Luca
“The Romanos are expecting the engagement announcement within the week,” his uncle Matteo said.
Matteo leaned back in his chair, studying him. “This marriage ends the war.”
“I want her watched,” he continued. “From the moment she gets here.”
Matteo nodded. “It’s already arranged.”
“I mean it. I want every step she makes, every call she places, and every breath that she takes reported back to me.” Luca’s voice hardened. “If she’s here to spy—”
“She won’t get the chance,” his enforcer Dante said from the far end of the table. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Luca met Dante’s eyes. “No. She’ll be mine to deal with.” Because if Isabella Romano thought she could walk into his house and play innocent, she was already dead to him.
The meeting ended swiftly after that. Luca gave his orders and dismissed his men. The room emptied, leaving Luca alone with the folder and the ghosts it carried.
He closed it slowly, trying to shut away the past, but that would never happen—not really.
There was no way that he could forget or forgive what the Romanos did to his family.
Marrying Isabella wasn’t a part of his plan, but he had to do it if he wanted to keep his family safe.
If he had his way, he’d burn down the entire Romano family—Isabella included.
He hadn’t planned on getting married. Hell, he never wanted to be tied down to one person for the rest of his life.
He didn’t do love. Love was leverage, and leverage got men killed.
His father’s death had proven that. Love was just weakness disguised as devotion, and Luca had sworn he would never make the same mistake as his father had.
A knock sounded at the door. “Enter,” he growled.
Dante stepped inside. “The security team has been briefed. And—” He hesitated, and Luca knew that he wasn’t going to like what he said next. “There’s something else.”
Luca’s jaw tightened. “Just spit it out,” he grumbled, his mood growing worse by the second.
“The Romano girl, she insisted on one condition before she agreed to marry you,” Dante said. Luca groaned out loud. The last thing he needed was for his bride-to-be to demand things that he wasn’t willing to give her.
“She doesn’t get conditions,” Luca growled.
“She says she’ll agree to the marriage,” Dante continued carefully, “but only if she keeps her own last name—Romano.” Silence stretched between them. Then Luca laughed—low, dangerous, and devoid of humor.
“She’s bold,” he said.
“Or stupid,” Dante countered. Luca turned toward the window overlooking the city. New York glittered below him, a kingdom he ruled with blood and fear. Every inch of it had been earned.
“She’ll learn,” he said quietly. “When she becomes my wife, there will be no Romano. There will only be Camorra.” Because once she crossed his threshold, Isabella Romano would belong to him—whether she liked it or not. And God help anyone who tried to take what was his.
The war would end as soon as Isabella put on a white dress and said her vows.
And Luca Camorra would decide whether his bride lived as a queen or died as a traitor.
But first, he was going to pay a little visit to her father, to make sure that he upheld his end of the deal.
This time, he’d leave no room for doubt about who was in charge.
New York City never slept, but Luca preferred it that way—because neither did he. Darkness stripped people down to what they really were—liars, sinners, and even survivors. And tonight, the streets of New York pulsed with all three.
Luca stood at the floor-to-ceiling window of his office, one hand tucked into the pocket of his tailored slacks, and the other wrapped loosely around a glass of amber liquid he hadn’t touched.
Below him, the skyline glittered like diamonds dipped in blood—beautiful, dangerous, and entirely his. Or at least, it soon would be.
“Shipment came in clean,” Marco said from behind him. Luca didn’t turn around or even acknowledge him. Marco had been with him long enough to know that silence didn’t mean he wasn’t listening. It meant he was thinking—and that was always more dangerous.
“Port authority didn’t ask questions. They were paid off before they even saw the manifests,” Marco continued. Luca gave a small nod to let him know that he was good with everything.
“And the Russians?” Marco asked. The mention of the Russians made Luca’s jaw tighten just slightly.
“They’ve been quiet—too quiet.” Luca turned, slowly.
The movement alone was enough to shift the air in the room, tension tightening like a wire pulled too thin.
Luca’s gaze locked onto Marco, dark and sharp, cutting straight through him.
“Quiet men are planning something,” Luca said evenly. “Or they’re waiting for the right opportunity to strike.”
