11. Gilly
Gilly
There are worse things than waking up in Luca Marchesi’s bed.
Like waking up and realizing I want to be here again.
The sheets are still warm, cocooning me in the remnants of last night. For a single, blissfully ignorant second, I let myself believe it was a dream. That I didn’t spend the night tangled in Luca’s arms, surrendering to the inevitable.
But then I breathe in.
His scent lingers—smoke, whiskey, something darker. Something him.
My stomach knots.
It was just sex.
I force myself to sit up, shoving the sheets away like they might burn me. The room is eerily quiet, the kind of silence that should make me feel safe. Instead, it suffocates me.
Luca isn’t here, but his presence is everywhere.
I spot my clothes folded neatly on a chair. Even after last night, even after claiming me in every possible way, he still maintains this cool, methodical control. Like he’s patient. Like he’s waiting.
Bastard.
I yank the dress over my head, my movements jerky, my pulse unsteady. Distance. I need distance. If I stay here, if I let myself linger in the ghost of his touch, I’ll lose myself completely.
I make it as far as the bedroom door before I hear it.
Laughter.
Not Luca’s.
Rafa’s.
I freeze.
My son’s laugh is pure, unrestrained joy, the kind that only children have before the world teaches them to fear.
The kind of joy he’s never had.
A sick feeling twists in my gut.
I don’t want to know what I’ll find if I follow that sound. I don’t want to see. But my body betrays me, carrying me forward, step after hesitant step, until I reach the entrance of the living room.
And I stop breathing.
Luca is sitting on the sleek leather couch, his arm draped over the backrest, his other hand resting securely on Rafa’s small back.
Rafa is curled against him, nestled into the crook of his arm, cradling a small wooden car in his hands.
I grip the doorframe so hard my knuckles ache.
Luca—ruthless, unyielding Luca—is watching him. Really watching him.
Not with impatience. Not with cold detachment.
But with something I don’t understand.
Something dangerously close to softness.
My heart slams against my ribs.
I should be grateful that Rafa isn’t afraid of Luca. That he doesn’t see the monster lurking beneath the expensive suits and quiet dominance.
But I’m not grateful.
I’m terrified.
This is my worst nightmare come to life.
Rafa is bonding with him.
And worse—Luca is letting him.
My breath is caught somewhere between my chest and my throat, my fingers curling into the fabric of my dress.
Before I can make my presence known, Rafa turns his head, his little face lighting up when he sees me.
“Mama!”
His voice jolts me out of my paralysis. I push off the doorframe, forcing my lips into a stiff smile. But before I can move toward him, Rafa shifts in Luca’s arms, tilts his head up, and speaks again.
Only this time, his voice is different. Softer. Certain.
“Papa.”
The room tilts.
My breath strangles in my lungs.
Luca goes still beneath Rafa’s weight. I feel the tension in his body, the sharp inhale he doesn’t quite manage to suppress.
But it lasts only a second. A brief, fleeting moment before he exhales, slow and measured, like that single word didn’t just send an earthquake through the room.
Then, he smirks.
“He likes me, Gilly,” Luca says smoothly. “Because unlike you, he doesn’t lie to himself.”
I don’t hear the words so much as feel them, low and dangerous, sinking their claws into my already fragile control.
I am lying to myself.
And Luca fucking knows it.
I don’t realize I’m moving until my fingers curl around Rafa’s wrist.
“Come here, baby,” I murmur, my voice strained, unnatural.
Rafa doesn’t hesitate. He wiggles out of Luca’s hold, clambering into my arms, warm and solid against my chest. I hold him too tightly, pressing my lips against his curls, trying to steady my breath.
I tell myself it’s because I missed him. Because I need to remind myself that I’m his mother, the only one he’s ever needed.
But the truth is, I’m running.
Not from Rafa.
From the way Luca is watching me.
Because he’s not smirking anymore. Not gloating.
No, the look in his eyes now? It’s something far worse.
Satisfaction.
Like he knew this would happen. Like he planned for this.
I turn away sharply, clutching Rafa as I head for the stairs.
“Gilly.”
Luca’s voice is smooth, deep. I don’t stop walking.
