration eats away at me, fraying my already thin patience.
I'm not accustomed to wanting someone's attention this badly or being denied it.
"Sienna."
She pauses at the doorway, not quite looking at me.
"You can’t lead a normal life. You have to understand..."
"No." The word is flat. Final. "I don't."
And then she's gone, the soft sound of her footsteps fading down the hallway, followed by the low whoosh of the sliding doors opening and closing. She passes the window, hair piled high on her head, sunglasses perched on her nose, and a book in hand, heading out to where the lounge chairs are.
After a minute, ripples spread across the water suggesting someone got in, but I can’t see her. And it’s bugging me.
Standing to grab some fruit from the bowl, I walk the long way around the island, finally spotting her gliding up and down the pool, red swimsuit obscured by the water.
When I take a call from Corso, checking to see where I am, I drift into the lounge area, wanting to make sure she doesn’t drown out there on her own.
I’m still debating whether to go outside and talk to her, when I see Tony and Enzo standing poolside, chatting away, hands raised to block the sun from their eyes.
So they can get a better look, no doubt.
Hanging up on Corso without saying goodbye, I abandon any pretense of working in the kitchen and sit, stewing over getting the cold shoulder.
Laughing at whatever Tony just said, Sienna waves them goodbye as they spot me staring and wisely leave her to swim in peace. After an impressive number of lengths, she finally emerges from the pool, dripping wet and glorious.
The red bikini sets off her golden tan to perfection, a barely there attempt at a bathing suit, just two scraps of fabric held together by delicate strings. Sienna stretches, arms overhead and back arching, and reaches for a towel she’s left on a chair by the pool steps.
“For fucks sake,” I groan as she bends over, running the fabric over her legs, giving me a glorious view of her ass.
"She's doing this on purpose," I mutter bitterly as Vito materializes on the mantelpiece, his orange fur practically glowing in the morning light. Tail flicking lazily, he regards me with pity, those knowing golden eyes judging me like I’m some sad stalker.
"Don't look at me like that."
The cat blinks slowly, which I interpret as go fuck yourself.
Outside, Sienna lowers herself onto a lounger, stretching out like a goddess, all glistening skin and dangerous curves. She reaches for a bottle of sunscreen and begins applying it to her legs in long, slow strokes, designed to torture me with.
"She's fucking with me," I inform the cat. "Taunting me. Because she’s mad. And she thinks I’m the dangerous one? This is psychological warfare."
Vito's response to my criticism of his mistress is to take three delicate steps along the mantelpiece until he's positioned directly in front of an antique vase that I hate but know costs a small fortune.
“Well, of course, you think she’s just taking a swim. But I know better. This is immature bullshit, and I don’t have time for…”
He lifts one paw an inch and meets my eyes with what I can only describe as malicious intent.
"Don't you dare."
His paw extends, slowly, gracefully, and nudges the vase half an inch closer to the edge.
"I swear to God, you fucking bastard, if you…"
Another nudge. The vase wobbles.
I'm on my feet, but I'm too slow. The crash of porcelain shattering against hardwood fills the room, and Vito doesn't even flinch. Instead, unremorseful, he takes another few steps to the right, where a matching piece sits innocently.
"Fuck.”
The cat's paw rises again.
“Vito. No."
I lunge forward just as he swipes, catching the second vase inches from the floor, my heart hammering as I clutch the artifact to my chest.
Vito looks slightly disappointed.
"You," I call after him as he slinks away, "are a menace."
I'm still standing there, fuming, and surrounded by ceramic shards, when Corso appears in the doorway. He takes in the scene with raised eyebrows but wisely doesn't comment.
"What have you got?” I step away from the mess carefully, setting the surviving vase on a higher shelf, hoping he’s too lazy to attack it up there.
Corso holds up a manila folder. "New surveillance photos as you requested. This isn’t… I wasn’t exactly comfortable doing this, boss."
I nod, appreciating his candor. “It was my call. I’ll take the heat if anyone finds out.”
Reassured, his broad shoulders relax a little, and his attention drifts towards the French doors, and snags on Sienna's bikini-clad form.
"Should I give these to your fiancé or..." He takes a step toward the door and possessiveness, immediate and ugly, flares to life inside me.
"No," I bark, then exhale loudly. "Leave them in my room. I don’t want anyone else to see them. I'll show them to her myself later."
Corso's eyes flicker with amusement when I move to block his view outside, but he nods, tucking the folder under his arm.
"Your father called me. Twice. He's... not happy. I gave him an update on the investigation as best I could. He asked me if this marriage nonsense was a threat. Whether you’ll call it off if he steps down as planned… "
He thinks I’m blackmailing him. That I’m only pretending to marry Sienna because I know how much he’ll hate that idea. He thinks I’m banking on him stepping down before the wedding to prevent it.
"Did he now?"
Sienna puts down her book, her attention moving to Roman as he comes outside to stand guard, leaning against the wall to take the weight off his injured leg.
He hasn’t been working since the shooting but insisted on returning for light duty today.
I would be pleased to see him if my beautiful, half-naked fiancé weren’t so eager to engage him in conversation.
"Orlando’s telling him you got Maeve to send out that message to embarrass him." Corso glances out at Sienna, concerned. “If he gets worked up enough about this wedding, who knows what he’ll do.”
Corso knows of my father’s vindictive nature and Orlando’s growing influence on him.
"Let him come."
My course of action is set. I won’t be swayed by his threats.
Rather than being scared, I’m looking forward to it. He’ll prove my point that he’s too volatile to lead. And if he dares try to run off Sienna again, this time, I’ll be here to stick up for her. Like I should have been before.
Outside, Sienna turns onto her stomach, the strings of her bikini top loosened to avoid tan lines as she continues to toss questions at Roman, who looks confused. Most people ignore my guards completely. His job is to watch, not chat, yet Sienna seems determined to make him her new best friend.
"What's the status of the wedding security?" I ask, staring with gritted teeth as one of my most loyal men chuckles, actually chuckles, as Sienna regales him with some tale. Cracking my knuckles, I move closer to the window, watching in horror as he pushes off the wall and moves closer.
"On track. I’ve beefed up the number of guards even though the guest list will be smaller."
Because Sienna has no family left and her friends, well, most of them still live in her home town hours away.
Corso disappears down the hall to put the folder in my room, leaving me to stare in disbelief as Sienna rises from the chair and kneels at the edge of the pool in front of Roman. Reaching behind me, my fingers wrap around my gun as she reaches for him.
Red mist descends over my vision, for a second, thinking she’s about to reach for his belt. Instead, she rolls up his pants, exposing a hairy leg to the sunlight, and presses her fingers into the muscle of his thigh.
Roman yelps, but she holds firm, manipulating the flesh while he looks heavenward, sweat beading on his temples, and jaw clenched. The fact that he’s in so much pain rather than enjoying her touch is the only reason I haven’t put a bullet through his brain already.
Then she releases him, demonstrating some stretches while practically naked. In a bikini.
She's touching another man, putting her lithe body on display for him, while I’m getting nothing but curt answers and glares.
Fuck that.
Stomping over the shattered vase, I shove open the French doors hard enough that they bang against the exterior wall.
Both of them look up, Sienna's expression infuriatingly blank, while Roman's shifts rapidly to alarm as he registers the look on my face. He gestures for Sienna to stand, swatting away her hands when she reaches for him, and limps back, hands raised in surrender.
"What the fuck…" I say, the words spoken deathly quietly, as I close the distance between us, "do you think you're doing with my wife?"