Marco shrugged, but there was a flicker of unease beneath it. “You think they’ll move against us?” he asked.
Luca took a slow sip of his drink, letting the burn settle low in his chest. “They’ll try to.
We just need to make sure that they fail.
” It wasn’t paranoia that Luca felt—it was experience.
In their world, alliances weren’t real. Loyalty was temporary.
And peace? Well, peace was just the silence before the next war.
Luca set the glass down with a soft clink and moved toward his desk, every step deliberate and controlled. Some people called him deadly, and they were right. He was always in control, and that made him not only dangerous to go up against but deadly if anyone tried to take him down.
“Double the guards on the west side warehouses,” he ordered. “And I want eyes on every port entry that we have. If they breathe wrong, I want to know about it,” Luca ordered.
Marco nodded immediately. “Done, boss.” There was a pause, and that was never good. “There’s something else.” Of course, there was. Luca’s fingers stilled against the edge of his desk. He didn’t like Marco’s tone or the look on his face.
“Just say it,” Luca growled. Marco hesitated just long enough to confirm Luca’s suspicion—this wasn’t about business. This was personal.
“There was a girl at the club tonight,” Marco said carefully. Luca’s expression didn’t change. But something in his chest tightened.
“A girl,” Luca repeated.
“Yeah, and she asked about you,” Marco said. That was enough to earn Marco Luca’s full attention.
“People ask about me all the time,” Luca said flatly. “Most of them regret it.”
“This one didn’t seem afraid,” Marco insisted.
Now that was interesting. Luca leaned back slightly against the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. “And what does a fearless girl want with me?”
Marco hesitated again. “She didn’t say. Just watched other people at the club, asked a bunch of questions, but not the usual kind.”
Luca’s mind was already racing, dissecting the information piece by piece. She wasn’t afraid to throw his name around, was watching other people at the club, and asking questions. Either she was stupid, or she was dangerous.
“What did she look like?” Luca asked.
Marco smirked faintly. “She was hard to miss with her dark hair and light eyes. They were the kind that make you think she knows more than she should.” Luca felt something shift in his gut—subtle but unfamiliar.
Maybe it was annoyance or even curiosity—neither of which he had time for.
But his gut was telling him that he not only knew this woman, but she was going to soon be his wife.
But why would Isabella be asking about him at his own club?
If she wanted to talk to him, all she had to do was ask.
He’d at least grant her an audience, since she was going to be his wife.
He needed to know for sure if it was Isabella before he sent men out to find her.
“Find out who she is,” Luca said. “I want to know who she belongs to, and why she thinks it’s a good idea to ask around about me.”
Marco pushed off the wall. “Already on it.” Of course he was. Luca didn’t tolerate inefficiency, and Marco was anything but. That’s why he had kept him around for so long.
As Marco moved toward the door, Luca added, “And Marco—” He paused, glancing back. “If she’s connected to anyone who might be a problem—"
Marco’s grin turned mean. “I’ll handle it.” The door shut behind him with a quiet click, and silence filled the room again. But it wasn’t the same silence as before.
Luca turned back to the window, his reflection staring back at him in the glass—cold eyes, controlled expression, a man carved from power and blood.
If the stranger who had been asking about him turned out to be Isabella, then she was going to be more trouble than he had signed up for.
Instead of fear, she’d shown interest in him, and that was a mistake, because in Luca Camorra’s world, interest came with consequences—future wife or not.
And curiosity? Curiosity got people killed. Still, his gaze drifted back to the city below, his mind circling the thought he couldn’t quite shake. Marco said she had dark hair, light eyes, and didn’t seem to be afraid of anything. A slow, dangerous smile curved at the corner of his mouth.
“Let’s see how fearless you really are,” he murmured. Because if she’d come looking for him, she was about to find out exactly what kind of man Luca Camorra truly was. He’d show her just who she was marrying.
Luca’s meeting with old man Romano wasn’t going as planned.
He had refused to see him—at first, and then, Luca reminded him that his daughter’s life would soon be in his hands.
He assured Romano that Isabella would be well taken care of if he agreed to cooperate, and that had the old guy agreeing to meet with him.