My Dear Leo (My Dear Watson #4)

Prologue

Five Years Ago

Legacy

Leo

The villa is quiet as Leo opens her bedroom door.

It smells of lilies and peonies. Her favorite flowers.

The room is dim as he enters, nodding once at the nurse next to the bed.

There, almost too still, lays Rafaella Maria Salvadori under the covers with her chest rising faintly with each breath. The matriarch of the Luciano name.

He pauses before the end of the bed, looking upon his grandmother the only one left of his family he would ever return to Italy for.

Precautions were taken for no one to know he was here at the secluded villa.

Rafaella had requested the secrecy. Leo wasn’t the only person who didn’t trust their family.

An older nurse, approaches him and says in Italian, “Evening Signor Luciano.”

“I want a moment alone with her before the doctor comes.”

“Yes, of course.” She nods, walking out of the room.

Leo quietly takes his suit jacket off, placing it on the bed covers as he gently sits on the edge. His hand lays against hers which rest upon her torso. Her age is shown in the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. Her once dark hair, now grey and white, halos her head against the pillow.

“Nonna,” he says gently. The vice grip on his throat and chest ease as she flutters her eyes open. A deep breath is taken as her hazel eyes come to his. A smile, albeit small, grows on his face as he caresses her hand.

“Leonardo,” she whispers. “Sei venuto.”

“For you, always, nonna,” Leo responds, speaking in her native language. “I’ve missed you.”

She brings a hand up, gesturing for him to come closer. Leo leans down to kiss her cheeks, pulling back as she pats his jaw lovingly. “You’re as handsome as your grandfather. His smile. Your mother’s eyes.”

Leo swallows hard, taking her hand and kissing her wrist.

“My handsome pride,” she continues, bringing his focus solely on her. “We have not had time to discuss, but time is never on one’s side.”

“What do you speak of, nonna?”

“You are the last Luciano.” Her voice has more conviction in it, eyes hardening.

The woman he’s known his entire life, a storm to never tamper with, shown in her gaze.

Bed ridden or not, she was still his iron-willed grandmother.

The woman who had forged the foundations of the mafia in Rome and later in the U.S.

“There’s still Gabriel,” he counters lightly.

“No.” She shakes her head. “He is Marchetti. His father.” Her voice becomes filled with disdain. “He has become a stain, who my son ignores. He is no Luciano, you are.”

“Nonna—”

“It is yours.” A hush comes between them as Leo stares down at her.

Understanding comes over Leo but it’s instantly followed by confusion. “The Luciano fortune is led by a matriarch, nonna. Not by the men. When Giovanna died—”

“It came back to me, and now I give to you. You, my Leonardo, my grandson, my pride… I entrust the Luciano name to. Only you who took back the name.”

“Renato won’t accept it.”

“Not his to accept.” She waves her hand, looking away from him to the balcony where the last of day shines.

Streams of sunlight pass through clouds over the sea the villa overlooks.

“He is my son, but he is a Salvadori, like his father. It was always his to continue, whilst Gigi’s was for my family line. ”

Her eyes begin to water and that strength of hers waivers before him. Leo leans over to the bedside table, grabbing a handkerchief and delicately wipes the tears from her cheeks. Rafaella brings her attention back to him, smiling warmly.

“You are all that’s left of her,” she whispers, clutching his hand. “All who’s left that I trust in what I created.”

Leo is quiet, looking away from her. What she wants may not be achieved. It was long instituted that only a matriarch, a woman, would remain as the sole proprietor of the estates under the Luciano family. Renato was still married, his wife Fiorella, should be next in line, not him.

“You shouldn’t change what has been done for me, nonna,” he says quietly.

“I am well off and have procured fortunes of my own. I do not need the money. I will protect the Luciano name to my last breath whilst I still have it, but I cannot agree to inheriting something that is not mine to control. Fiorella will do fine as the matriarch and charge of the estates.”

She hums, almost too thoughtfully as he looks back at her. Her smile almost a smirk.

“You truly are just like my Durante. Money and power will never sway you like your brother, uncle, or your father. My decision is final. You will be the one to secure the Luciano legacy.”

“Renato will not agree and will fight me, along with Gabriel.”

