Chapter 10 Luca
I’m on a plane; eyes locked on the flute in my hand.
There’s a meeting in New York with my brothers, and I didn’t even hesitate when the opportunity came up. I needed distance from Emma. Even if just for a couple of days.
The bitter taste in my mouth hasn’t left since that night. It felt so right to be with her, so natural—but the second my past bled into the present, the pleasure vanished. And reality slammed into me like a freight train.
How dare she say she missed me? She left me. She left me waiting there for five hours and never showed up.
I realize my grip on the glass is too tight. A flight attendant walks by and flashes me a smile, but I turn toward the window instead. I’m not interested, sweetheart. See, there’s this woman who once scrambled my brain—and now she’s doing it again.
Once I land in New York, I head straight to the hotel. Time to gear up for a full day of numbers, performance reports, and strategic wrestling with my brothers. At least my branch numbers aren’t the worst. That honor belongs to Silas.
Killian and Oliver are already chatting by the door. When they see me, they both break into grins. Damn, they really do look alike. Same sharp jawlines, same green eyes—but that’s where the similarities end.
Oliver stands tall, shoulders squared, posture as rigid as the starched line of his suit.
His black hair is cropped short, his expression steady, unreadable, though the faint crease at the corner of his mouth hints at a restrained smile.
He’s the kind of man who doesn’t fidget, doesn’t fill silence with words—his calm weight says more than most people’s speeches.
Killian, on the other hand, is all movement.
He leans against the wall, dark hair styled in a sharp fade, his grin wide and easy.
One hand tugs at the cuff of his jacket, the ink of his tattoos just visible as he adjusts it.
His energy is magnetic, his green eyes bright with mischief, always ready for an audience.
I hug Oliver first—his handshake-turned-embrace brief, firm, no excess. Then Killian pulls me in, clapping my back with a laugh that echoes down the hall. “Good to see you guys,” I say honestly.
“You know where to find me if you wanna see me more often,” Oliver replies, voice even, a faint Texan drawl threading through his calm delivery.
“Right. I just have to fly into the middle of nowhere and roast in 115-degree heat.”
“That’s only in the summer, man.” He exhales through his nose, the corner of his mouth twitching in quiet amusement as we head toward the elevator. “Texas has all four seasons.”
“Exactly why Miami wins. We get spring and summer on repeat.”
“And hurricanes…” Killian mutters under his breath, shaking his head, his smirk daring me to argue.
“Oh yeah? What about San Francisco?” I shoot back, lifting a brow at him. “Are your earthquakes more entertaining?”
We all laugh as the elevator doors open, and we step into Silas’s office. I’m actually looking forward to seeing him. I’ve been meaning to talk. Hoping we’ll have a minute alone when—
I freeze.
Lauren Green is in his office. Chatting casually with my brother like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
“Bunny?” I blurt.
“Lauren,” Silas corrects me, like I just insulted royalty.
Lauren Green is Silas’s assistant now? This has to be a joke.
I glance at my brother and catch the look on his face. His mouth doesn’t move, but his eyes track her every step. I know that look. Always have. A predator watching prey.
When she leaves, I drop into the chair across from him, still thrown.
My knee bounces. Why would Lauren work for him?
After the way he treated her? But there’s something different in the way Silas sits now—shoulders loose, jaw unclenched.
He even deflects when Kill takes a jab at her, his lips twitching into something dangerously close to a smile.
Interesting. My laugh almost slips out—until it hits me. We’re both doing it. Falling for Green girls. Again.
Later, after the meeting, Killian, Oliver, and I head for dinner. Silas waves us off, says he’ll walk Lauren home. Figures.
Dinner with my brothers is the usual. Oliver scrolls through the steak menu with the same focus he gives to property contracts.
He talks about acreage, livestock, weather patterns in Texas like they’re quarterly reports.
He swears ranch life makes him happy, and I want to believe him—but the way he lingers over the wine list, like it’s the only indulgence he’ll allow himself, makes me wonder.
Killian’s the opposite. He barely touches his food, too busy angling his phone for the right shot, sleeve rolled back just enough to show ink.
His notifications buzz nonstop—Silicon Valley billionaires, brands begging him to post. He grins like the world is in on the joke, the charming little shit. Emma would eat him up.
No, Luca. Don’t go there.
When Silas finally shows, his tie is gone, sleeves rolled, and there’s a rare ease to his stride. My mouth jumps ahead of my brain.
“So, why is Lauren Green working in your office?” I ask, leaning back in my chair like I’m bored, even though my chest is tight. “And don’t pull that stunt you did this afternoon again. We need to know what we’re up against.”
Great excuse. The truth? I just want to know if Emma’s in on this.
“When was the last time you told me who your assistant was?” Silas fires back. “If I’m not mistaken, you go through then every three months or whatever you need to explain that ‘you’re just screwing around.”
That stings. But I breathe through it and keep going. “So… have you fucked her yet?”
He looks away. Which, to me, is confirmation enough. And yet, somehow… that makes it worse. I tell myself it makes me feel better that I slept with Emma two days ago. I tell myself it would get her out of my system. Yeah, look how well that turned out.
I can’t stop thinking about her. Her moans. My hands on her hips…
Stop it.
Now.
“Why?” Silas asks, his voice unexpectedly harsh.
I lean in across the table, eyes locked with his.
This needs to land. “Because she’s not just any woman.
She’s Lauren Green—the girl who had you by the balls all through high school.
And since you couldn’t stand it, you treated her like trash so no one would notice how much it tore you up that you couldn’t have her. ”
And right then—those exact words—hit me in the chest like a punch. I can almost hear Dr. Smith saying them himself.
Maybe that was Silas’s pattern. But right now? It’s mine. I’m hurting Emma just to hide the fact that I’m still not over her.
Shit.
Maybe I should cancel therapy. I just diagnosed my own damn problem.