17
SERAFINA
I don’ t ever remember feeling so much pain as I do now, all at the same time. It’s like a dump-truck decided to pummel into me, then finish the job by reversing over me, slowly. My arm is burning up, like someone is dragging a hot poker through my skin, and my head feels like I’ve gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson.
I have no idea how I even survived the collision last night. Or how I didn’t walk away with at least one broken bone. Aside from the gunshot wound, I’m not in bad shape. Telling that to my body is another story entirely.
Rolling myself out of bed is a task, especially with only one good arm and blurry vision. I guess you never realize how much you rely on certain body parts until you need to use them. After the shootout, I thought I would have spent all night tossing and turning. Instead, as soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out. I guess the painkillers the doctor gave me really worked because I didn’t feel a thing, until this morning.
Forcing myself upright, I steady myself against the wall before I even decide to make the trip to the bathroom. It’s only a few steps, but between my head and my body, they’re both refusing to cooperate.
I groan with every step as I make my way to the bathroom, finally able to examine my reflection carefully. I’m not even shocked to see that the cut on my lip has evolved to a swollen bruised mess. There’s not a lot I can do to cover that up, but at this point, it’s the least of my worries.
Luciano has pushed too far. I know it was him because nobody else would have the balls to go after me—or send someone after me. The most worrying part of all of this is that he’s now hiring externally, meaning we don’t have a grasp on any soldiers. We don’t know who’s under his family’s direction, which just adds to the mess they’ve already created. It doesn’t matter what Raf finds at this point, the conclusion will be the same. We just need to keep our wits about us, nail down a plan, and bury the Verdis in the ground.
All of that can come later because right now, I need some pain relief. Flashbacks of last night spin through my mind like a silent movie. It’s another stark reminder of coming too close to death for the second time in less than a month. Like the headache throbbing, I will the thoughts away, summoning my strength from a darker place. I remind myself of what I need to do. Who I’m doing it for. It’s no longer about revenge but putting my foot down that I will not tolerate families going against me. This would never have happened if my father was still in power, which means that these families are testing me.
The thought makes me angry but I shouldn’t be surprised. I should have anticipated this much kickback over my leadership. Hell, my father should have, too.
I rummage through the cabinet above the sink, hoping to find something. Unfortunately, it’s pretty bare in the way of medication. I’ll have to remind myself to send for some, or maybe have the doctor return with those magic pills he gave me.
“Need some of these?”
I spin around to see Luca lingering in the doorway, waving a bottle of pills. He’s still wearing last night’s clothes, sans the bow tie and jacket, looking disheveled, like he hasn’t slept at all. Then I realize, he probably hasn’t.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, tentatively stepping into the room .
“Like I’ve been hit by a truck.”
Luca smiles weakly, his blue eyes twinkling with a level of guilt I find all too familiar. They move from the top of my head to my arm, then to my lip. “You kinda were,” he supplies, handing over the bottle of pills.
“Thank you,” I rasp, shaking two out into my palm.
He frowns. “You don’t need to thank me, Bianchi.”
I grab a glass of water from the counter, swallowing both pills eagerly. The sooner I get rid of this headache, the sooner I can focus on the next steps of our plan.
“I want to talk to you about last night,” he says, clearing his throat nervously.
“Last night?”
He tilts his head, running a hand through his blonde hair. “You really going to make me say it?”
“That depends,” I grin.
Luca huffs, taking another step closer to me. Close enough that I can just make out the taut muscles restricted by his shirt, the material bunching up over the thicker parts of his body. Luca is toned, that’s for sure. Where he finds the time to workout I don’t know, but I’m not complaining. Both he and Levi are both blessed in that department—it makes working alongside them a blessing and a curse.
Swallowing past the desirous lump clogging my throat, I look up at Luca. From this angle, in this light, I can see the worry etched in the tired lines around his eyes. From where I stand, I can feel the guilt, practically tasting it. Does he blame himself for last night?
“Are you okay?” I ask, reaching up to cup his cheek.
Luca nods, his palm sliding over my hand. “I am now,” he rasps. “But it should have been me protecting you. I knew something was going to happen, I just?—”
“How?” I tilt my head.
“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “I just knew. Something in my gut was telling me it all went too well. The Verdis keeping their distance; Greco agreeing to help.”
“This wasn’t your fault. It was nobody’s fault here. ”
“I should have protected you.” His words fall as a whisper.
“You did,” I confirm, brows furrowing because I’m so fucking confused by what he isn’t saying. He did protect me. He was at my side, fighting for me with his gun. He was the first person I set my eyes on when I got out of the wreckage.
Luca’s sad eyes are drawn to the bandage on my arm. His other hand brushes it carefully, the tingling sensation spreading goosebumps up my arm. “You saved my life last night, I never got to thank you for that. But at the same time, you shouldn’t have done it.”
“Is that what this is about? You’re suddenly anti-feminist?” I laugh. “I thought you didn’t have a problem with me?—“
“No!” he snaps. “I just… We just don’t want to see you hurt.”
Clearly, he’s downplaying what happened. Not just the attack, but what was happening between us on the dance floor prior; the way he looked at me when he found me in the car. And let’s not forget the tender name he called me when he was checking me over. Something about the sweetness of his intentions stirs up the butterflies in my stomach. I don’t know if it’s excitement or nerves, but when he closes the space between us, those wings become frantic.
“We?” I gulp.
