Page 68 of Winter With You

‘My mistake. Because I’m not an expert at… this.’

‘I have to go,’ Luca said. ‘Please, stay at the market. Let me pay for more waffles and⁠—’

‘I don’t want to stay now,’ Phoebe said, holding onto her dog’s collar. ‘And what if the person comes back? We should call the police, right, Gabriella?’

‘Please, Phoebe, I’m OK,’ Luca insisted. ‘And the person… he won’t come back. I promise.’

Gabriella looked at him. There was something going on here. He was providing adequate calm to Phoebe but under the exterior she could see tiny nuances of awareness seeping out. He knew something about this.

‘You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep,’ she stated roughly.

He nodded. Firm. Definite. Angry. There was a distant look in his eyes she couldn’t even begin to fathom. He wiped the red off his face, covering his hands with it. ‘I guarantee it.’

Mr Darcy barked and it broke the apprehension. Slowly, people seemed to look away from Luca, becoming drawn back in to the festive atmosphere. Phoebe looked slightly less like she was going to cry. ‘Luca,’ Gabriella breathed.

‘I need to go,’ he said quickly, already backing towards the crosswalk.

She stepped closer to him, wanting to do something although she wasn’t quite sure what. But he held his hand up.

‘Please. Let me go. To fix this.’

Gabriella stopped in her tracks, saw the twitch in his cheek, the sharp set edge of his jawline. There was nothing she could do for him. She nodded and, before anything else could be said, or done, Luca had disappeared into the New York throng.

42

LITTLE ITALY

Revenge was a dish best served cold. Luca knew this. He undoubtably knew this. But pure ferociousness was pumping through him now, that kind of unfettered, dangerous rage that you always hoped you were never capable of, had definitely seen from others and had sworn that was not the person you were but…

He burst through the door of the bar, the scent of unlawful cigar smoke hanging in the air, along with the essence of scotch and jackass. Sonny, the owner of the establishment, saw him first.

‘Jesus Christ,’ he exclaimed, making the sign of the cross over his chest. ‘Now, Marcello, I don’t want any trouble in here.’

‘Shut the fuck up,’ Luca hissed. ‘And don’t even think about touching that gun under your counter… or the one you think no one knows about on the bottom shelf.’ He scanned the patrons. Half a dozen he didn’t know, three or four he did, his brain reconned what he knew about them as his eyes found who they were looking for. Ronnie. The man went to stand up, but before he could, Luca was in front of him.

‘Sit back down, you fat fuck!’ He pushed him down into his seat and Ronnie rocked back in it until eventually he came to a balance. ‘Don’t you fucking move!’

Ronnie held his hands up. ‘OK, tough guy, let’s keep it down though, shall we? I don’t think any of us here wants anyone calling the cops.’

‘You’re right,’ Luca snarled. ‘This time you are so right.’

‘Good, kid. Good, so⁠—’

‘I said shut your mouth. I’m doing the talking and you are gonna listen.’ He pointed a finger, trembling, but not with fear, with boiling anger. Ronnie held his hands up again.

‘You can tell that fucking headcase that calls himself my father I will see him. Once. One fucking time. And that’s it! Then it’s over! All this stops!’ Spittle flew from his mouth. ‘When you hurt the people I care about, that crosses a line with me and, believe me, if he thinks he’s got the golden accolade for that, he’s very much fucking mistaken!’

It was a red mist. In his head. In his eyes. Totally visible. As real as it could get. He felt it but, in this moment, he wasn’t in charge of it and he hated it as much as he was currently relying on it.

‘The only message I want from you now is the date and time of this visit. Then we’re done and I don’t want to see you anywhere near me or anywhere near anyone associated with me ever again. Is that clear?’ He put a vice-like grip on Ronnie’s shoulder, red liquid dripping from him and onto his father’s right-hand man. ‘No sabotaging dresses, no breaking into homes, no attacking my friends and no coming at me with a bucket of whatever or whoever this shit is!’ He swiped a hand at the fluid on his body and flicked it with his fingers until it flew onto Ronnie’s face.

‘What?’ Ronnie frowned, deep furrows in his lined face.

‘You fucking heard me!’

‘Yeah, I heard you but I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about. Dresses? Attacking people?’

‘Bullshit, Ronnie! This has you and the “family” written all over it.’