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I would like to. I wish I could. Spending more time with the women around here would be nice since they’ve never done anything but make me feel welcome. I know it would make Luca happy, too, finding I spent time with them.
He could use some good news, and lunch with the ladies might perk him up.
Things have been even more strained these past few days since Rocco had some sort of attack. Luca doesn’t know for sure what caused it, but he has his suspicions. It’s eating him up inside to think his father could be sick, but he doesn’t want to admit it.
It’s the thought of Dante that makes me shake my head. “You know how it is. I don’t want to cause any trouble.”
“Dante’s the one causing trouble,” she reminds me, narrowing her brown eyes. “You shouldn’t have to suffer for it.”
“I’m not suffering.” I give her a gentle shove in the direction of the house, and she sighs, shaking her head and mumbling something that sounds pretty hateful before crossing the wide lawn and jogging up the steps to the terrace. Isabella wraps an arm around her waist, and they walk into the house together while I watch, wishing I could have something resembling an honest, open relationship with my mother.
Rather than return to the little house, I continue walking, admiring the grounds I’ve wandered countless times. Of course, I understand things won’t always be like this, but I’m with Guilia. I can’t wait for this to be over. Maybe Dante will loosen up a little bit, too, and I won’t have to feel quite so much like the enemy.
It’s funny, Guilia mentioning my family and asking questions. They’ve been on my mind lately, and not only because Mom still texts every day, like this morning’s text, which came through while I was in the shower.
Mom: Please tell me you’re being safe. It’s driving me to distraction, not knowing.
I sent her a thumbs-up emoji and waited for a barrage of follow-up questions, but they never came. Thank God for small favors.
I’m pretty sure my current guard’s name is Pete. I almost want to ask if he’d have lunch with me. He’s probably not much of a conversationalist, but at least I wouldn’t be alone. I’ve never been anybody’s idea of a social butterfly, but in my old life, I could reach out to friends and see them if I felt up to it. I can’t do that now.
Someday, when things calm down.
A cold wind blows my hair back and makes me duck my chin, rubbing my arms briskly. It’s time to head inside for something hot to drink.
The sight of a man dressed in dark gray slacks and a black button-down makes my heart skip a beat. He’s on his way down from the main house with a plastic container in one hand. By the time I round the gardens between the two structures, the midday sun makes his black hair gleam, and his wide smile shines bright against his olive skin as I run to him.
“Hi!” I throw my arms around Luca’s neck, and he catches me against him with his free arm. I’ll never get tired of the feel of his firm body and the musky scent of his favorite cologne. Some mornings, when he gets out of bed before I do, I make it a point to inhale the scent that lingers on his pillow.
“Hey, you.” Luca nuzzles my neck, and I groan happily at his warm breath touching my cold skin. “Sitting through hours of Dante’s bullshit is worth it when this is my reward.”
I would normally shy away from a kiss outside the house, just in case somebody is watching— somebody who doesn’t approve. Yet I can’t bring myself to care this particular afternoon, and he groans as I enthusiastically return the kiss. “Fuck, you’re in a good mood,” he growls out when I let him up for air.
“Thanks to you,” I purr. He’s the reason I’m going through all of this—the scrutiny, the sense of always being watched and judged, fearing for my life—it’s all for him. When I’m close to him like this, he helps me remember there’s something bigger at stake.
“Mama sent me down with lasagna for lunch,” he explains, squeezing me before letting go so we can make it inside. “She said there’s enough for an army, and you are entirely too thin. Her exact words.”
“What are your exact words?” I counter when we’re in the house and away from prying eyes, dropping my coat once he’s set the container down. Lasagna isn’t going to satisfy my hunger, not when he’s with me.
His dark eyes twinkle with understanding as he takes me by the hips and yanks me against him. “I like your body the way it is,” he growls out, his fingers pressing against my flesh. “Though, I wouldn’t complain if you got a little curvier. More to hold onto.” To emphasize his point, he squeezes me, pulling me closer.
“Luca Santoro,” I whisper as I wind my arms around his neck. “In many ways, you are the perfect man. Now take me to bed so we can work up an appetite.”
8
LUCA
There’s a wild animal in my office, and for once, it isn’t me.
I can only sit here and pretend not to notice Emilia’s restless attitude for so long. In the hours since we arrived at the club, she’s picked up and discarded a book, played a game on her phone before setting it aside, then picked up the book again only to start pacing the room, meandering, and it’s beginning to wear on my nerves.
I’d rather have her here than be without her. Yet there’s no trace of the happy, upbeat energy from her first visit last week—though she insisted she wanted to come along this evening.
Thanks to my work, we spend so much time apart, and she wants to be with me whenever possible. I didn’t see anything wrong with the idea, barring one important point—I don’t want her out in the club without me. I don’t want her exposed to the eyes and hands of the shitheads who are good enough to give me their money but nowhere near good enough to be in her presence.
Finally, after double-checking our purchase orders for the upcoming weeks, I lower the lid to my MacBook and watch her wander around the office. “What’s on your mind?” I ask, watching each pass she makes without her noticing I’ve turned my full attention her way. She’s that distracted and distant.
Emilia turns, her brows lifting like she’s shocked by my question, as if she is so good at hiding her feelings. Even if she was, she should know by now that I can see through her. “Nothing,” she insists, and her voice is much too chipper to be believable. “I’m fine.”
