Chapter 3 NORA #2
I point my butter knife at him. "That was self-defense. You assholes snatched me off a public street. If anything, you should be thanking me for not taking a chunk out of your throat."
"Please don't bite anyone else," Sofia chimes in, her voice gentle despite the grin playing on her lips. "Matteo's complaints are loud enough as it is."
"Tell your brother to keep his hands to himself and nobody gets bitten," I reply, taking another bite of toast.
Enzo leans back in his chair, arms crossed, studying me the way you'd study a stray cat that wandered in and started giving orders. "You're not scared at all, are you. Everyone we've ever grabbed cries by breakfast. You're just eating eggs and running your mouth."
The crust snaps loudly under the knife as I cut another piece of bread. "Crying does not fix anything."
Matteo points his butter knife at Enzo. "See? Told you. Cold as ice."
"Shut up, Matteo," Enzo says, tossing a napkin onto the table.
"When do I go back to London?" I demand, cutting right through the quiet. My fingers tighten around the handle of my butter knife until my knuckles turn white. "I want an apology , my phone, and a flight home today."
Luca sets his cup down slowly into the saucer without making a single sound. His dark eyes fix on mine, cool and immovable. "Not yet."
The words snap the last tether of my control. Before anyone at the table can breathe, I lunge out of my chair, vaulting half my body over the white tablecloth. I drive the dull edge of the butter knife straight at his throat.
Luca doesn't flinch. His hand shoots up like striking iron, thick fingers clamping hard around my right wrist an inch from his neck.
The impact jolts up my arm, but I don't back down.
I use my momentum to twist forward, hooking my other hand into the collar of his cashmere sweater and dragging him down with me.
Silverware clatters and chairs screech back against the floor.
Luca twists his hips, surging out of his seat with lethal speed.
His broad frame shoves me backward, pinning me flat against the heavy oak table.
Plates rattle and hot coffee sloshes into a saucer, but my focus is locked entirely on him.
"Let go of me!" I spit into his face, driving my knee upward toward his groin. He blocks the strike with his heavy thigh, pressing his weight down between my legs so tightly I can feel the solid heat of his chest against mine.
His thumb digs into the pressure point beneath my thumb.
Pain flares through my nerves, and the metal knife clatters uselessly against the porcelain plate below us.
"Drop the weapon, Nora," he murmurs, his low voice brushing against my lips, calm and infuriatingly steady while our chests heave together.
"Go to hell!" I snap, baring my teeth as I yank my free hand loose and rake my nails across the side of his jaw. A red line blooms along his skin, right above the dark stubble.
Luca’s jaw hardens, a dark flare igniting in his eyes. Instead of striking back, his large hand snakes around the back of my neck, fingers sliding deep into my hair. He pulls my head back just enough to expose my throat, his grip firm and possessive, forcing me to look directly into his dark gaze.
"You have plenty of fight in you," he breathes against my cheek, his heartbeat thumping fast and heavy against my ribs. "I like that. But you do not give orders in my house."
"I give orders wherever the hell I want," I pant, glaring up at him with raw fury, even as the tight press of his body sends a reckless jolt of heat straight down my spine.
"Should we shoot her, brother?" Matteo calls out from behind him, sounding far too amused for a man witnessing an assault over breakfast.
"Nobody shoots anyone," Nonna Lucia scolds sharply, smacking Matteo across the back of the head with a rolled-up tea towel before grabbing the coffeepot off the table.
Luca doesn't break eye contact with me for even a second. His fingers loosen in my hair, shifting into a slow, deliberate touch along the curve of my jaw before he steps back and pulls me upright by my wrists.
"Sit down," he commands in a low rumble, smoothing down the front of his sweater like he didn't just pin me against the dining table in front of his entire family.
I yank my wrists out of his grasp, smoothing my silk pajama top down with trembling hands. The entire room is silent, watching the two of us breathe heavily in the middle of the mess.
I sit back in my chair, picking up a fresh fork with steady defiance. Across the table, Luca wipes the bead of blood from his jaw with the back of his thumb, his dark eyes never leaving mine.
Luca leans both forearms against the dark wood. "Let's talk logistics, Blake. You think you can just step out those iron gates and hail a flight back to London?"
"That was the general plan, yes," I state, glaring right into his stone face. "Book a flight, go home to London, and pretend this circus never happened."
Luca lets out a low, humorless chuckle that makes the hairs on my arms stand up. "You've seen the mansion. You've seen our faces. You know our names. In my line of work, that makes you a walking hazard, not just to me, but to yourself."
My fingers grip the edge of the table. "I don't give a damn about your business. Send me home. I have clients to manage."
"The Bellini family is watching every airport and train station in Sicily right now," Luca explains, his voice deadpan and chillingly calm.
"They know Matteo made a pickup in London.
If I put you on a commercial flight or drop you in town, their soldiers will grab you before you clear security.
They won't hand you warm broth or fresh sheets, Nora.
They will torture you to find out what you know about us, and then they will put a bullet in your head. "
A cold drop of reality sinks into my gut, but I refuse to let him see me falter. "So you're saying I'm stuck here because your idiot cousin screwed up his job?"
"I'm saying you stay put until we handle the Bellinis," Luca answers without hesitation. "Under my roof, nobody touches you. Out on that street, you're dead in two hours."
I toss my fork onto the plate with a loud clatter. "Fucking fantastic. So I'm your forced guest until further notice."
"Call it whatever makes you happy." He lifts his cup and takes a slow sip.
I lean forward over the table, narrowing my eyes right at him. "Fine. If I have to stay in this crazy house, we do it my way. I want my phone so I can keep my job alive, and I want to walk around this place. No locked doors, and no guards following me around like dogs."
Enzo raises an eyebrow from across the table, while Matteo quietly whistles under his breath.
Luca watches me over the rim of his cup, his dark eyes never blinking. "You get two calls a day on a speaker phone. And you stay inside the outer gates. Take one step past the gate without an escort, and my men throw you right back inside."
"Done," I demand, holding his intense stare without flinching. "Now pass the coffee."