Elena
The house is silent after the kids leave. No footsteps thundering down the hallway, no squabbles over toys, no demands for snacks. Just me, alone with my thoughts. And they're all about Luca.
I pick up stray socks and forgotten action figures while considering finding a way to avoid Luca’s return.
It wouldn’t be hard. I’ve mastered the art of avoiding Luca. I could make arrangements to go out and not be here when he arrives. One call and I'd be free tonight.
Free from what, though? Not from thoughts of him. Not from the way my heart welled with emotion when he sat at my kitchen table, teaching my children… our children… Italian words.
God help me, I still love him. After everything, after all this time, he’s still deep in my heart. I truly felt like I’d made peace with my decisions and moved on.
But it’s clear I haven’t.
Since Dad went to prison, I've been surviving, not living. Going through motions.
Mother. Provider. Protector.
The parts of me that had loved Luca didn’t disappear. They were simply locked away, and seeing him again, it’s like he’s picked the lock, opening the part of me I can’t afford to have opened.
The danger isn't just external. It's not just about who might still be loyal to Dom's father or what secrets might surface.
The real danger is inside me. The part that wants to tell Luca everything.
The part that imagines his face when he learns about the triplets.
The part that dreams of what could have been… what could be.
I drop my hands knowing I’m just tormenting myself looking for answers that can make this all right.
But there are no answers.
As long as Luca plans to clear his name, which I can’t hold against him, the children need to be protected.
I pick up my phone, scrolling to Dom's number. He should know about Luca’s plan to investigate my father’s arrest and murder.
He should probably know about the kids and their relationship to Luca. Dom trusted me with his secret belief about his father. Maybe it’s time I trust him.
But in the end, I toss my phone aside and return to my chores. I grab the vacuum, but the steady hum does little to drown out the thoughts of Luca.
He’s seen the kids at Christmases.
The kids know of him from Christmases as well. But I’d never seen them interact until this morning.
Luca was so natural with the kids. The kids gravitated to him instantly. It’s almost as if some part of them recognized their connection.
The vacuum catches on something, jerking in my hand. I switch it off and kneel to find one of Elio's toy cars wedged in the brush roll. Fear and frustration mount as I work it free.
My children deserve to know their father. And Luca deserves to know them.
But telling him means losing control of everything I've built to protect us.
I continue to clean, moving through the house, straightening pillows, wiping counters, folding laundry.
In the bathroom, I scrub at a toothpaste splatter on the mirror, catching my reflection. I study her, realizing I’m not the woman I used to be. Today, I’m so guarded, so afraid.
Later, when the evening arrives, I shower and change into comfortable clothes, faded jeans and an oversized sweater.
I don’t know what he has planned, but I don’t want to go out nor appear too eager. We’ll talk and then he can leave.
The knock startles me even as I’ve been waiting for it. When I open the door, Luca stands there with two large bags that smell like heaven—lemongrass, basil, and chili.
My traitorous stomach growls audibly.
"I come bearing Thai food," he says, his eyes taking in my casual attire. I have a sense that he knows I’m still trying to keep my distance from him, but it’s hard when he remembers my favorite food. I step aside to let him in, suddenly conscious of my bare face and messy bun.
"The kids get off okay?" he asks, setting the food on my kitchen counter.
“Like a herd of elephants.”
Luca unpacks containers of pad Thai, green curry, and spring rolls. I busy myself getting plates, avoiding his gaze.
"You didn't have to do this," I say but reach for the spring rolls anyway.
“We have to talk. Might as well do it over a nice meal.”
We settle at the kitchen table, the space where just hours ago he sat with our children dunking cookies.
I recall Dom’s comment that Luca had grown harder during his time in Italy, but I don’t see it. I see the same man I fell in love with.
“Do you enjoy having quiet time?” he asks, scooping up rice.
“Yes. I mean, the quiet makes me miss them too, but it’s nice to have a moment to breathe.”
He nods, and a silence falls between us as we eat. Finally, he says, “I suppose you’re aware of my father’s condition.”
I give him a sympathetic smile. “I am.”
Luca's expression clouds. "Gabriella and Marco think it's time for him to step down."
“I imagine that won’t be easy for either of you. Don Monti is a proud man.”
