13. The Spotlight Returns #2
After dropping Ava at ocean camp for the morning, I made it back to the resort just as Luca's tour reached the ballroom terrace.
It wasn't the usual kind with champagne and glossy smiles. This one moved like triage. Security at every corner. Bianca two steps behind him with her tablet. Donny fielding calls near the lobby bar.
I found them by the ballroom terrace, where the ocean flashed beyond the glass and investors murmured over espresso.
Victor Raines peeled away the second Luca slowed.
"Luca," he said, warm as polished wood. "A word."
Luca's hand brushed the small of my back as he passed. Brief. Possessive. A silent check-in after my text.
I wanted to lean into it. Instead, I watched Victor step neatly into his path.
"You have an opportunity here," Victor said.
Luca's expression shut down. "My daughter had cameras shoved in her face at the beach this morning."
"And that was unacceptable," Victor replied. "Which is exactly why this needs structure. Control the narrative before it controls you."
Bianca's gaze flicked up. Mine did too.
Victor lowered his voice, but not enough.
"A sanctioned exhibition puts you in charge. Charitable foundation, safety protocols, media terms, revenue into youth sports and resort programs. You position it as leadership, not spectacle."
Not spectacle.
As if better words changed the shape of the thing. As if a cage became noble because someone wrote a press release around it.
Luca said nothing.
Victor took that silence for permission. "The board is rattled. The clip spooked them, yes, but it reminded the market who you are. This could reassure partners. Show strength. Discipline. Responsibility."
Responsibility. The wrong word.
I thought of Ava clutching a seashell in her fist while strangers shouted her father's name from beyond the beach path.
"How long have you had this pitch ready?" I asked.
Victor turned to me as if noticing the nanny had developed inconvenient speech. "Excuse me?"
"The clip went viral last night, and by breakfast everyone was using the same polished language. Now you already have the boardroom version of the pitch. That isn't fast, Victor. That's coordinated."
Something moved behind his eyes. Then he smiled.
"Competence often looks suspicious to people unfamiliar with it."
Luca shifted beside me.
"Careful," he said.
Victor raised both hands. "No disrespect intended. I'm saying this moment can be a liability or an asset."
"To whom?" I asked.
Victor's smile thinned. "To everyone who has invested in what Luca built."
Luca looked past the terrace, jaw tight, ocean light cutting across his face. I couldn't tell whether he was angry at Victor for pushing or angry at me for seeing too much.
Then he said, "Send it to Bianca."
My stomach dropped.
Victor inclined his head. "Of course."
As he walked back toward the investors, his phone was already in his hand. And I couldn't shake the feeling that none of this had started with a video. The video had only given someone permission to move.
The veranda was empty except for the wind and the two of us. I had followed Luca out after Victor left, not because I meant to pick a fight, but because the words were already under my tongue, sharp and hot enough to burn if I swallowed them.
He stood at the railing with his hands braced on the stone, shoulders broad against the blue wash of ocean. Below us, the resort moved like nothing had changed. Staff carried trays. Guests laughed near the pool. Somewhere, a phone kept ringing.
"Say it," Luca said.
I stopped beside him, leaving a careful foot of space between us. "You already know what I'm going to say."
"Say it anyway."
"Do you actually want peace, Luca?"
His head turned slowly.
I forced myself not to soften when his eyes darkened. "Or do you only want it when someone is watching you win at it?"
For a second, the only sound was the ocean hitting the rocks below.
"That's what you think this is?" he asked.
"I don't know what this is." My voice stayed low, but it wasn't calm.
"This morning, Ava had photographers waiting at the beach.
She had strangers calling her name while she held on to me and tried not to fall apart.
And two hours later, people are dressing up a fight offer like it's some noble business strategy. "
His jaw flexed. "I didn't invite them there."
"No. But you're letting them turn it into leverage."
He stepped closer. "I spent twenty years building a name men like Victor could never touch. I bled for it. I ruined myself for it. Then I crawled out and built something better. Don't stand here and act like legacy is just ego."
The hurt in his voice hit harder than his anger.
"I'm not," I said, softer despite myself. "I'm asking whether you can tell the difference right now."
His eyes searched mine, and the space between us changed. Heat moved under the argument, dangerous and familiar. I hated that my body still noticed him like this. Hated that wanting him didn't make me less afraid.
"You think I miss it," he said.
"I think part of you does."
He looked away. That silence was worse than denial.
My chest tightened. "Luca."
"I miss knowing exactly who I was when the world looked at me," he said, rough and quiet. "I don't miss what it cost."
The confession settled between us. I wanted to touch him. I wanted to shake him. Instead, I wrapped my arms around myself.
"Then don't let them make Ava pay the bill."
His expression changed at her name, the father in him rising so fast it almost erased the man who had just admitted the truth.
"I won't."
But he didn't say he would walk away.
And I didn't know which part scared me more.
Luca's phone rang before either of us moved. The sound cut through the veranda, sharp and private. Luca glanced down. Whatever name appeared on the screen drained the last warmth from his face. I saw it upside down from where I stood beside him.
Dante Vale.
The name meant nothing to me, but Luca's reaction did.
"Who is that?" I asked.
He didn't answer.
The phone kept vibrating against his palm, the screen pulsing with each ring. Behind us, through the open terrace doors, the resort's controlled chaos continued. Footsteps. Distant voices. Someone calling for Bianca. A cart rolling over stone.
Out here, it felt like the whole world had narrowed to Luca's thumb hovering over a name.
"Luca."
He exhaled through his nose. "Promoter."
My stomach tightened. "For fights?"
"For spectacle." His mouth barely moved. "Same thing, depending who's paying."
The phone stopped. For half a second, relief moved through me so fast I almost mistook it for hope. Then a text appeared.
Dante Vale: We both know Victor can't deliver what I can. Call me before your board does.
A cold, clean line of fear slid down my spine.
I looked from the phone to Luca. "How does he know about Victor?"
His jaw went hard. He turned the screen off, but not fast enough to erase what I'd already seen.
"People talk," he said.
"That wasn't people talking. That was specific."
"Riley."
"No." I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "First, the video goes viral. Then, sponsors magically have polished offers by breakfast. Victor has a full leadership pitch before lunch. Now, a promoter knows your board is involved before you've even said yes to anything."
His eyes locked on mine. "I know what it looks like."
"Then look at it."
The words hung there, trembling between warning and plea.
For the first time all day, uncertainty cracked through his control. Not fear, exactly. Luca didn't do fear in obvious ways. But his body went still in that fighter way I'd started to recognize—every instinct awake, every exit measured.
His phone rang again.
Dante Vale.
This time, Luca didn't look away. His thumb hovered over the green button.
My pulse slammed so hard I felt it in my throat.
"Don't answer because they want you to," I whispered.
His eyes flicked to mine.
"And don't answer because part of you does."
The ring kept going. One second. Two. Three.
Luca lowered the phone without declining the call. It kept vibrating in his hand, Dante Vale's name flashing like a dare.
This wasn't just temptation. Someone had built the trap out of everything Luca had once wanted—and he was already standing inside it.