“Gilly.”
Still, I don’t stop. I can’t.
Footsteps behind me.
I barely make it halfway up before his hand curls around my elbow. Not rough. Not forceful. Just enough pressure to make me stop.
I stiffen.
“Let go,” I grit out, keeping my voice low for Rafa’s sake.
Luca doesn’t.
“You can’t ignore me forever.”
The words are soft, coaxing. But there’s an edge beneath them, a dangerous promise wrapped in silk.
I lift my chin, slowly turning to face him.
“Watch me.”
His grip tightens—just for a second—before he lets me go. I don’t waste another breath. I turn and climb the rest of the stairs, Rafa’s little arms still wrapped around my neck.
I don’t breathe until we’re inside my room.
The second the door closes, I sink onto the edge of the bed, loosening my grip on Rafa.
He pulls back, looking up at me with wide, innocent eyes. “Mama?”
I push his curls from his forehead, forcing a smile. “Yeah, baby?”
He hesitates. “Are you mad?”
God.
I shake my head quickly. “No, sweetheart. Of course not.”
Lies.
I’m not mad. I’m wrecked.
Because that moment downstairs—it wasn’t just about Rafa calling Luca Papa.
It was about Luca.
It was about the way he held him. The way he looked at him.
It was about the fact that he wanted it.
And I don’t know what terrifies me more—the way Luca has effortlessly slipped into the role of Rafa’s father… or the way Rafa has let him.
A small, sharp voice in my head whispers something awful.
Maybe it’s not just Rafa who’s letting him.
I shove the thought away, pressing another kiss to my son’s head before gently nudging him toward the small stack of books on the dresser.
“Pick one,” I tell him, keeping my voice light. “I’ll read to you, okay?”
Rafa grins, already bounding across the room.
It’s enough to soothe me. A little.
But not nearly enough.
Because I know Luca.
I know this wasn’t just some moment that will fade into nothing.
No, this was a warning.
A promise.
And Luca Marchesi never makes promises he doesn’t intend to keep.
Rafa falls asleep halfway through the book.
His small, warm body is curled against my side, his breaths deep and even. I stroke his hair absentmindedly, my mind a tangled mess of emotions I can’t control.
I should be relieved. That I’m here. That Rafa is safe.
That Luca let me walk away just now without a fight.
But that’s the problem, isn’t it?
He let me.
Luca Marchesi doesn’t let anyone walk away unless he wants them to.
And that realization grips my spine like a vice.
I shift carefully, easing out from under Rafa’s weight. He murmurs something in his sleep, but he doesn’t stir. I tuck the blanket around him, smoothing my hand over his back before standing.
I need air.
I step toward the window, pressing my palms against the cool glass. The Miami skyline glitters in the early morning light, a cruel illusion of freedom beyond these mansion walls.
But I was never free.
Not really.
I drag a hand through my hair, squeezing my eyes shut.
I need to get out of here.
But before I can fully sink into that thought, my gaze catches on something in the corner of the dresser.
Something small. Out of place.
I frown, stepping closer.
A ring.
Silver. Bold. Familiar.
My stomach drops.
I don’t have to pick it up to know what it is.
Luca’s wedding ring.
The one he hasn’t worn since the day he put it on my finger.
A sharp inhale drags through my lungs as my heart slams against my ribs. My fingers tremble as I reach for it, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat rising in my chest.
And then I see it.
The photo.
It’s tucked just beneath the ring, barely peeking out. I slide it free with numb fingers, my breath catching the moment my eyes register the image.
Me.
Me and Rafa.
It’s from over a year ago. A candid moment—a park bench, the sun setting behind us, Rafa’s tiny arms wrapped around my neck as I kiss his forehead.
It’s a beautiful picture.
But my hands shake as I hold it.
Because I never knew this photo was taken.
Luca’s voice echoes in my head. He likes me, Gilly. Because unlike you, he doesn’t lie to himself.
A chill spreads through me, something ice-cold slithering down my spine.
I thought Luca came for me because of revenge. Because I ran.
But this—this changes everything.
He was watching us long before he took me.
And that means I never really had a chance to escape him.
Not then.
Not now.
Not ever.