He sighs. “Yes, but they're right." He meets my eyes. "La Corona needs strength in all four corners. Especially now that Dom's facing some challenges as well."
My fork pauses halfway to my mouth. "What kind of challenges?"
"The kind that makes a man look over his shoulder. Marco thinks someone's still trying to drive wedges between the families." He leans forward. “You know all about the problems of the last few years. Don Ferraza’s wife’s murder, the FBI—”
“Yes.”
“Marco and Roman have convinced La Corona that it’s all part of a conspiracy to bring La Corona down.”
Dom never shared details of business, but I’d figured out all these concerns from discussions with Isabella and Gabriella.
“What if it started earlier? What if it started with us?”
My brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
“Your father’s arrest and my being blamed for it certainly caused a rift between our families.”
“That was so long ago. And…” I’m about to point out that it’s likely my uncle was behind my father’s downfall.
My uncle who is dead now and couldn’t be behind Don Ferraza’s wife’s death, which is what seems to have jumpstarted the problems La Corona has had over the last few years.
“Whoever it is, they’re playing a long game, Elena. And now that I’m back, I’m sure they’ll see an opportunity to drive that wedge between the Monti and Vitale families since I’m still accused of betraying your father.”
The curry turns bitter in my mouth. "And you think digging into all this is going to help? It could make things worse."
"Or it could finally end whatever game someone's playing with our families." His hand inches toward mine on the table. "With us."
I pull back, but not before feeling the warmth of his skin. "There is no us."
His eyes hold mine. "Isn't there?"
“Luca—”
“I might have believed that if not for the kiss the other day.”
I look away, unable to hold his gaze. "We're not having this conversation."
"Which one? The one about us or the one about your father?"
"Either." I push my plate away, appetite gone. "Both."
Luca’s eyes narrow, studying me in a way that makes me want to squirm. “You’re okay with my being a target for some of the men in the Vitale family? For my being blamed for betraying a man I deeply respected?”
Guilt fills to nearly overflowing.
“Elena, I need to understand what happened. Not just for me, but for all of us."
"What good will it do? My father is dead. Your reputation with La Corona is being restored. Let the past stay buried."
"Like you buried what we had?" His voice is soft but cuts straight through me.
I stand abruptly, carrying dishes to the sink. "That's not fair."
"None of this is fair." He follows, leaning against the counter beside me. "Did you know the FBI agent who handled your father's case died in an accident shortly after the trial?"
My hands still under the running water. "What?"
“People die in accidents, but it’s still sus. And the informant isn’t named in the official report. No mention of me except as someone who was meeting with your father. Someone who would have been arrested with your father, probably killed in prison too."
I grip the edge of the counter, unable to imagine any of this.
“Elena, someone wanted your father gone and me out of the picture. And it could be connected to what's happening now."
Fear rises in my throat. "Stop. Please. You have no idea what you're stirring up."
"Then tell me."
I turn to face him, suddenly furious. "You want to know why I'm afraid? Because whoever killed my father won't hesitate to hurt anyone who gets in their way. Including my children."
"I would never let anything happen to—"
"You can't promise that! Not in this life." My voice breaks. "You don’t know that my father’s situation is related to what’s going on. It could just be bad luck. Or a traitor. But poking around the Vitale family puts me and my children at risk.”
"Elena—"
"No." I want to grab and shake him to make him understand, but he’s already standing too close and making it hard to stand my ground. "I've spent seven years building a safe life for them. I won't let you tear it down because your feelings are hurt."
His eyes flash with a mixture of pain and anger. “This isn’t about my feelings.”
“Isn’t it? Why is your pride more important than my kids’ safety?”
His expression softens. “It’s not. I can protect you and the kids.”
“That’s not your responsibility.” I could have hit him with a frying pan and I don’t think it would hurt as much as those words. And technically, I’m wrong. As their father, he should be responsible.
I turn away from him, unable to manage the guilt and fear that are bubbling over.
I grab a plate, the water running hot over my hands as I scrub it clean. Anything to avoid looking at him, to avoid the pull I still feel.
Luca's voice sharpens. "Seven years, Elena. Seven years I've carried blame for something I didn't do. And now I'm wondering if you've been part of it all along."
I whirl around, soapy water dripping from my hands. "What are you talking about?"