Gone is his hard exterior, the one that tore me a new one just a few weeks ago. His walls are no longer pristine and impenetrable. He’s softer, lighter, damaged. I want to look away, yet his presence demands me to look at him. I fight it as much as I can, but when he pinches my chin between his finger and thumb and tilts my head up, I’m a goner. “I thought I’d lost you.”
The revelation short circuits my brain because now I know I’m not imagining things. The moment between us lingers in the air, suspended by breathless anticipation. Luca’s thumb brushes over my busted lip, his eyes tracking the movement. If ever there was a moment full of so much clarity on what I’m meant to do in this situation, this is not it.
The words hit me full force, and as though Luca can read my mind he speaks up.
“I want to hate you,” he growls. “I want to blame you for everything.” His words are honest, breaking me in two unintentionally. The depths of his eyes swirl darker with the admission.
Of course, how we were brought together is always there in the back of my mind. How can it not be? He has the same eyes as his father, and every time I look into Luca’s, I’m reminded of that day. Everything is a reminder of that day and I’m so fucking done with it.
“Hate me,” I reply, my voice wobbling under the tension and anger. I understand it. I understand why he’s so conflicted because I am too. “Blame me, Luca. Do whatever it takes to get through this.”
Luca rests his forehead against mine. I think this is the closest we’ve ever been to one another. I ignore the fact he has gone from resenting me to wanting some kind of contact because every time I look in his eyes, I see pieces of me. The guilt, the anger, the fear. Every part of me reflects in those blue pools.
“I can’t.” His eyes dart around my face. “I don’t know what happened, but something has changed.”
He’s right. Something has changed. Between us, between all of us. I don’t know how I’m meant to navigate it, because while I like Levi, I’m also drawn to Luca.
But I’m meant to like Levi. He’s the one I kissed. He’s the one who has been there for me ever since Enzo died. He’s the one I feel a connection with. So why do I feel this complicated attraction to another guy? It’s fucked up and totally not me. I’m not the type to traipse from one guy to the next—hell, I’ve only had one serious relationship, and that was a seriously fucked up one. I don’t really know what I’m meant to do in this situation, with two guys!
It’s not like I’m comparing, because I’m not. I like Luca almost as much as I like Levi, and that’s a problem. This is why I can’t be involved with anyone. This is the exact distraction I was talking about. While every nerve ending is on high alert at just the mere touch of Luca’s fingers, my mind is warring a battle it’ll never win.
Can I like two people?
Is that even a thing?
Of course, it’s a thing because I do.
“Luca,” I whisper breathlessly. My pulse picks up. My heart feels like it’s fighting to break out of my chest, and I’m at a loss for words. I can’t string a coherent thought together because I’m so caught up in the torrent of emotions.
Apparently, I don’t need to say a thing because Luca brushes his lips against mine, essentially preventing me from speaking.
Not that I mind.
His kiss is soft, almost wary that I might not want this, even though every part of me is screaming that I do. It’s the softest kiss that has every nerve ending sparking to life inside me. It’s not demanding like Levi’s; it feels like he’s holding back, like he doesn’t want to push me.
My hands automatically wrap around his neck, pulling him closer. It gives him the consent he was seeking to kiss me harder, deeper. It’s all-consuming, unlike anything I’ve felt before. He kisses me like a man starved, a man desperate for connection. His tongue glides against mine, soft strokes that grow equally desperate the longer we’re like this. His soft palms slide over my skin, slipping to the back of my neck. But the softness doesn’t last. His grip tightens. It’s like he’s suddenly overpowered by an urge he can’t ignore. He tilts my head back further until he’s leaning over me, his lips taking complete control.
I gasp. For everything that feels wrong, this feels so right. I’m burning up, desire pooling in the place that could be my undoing. My fingers drag across Luca’s shoulders, down his chest. The hard planes of muscle tense up, and I’m putty all over again. Our mouths move together, fitting so well against one another that there’s no way I could ever ignore this attraction. It’s a kiss I’ll be thinking about long after it’s over.
Eventually, Luca slows our kiss down until it’s a drawn out press of his lips on mine. It’s hot and heady, making me dizzy. When he finally pulls away, I’m left stunned. Breathless.
“ Cazzo ,” he husks, resting his forehead against mine.
Yeah. Something like that.
I smile back, even though my racing heart and frantic thoughts are pummeling me with indecision. What we just did wasn’t just anything. It meant something. Maybe it was a hopeful endeavor that if we kissed, and it was shit, Luca would be able to wipe the lust from his features. In fact, it has the opposite effect. I know because I’m feeling it too. That wound up tension between us that was initially fueled by anger and resentment, doesn’t quite feel like that anymore.
“I’m sorry,” he finally says after a beat. The gravity of what just transpired has his shoulders sagging. He peels himself away from me, eyes darkening and jaw ticking. “That was a mistake.”
I feel those words in the pit of my stomach, like a lead weight plummeting.
He goes to take a step back, but I grab his wrist, pulling him back to me. I don’t want this moment to end, I don’t want Luca to back away from me. Not now. He’s just exposed a piece of his cracked soul to me, exposed a vulnerability that I’m the root cause of. How could I let him walk away without talking?
His hands automatically land on my hips, making me all too aware that I’m only wearing an oversized shirt and sleep shorts. He keeps me far enough away from him that I can’t wrap my arms around him, but close enough that there’s some contact.
“Was it?” I hazard. Because as unexpected as that kiss was, I can’t deny how right it felt; how it breathed some sort of new life into me that I didn’t know was missing.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he retreats before I can even register it happening. And like a shadowed cloud, I’m left standing there defeated by confusion and lust.