Chapter 38 LUCA #2
"It is finished," she murmurs, reading the stillness in my posture as I lean against the balustrade next to her.
"He took poison at the sanatorium," I tell her quietly, resting my forearms on the warm stone. "He fell before I could stop him. He asked to be buried beside Gabriel's remains, and he told me he regretted every choice he made."
Sofia's breath hitches, her eyes welling with sudden tears as she clutches her cardigan tighter around her shoulders. "Will you do it? Will you bury him with Gabriel?"
"I promised him I would," I answer, my eyes meeting her troubled gaze. "The war started thirty years ago when Gabriel was murdered, and it ends with both of them in the same earth. It is the only closure left to give."
She nods slowly, resting her chin on her knees. "I used to think you didn't have any mercy in you. Just protocols you dressed up as mercy whenever it was convenient."
"And what do you think now?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.
She smiles faintly, nudging my shoulder with hers. "Now I think you saved every drop of it up. For when it mattered most."
I don't offer an answer to that. I just pull her against my side, and she leans into my jacket comfortably, watching the garden settle below us.
Later in the afternoon, Nora steps into the study carrying her laptop. She sets it on the mahogany desk, leaning against the edge with her arms folded across her chest.
Nora chews on the inside of her cheek. "I finally spoke to my parents earlier. The real version this time. No vague stories about an extended corporate retreat in Zurich."
I look up from my ledger and raise an eyebrow. "And how did they handle finding out their daughter was kidnapped by an Italian mafia?"
A dry, wry grin pulls at her mouth. "Dad nearly dropped his sauce pan, and Mum grabbed her legal pad.
I had to walk them through the entire fiasco.
The mix-up in London, Matteo and his terrible siren education, the zip ties, the private jet, and then...
you. I told them you kept me alive through an actual turf war, and that I stayed because I chose to. "
I close the leather folder in front of me. "And they believed you?"
Nora taps the closed laptop screen. "Once they realized I was completely safe, Mum started treating it like a personal plot outline.
Now they are demanding a video call to inspect you face-to-face.
Fair warning: my mother writes crime thrillers and is convinced you are either an unhinged sociopath or prime research material. Probably both."
I lean back in my leather chair. "I am flattered she thinks I have range."
Nora taps the laptop lid. "She will interrogate you about your childhood and take shorthand notes. Do not give her material. She smells hesitation like a shark smells blood."
"I run an mafia syndicate, little bird. I think I can handle a novelist from London."
"You haven't seen her with a cup of Earl Grey and an agenda, Moretti. You're outmatched."
The call chimes and connects immediately.
Oliver Blake's ruddy face fills the monitor, a checkered kitchen apron tied snugly around his chest and a wooden spoon gripped in his right hand.
"There she is! Nora, darling, you look pale.
Are they feeding you over there? Please tell me they know how to season a tomato. "
Nora rolls her eyes toward the ceiling. "I'm eating fantastic food, Dad. Nonna Lucia threatened me with a rolling pin when I left two bites of pasta."
Oliver beams and squints through the camera lens at where I sit beside Nora. "A woman of culture! I like her already! And you must be the famous Luca."
Evelyn elbows her husband out of the frame, peering intently at the webcam with reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose.
"Move over, Oliver. Hello, Luca. Nora claims you're reformed, but you have the cheekbones of a primary antagonist. Tell me everything.
How do you dispose of an alibi? I need practical details for chapter nine. "
"Mother, stop asking my host how to conceal felonies," Nora pinches the bridge of her nose in exasperation.
Evelyn clicks a pen repeatedly on her desk. "I'm conducting preliminary research. A writer must consult primary sources."
Nora groans, her elbow leaning against my shoulder. "He runs an enterprise, not a plot device."
Evelyn tilts the camera toward her desk. "Everyone is material, sweet girl. Some people just require larger footnotes."
"Do you cook, Luca?" Oliver interrupts from off-screen, brandishing the wooden spoon toward the camera lens. "A man who cannot make a proper sauce has no business running a household, let alone an empire."
I suppress a smirk while Nora stiffens in dread. "I make a respectable ragu, Mr. Blake. Though Nonna insists my garlic technique lacks discipline."
"Listen to the grandmother! Always listen to the grandmother!" Oliver shouts with profound approval.
Evelyn narrows her eyes at me through the screen, her lips twitching with amusement. "He dodged the forensic questions with domestic banter. Clever boy. Nora, keep him around, if only so I can study his evasive maneuvers."
"Goodbye, Mum. Goodbye, Dad," Nora groans loudly and slaps the screen shut, severing the call in one swift motion.
Nora exhales a long, theatrical breath, pressing her palms to her temples. "I apologize for my family. They are completely feral."
I catch her hand and gently pull her to my lap. "Compared to mine, they seem remarkably harmless."
She looks at me sideways, a rare softness crossing her features before she smiles and leans back against me. Outside the study window, the estate gardens remain peaceful, the pear tree shedding its dry leaves in the quiet sunlight, and for the first time in years, the house is still.