10. Lucas
CHAPTER 10
Lucas
" L ucas, what on earth did you do to her?" Nora quirks an eyebrow at me from across the room, her tone light but probing.
"Nothing," I reply, shaking my head, genuinely puzzled. "I swear, Nora, I don't know why she bolted like that."
Nora laughs, tossing her hair streaked with rebellious blue. "Serafina's a firecracker, huh? I blame it on her Italian roots," she jokes.
I nod, my thoughts drifting involuntarily to Serafina. My heart thuds unevenly against my ribs, remembering the look of need, of want, on her beautiful face just before she fled. And the playful banter, always a step from crossing the line, now feels like a dance we're both afraid to lead.
Is she as scared of crossing the line between us as I am? If I dare touch her little waist one more time, I swear I won't be able to hold back any longer. I think I'll just make her mine right there and there.
Or maybe I've been prying a bit too much to uncover her true self. I've tried being sneaky, from asking why she's always using cold hard cash instead of a card, to inquiring when her folks will come to witness her progress at the gym. But she's always got clever replies. All I want is for her to be herself, truly and wholly herself, around me. Mafia baggage and all. Is that too much to ask?
"Earth to Lucas!" Nora snaps her fingers, pulling me back from my reverie. Her blue eyes study me, sharp as her legal mind. "You look like you lost a fight before even stepping into the ring."
"Feels like it," I confess under my breath.
"You haven't told her yet, have you?" she leans in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "If you've got it that bad for the Italian angel, just man up and go after her."
"Easy for you to say," I grumble. The image of Serafina, with her fierce green eyes and long dark hair, flashes through my mind. I want to be the one she runs toward, not away from. And it's getting harder every damn day to hide it.
"Lucas?"
"Sorry, what?" I glance back at Nora. I can almost taste the lavender that clings to Serafina's skin, a constant reminder of our proximity and the distance I'm supposed to keep.
"Oh shit," Nora watches my expression. "You're really falling for her."
"Looks like it," I admit, the words feeling foreign yet undeniable.
"Lucas, this is crazy. You're?—"
"An asshole and too busy to entertain a relationship?" I offer with a wry grin.
"Head over heels," she corrects me.
I'm at a loss for words, knowing she's absolutely right. So I do what any self-respecting man would do - I turn my back and furiously tap on Serafina's name on my phone. My heart thuds against my rib cage like it's ready to brawl with my bones. The dial tone runs a marathon until the call cuts off — declined. I stare at the screen, the rejection stinging sharper than a left hook.
"Damn it, Sera." My voice scrapes out, rough and low.
I punch in a text, thumbs jabbing the screen harder than necessary.
Lucas
You left in a hurry. Everything good?
Sent.
No answer.
Minutes crawl by, mocking me with their silence. I shove the phone into my pocket, frustration simmering under my skin. I feel that same sense of helplessness when I'm cornered in the ring, but there's no opponent to punch here—just the torturous wait for a reply that doesn't come.
Nora's voice echoes in my head, half-joking about what I did to scare Serafina off. But this is no joke. This is Serafina we're talking about. In the two months I've known her, she's been nothing short of fierce. If she's running, it's not without reason. And the thought that I might be that reason twists my guts into knots.
My mind drifts, unbidden, to the secret I've kept buried beneath layers of guilt and necessity. My Mafia princess. A title that comes with its own set of chains and shackles. Nora still doesn't know. None of them do. But how could I tell her? How could I tell my best friend something I'm not supposed to know?
They're becoming friends — Nora and Sera. Good friends. The kind that shares secrets over cheap wine and laughs that carry through the night. And here I am, holding the one secret that could shatter that friendship.
I should feel guilty. But the guilt is a shadow, faint and fading. Because every time Serafina looks at me with those green eyes that blaze like the sun through emerald glass, every shred of remorse gets scorched away.
I should care. I should care so damn much about keeping this from Nora. But when I think about Serafina and the way I already can't imagine my life before she walked into it, how can I do anything to her that would hurt her?
"Patron," Nora interrupts, her voice slicing through my thoughts. "That fight of yours is coming up, right? Got a seat for one more?"
She's talking about Serafina, though she doesn't drop the name. It's their unspoken code, the way they skirt around the elephant in the room.
"Sure," I say, trying to sound casual, nonchalant. "But you know how it is, not really my place to?—"
"I'll take it from here." She winks, an accomplice's promise.
I should be relieved, but there's this tightness in my chest, a knot only Serafina's presence can loosen. I imagine her there, ringside, green eyes glued to me, cheering me on. Having her there is a dangerous daydream, the kind that could get me knocked out cold if I'm not careful.
"Better make sure she doesn't distract me, though," I joke, forcing a smirk. "Can't have me losing my focus."
"Please," Nora scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Serafina's got more self-control than you on your best day. And besides, who says she's even coming for you? Maybe she just wants to see a good fight."
"Ouch," I feign a wound, clenching my heart. But the barbs are light, all in good fun.
"You've got bigger fish to fry than worrying about who's watching." She nods at the ring, the sacred square where all my truths lay bare.
"Right." I nod back, feeling the weight of the gloves still clinging to my skin.
"You're going to kill it."
"Thanks, Nor."
She turns to leave, footsteps a drumbeat against the mats, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. The possibility of Serafina sitting there, amidst the roars and cheers, it does things to me, stirs up a storm I'm not equipped to weather.