“I did not say I’d give my estates and fortune to you…

” she pauses, pursing her lips as Leo’s brows furrow, “…I entrust you to marry a proper woman to inherit it all. Your wife will ensure the Luciano name. When you are married before God, vowing to another, she will become the matriarch and inherit all that is the Luciano name. That is how you will secure my legacy, Leonardo.”

Leo stares at her, mouth almost gaping. Shock flicks through him.

A soft chuckle leaves her, coughing a little as he grips her hands. “Nonna, no—"

“You will find the woman who will guard the Luciano name with you. Promise me you will.”

“Nonna—”

“Promise me. Promise me, you’ll find a wife who will bring honor to my name.”

Despair reaches over him, knowing his current situation in New York City with Gabriel and Matteo.

The danger his own life leads along with the busyness of it.

He has never thought of marriage or wanted it.

It was not a future that seemed possible.

Not after watching his own mother and then stepmother die.

Leo’s jaw works, chest tightening knowing he can’t refuse her. There’s an ache that he may fail her after death, that what is left of her legacy will be given over to his uncle instead. Fiorella wouldn’t be in control, his uncle would be. Yet, he cannot refuse a dying woman’s wish.

“I promise, Nonna.”

“Good.” She pats his hand, laying back into her pillows. “The others shall not know until it is time, when you are married. Until then, half the estates will go to Renato and the other half to you.”

“Gabriel and Matteo?” She shakes her head. “Nonna…”

“One has brought disgrace, and the other is a Marchetti,” she spits the last name of his father, breathing picking up. “He is not Salvadori or Luciano.”

“Very well,” he whispers, an ache hitting him for his younger brother. Always left out. Always left behind.

“You will not fail me,” she whispers, gazing out the balcony again. “My blessed grandson.”

Quiet minutes pass by as the last of the sun disappears in the horizon.

Leo remains silent, watching his grandmother as he feels the soft warmth of her hands beneath his calloused ones.

Uncertainty engulfs him as the bedroom door opens, in walking the nurse and doctor.

Behind them is Owen, who gestures for him.

Leo gets up as the staff check Rafaella, coming in close to Owen. “What is it?”

“Renato will be here tomorrow morning,” Owen whispers.

“We’ll be gone before dawn. Leave from Milan instead.”

Owen nods, leaving the room as Leo moves over to the balcony. He watches them care for his grandmother, turning his gaze toward the soft brilliance of the evening and sea. A chill brushes over him as he inhales the calm scent of the ocean.

This would be the last time he’d see his grandmother. The last true matriarch of the Luciano and Salvadori family line. He was supposed to find someone to amount up to her legacy? Or someone he could love, but then the only ones he’s known to truly love each other were his grandparents.

He opens his eyes, flicking them down towards a vase of lilies. He raises a hand, tracing the petals. His voice barely a whisper, “If that woman existed, where would she even be?”

There’s some fussing and his grandmother calls out for him. “Leonardo.”

Dropping his hand, he brings his mind to the present. “Coming, nonna.”

Right there, Leonardo resigns that the Luciano name will eventually die with him—alone, like his mother had years before.

Across the Ocean

Autumn

Blood is splattered across my glasses.

The pounding of my heart echoes in my head as I stare at the man crumpled before me. I’m certain he’s dead. He hasn’t moved. The bullet that hit him in the gut and chest stains his clothes crimson.

Swallowing hard, I glance down at the .45 in my hand.

Fuck.

Distant voices bring my attention back to my surroundings. I’m in a back alley near some warehouses. I’d been creeping through an underground club. And then this dude followed me, and then tried to…to…

The voices get louder, and I finally move.

My body shakes as I shove the gun into the small bag I carry.

I sprint from the dead body. No point trying to hide him when he’s twice my size and has three of my bullets in him.

The voices vanish as I keep running, heading for the commercial docks that are close.

My mind reels as I run, keeping my bag close and check over my shoulder. Anxiety ticks over me even when I see no one following, unable to shake the feeling that someone is. Heart racing, I cross behind another warehouse and turn towards the water glistening in the dark night.

Should’ve never listened to Roger.

Damn it, I knew going to that club was too dangerous, but he wanted real proof about Rossi’s meth dealings with some big-time lawyer and judge.

I don’t remember who. Their names merge together as I struggle for breath.

This isn’t what I signed up for. This fucked up espionage shit.

I was a hacker, a computer geek, not some fucking spy.