18. Luca
Luca
The mansion is silent.
I stand by the window, a glass of whiskey in my hand, untouched. Miami stretches out below me, glowing in the night, but I don’t see it. My mind is elsewhere. On Rafa. On war. On blood.
Patience. I should be out there. Hunting. Killing. Tearing through Renzo’s world until there’s nothing left but fire and bodies.
But patience wins wars. And this is war.
Behind me, Gilly shifts in bed.
I turn. She’s curled in the sheets, breathing slow, steady. Peaceful. She has no idea what’s coming.
For a second—just a second—something unfamiliar tugs in my chest. I should tell her. About the bodies I’ll leave in my wake. About how this ends.
But not yet.
My phone buzzes.
Unknown number.
I don’t hesitate. I press the phone to my ear.
A slow chuckle slides through the line, smooth as a blade. A voice I should’ve silenced long ago.
"You love your little lawyer, don’t you?"
My grip tightens.
"I’ve been thinking about that. About her. About the way she looks at you. You should really teach her how to keep secrets."
The ice in my veins hardens.
"Where is this going?" My voice is low, controlled, edged with warning.
"Straight to the heart, Marchesi," Renzo purrs. "Tell me… does she still lie to you?"
I step onto the balcony, leaving the bedroom behind.
"She doesn’t lie to me," I say, voice like steel.
Renzo hums, amused. "No? She never told you why she ran, did she?"
I still.
The city hums below me. I don’t move. I don’t breathe.
"Because I’m willing to bet," Renzo continues, "she’s never told you the full story."
My fingers tighten around the phone.
"Say what you mean, or I’ll make sure you never get to speak again."
Renzo exhales like he’s disappointed. "I thought you were smarter than this, Marchesi. Maybe you should ask yourself… was that photo real?"
The world sharpens.
The photo.
The one Gilly saw in Boston. The one that made her run.
I’ve seen it a hundred times. I know what it shows.
Or do I?
I stare into the night, my grip like a vice around the phone.
"You think you can play me, Renzo?" My voice is nothing but lethal promise. "We’ll see."
Renzo’s words hang in the air, clinging like smoke.
"Was that photo real?"
I don’t react. I won’t give him the satisfaction.
Instead, I breathe slow, steady, forcing my grip on the phone to loosen. I step forward, leaning against the balcony railing, my eyes fixed on the city stretching beneath me.
"You expect me to believe anything out of your mouth?" My voice is smooth, cold. "You’re running out of tricks, Renzo."
A low laugh slides through the line. "Oh, Luca. This isn’t a trick. This is me doing you a favor."
"I don’t need your favors."
"No?" Renzo hums, feigning curiosity. "You think you have everything under control, don’t you? That you know the truth. That you know her."
His voice lowers.
"But what if you don’t?"
A flicker of irritation sparks in my chest.
This is what he wants. To get in my head. To make me question what I already know.
I force a smirk. "You want me to doubt her? You really think I don’t already know every move she’s made?"
"Do you?" Renzo murmurs.
A pause. A beat of silence stretching too long.
Then—
"She ran from you because she thought you were a murderer."
I don’t move.
"She saw a photo, Luca. One that told her you were a killer. You ever ask yourself where it came from?"
A slow breath. A steel grip on control. I already know this. I know what she saw. I know she was wrong.
"You ever look at the timestamp?"
I go still.
Renzo exhales, dragging it out like he’s savoring every second. "She found that photo in a federal database, right? A crime scene image from a confidential case."
He pauses, letting the weight of his words settle.
"A crime scene that happened while you were in Italy."
The air in my lungs turns sharp.
The photo. The one that shattered everything, that made her run.
I’ve seen it a hundred times. I never looked at the timestamp.
My grip tightens, my jaw locking.
Renzo chuckles, smug. "See, that’s the problem with being a man like you, Marchesi. You assume people fear you too much to set you up. But I’m not most people."
"You set her up," I say, my voice deadly quiet.
"No, no," Renzo muses. "I just… nudged things in the right direction. A little planted evidence. A well-placed whisper. And your perfect little lawyer ran straight into my arms."
I exhale slowly, pushing down the rage simmering beneath my skin.
"You want a reaction?" My voice is soft. Dangerous. "You want to hear me snap? Won’t happen, Renzo. You took my son. And you should know what that means."
Silence.
Then, a grin in his voice. "Oh, I know exactly what it means, Marchesi. And I can’t wait to see what you do about it."
The line goes dead.
I lower the phone, staring at the darkened screen.
I turn, stepping back inside. Gilly is still asleep, curled on her side, blissfully unaware.
She thinks she ran from a monster.
She never realized she was running straight into a trap.
I lower the phone, staring at the darkened screen.
Renzo thinks he’s won something tonight. That he’s put doubt in my mind. That he’s made me question Gilly, question myself.
He’s wrong.
I turn, stepping back inside.
The bedroom is bathed in shadows, the only light coming from the cityscape beyond the glass. Gilly is still asleep, her body curled on her side, one hand tucked beneath her cheek.
Peaceful.
Blissfully unaware.
She thinks she ran from a monster. She never realized she was running straight into a trap.
I move toward the bed, slow and silent. She doesn’t stir as I sit on the edge, resting my elbows on my knees. My pulse is steady, my breathing controlled, but my mind is a razor’s edge, slicing through every detail I once thought was fact.
The crime scene photo. The timestamp. The setup.
Gilly never had a chance.
Renzo made sure of it.
I should wake her up. Force her to face what she’s done. She’s spent years believing I was a murderer. Hating me for something I never did.
She ran. Took my son. Took everything.
And yet…
I reach out, brushing my fingers against the curve of her wrist.
She exhales, shifting slightly, but she doesn’t wake.
I don’t know why the touch grounds me. Why it stops me from shaking her awake and demanding answers she doesn’t even know she needs to give.
Maybe because I already know the truth.
I’ve always known.
She was never mine to break.
She was mine to catch.
A bitter smirk curves my lips.
She spent years hating me for something I never did. Now, she’ll have to live with the fact that she left me for a lie.
A fitting punishment.
But not the one I’ll give Renzo.
No, his punishment will be much worse.
I push to my feet, moving toward the dresser. Pulling open the top drawer, I reach inside, fingers closing around the cold weight of my gun.
Renzo is out there, thinking he’s in control of this game.
That’s his first mistake.
He took my son. That was his last mistake.
I slide the gun into the holster beneath my suit jacket, my movements slow and deliberate.
Then, I glance at Gilly one last time.
She won’t sleep so soundly tomorrow.
Because tomorrow, everything changes.
"Sleep while you can, Gilly. Because when you wake up, we’re going to have a conversation."