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LUCA
“What could you possibly have to be sorry for?”
Her face stared up at me full of regret and sorrow. “I hurt you, here.” Featherlight fingertips grazed my chest.
I couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t be. I liked it. I’ve never let a woman do that to me before.”
A smile flashed, lighting up her face, then faded. “It’s not just that.” Becka swallowed hard, curling her hands into her chest as if she felt cold. “The things I said. I want you to know I didn’t mean them. I just wanted to hurt you. I’m sorry.”
My gazed dropped as air expelled from my lungs. Oh, Becka. She felt guilt for something she shouldn’t. It never ceased to amaze me how dynamic Becka was; strong, courageous, loyal and caring. She cared enough to try and see a light hidden in my black soul. But there wasn’t any. Someone showed me a long time ago who I was always destined to be.
I met her distraught gaze. “Becka, you have nothing to be sorry for,” I said in a stern tone. “You may not have meant it, but it’s the truth. I am an evil son-of-a-bitch. Always will be. It’s just who I am.”
“No! Don’t say that!” she cried, pushing on my chest so she could sit up. I tried not to wince when she took my face in her hands, her desperate features looked even more so in the moonlight. “You are not evil. I have seen you fighting with who you are.”
I huffed, trying to be gentle with her. “They are just old memories haunting me. Of a time before Lorenzo showed me how to harness who I really am inside.” I was amazed at how calm I suddenly felt talking about it. The hatred that normally bubbled to the surface in the wake of giving voice to my turmoil for some reason, was absent. Maybe it was her pleading? Maybe it was the calmness that had taken over me after our long love making? Either way, she needed to hear so she could come to terms with it.
“What are you talking about? How did you even become involved with him?”
The first twinge of apprehension fluttered in my chest. “Maybe now isn’t the time.”
“Please, Luca. I need to know.”
I pulled in a heavy breath to steady myself. Her hands slid from my face to wrap the sheets around her breasts. “After my parents died, I had no family left. Grandparents were gone, and no aunts or uncles in the states. I was alone.” My chest tightened. I took another deep breath to loosen it. Becka sat calmly in front of me, patiently waiting. “I got thrown into the system. I lived with a foster family who cared more about their checks than taking care of us. They were abusive but mostly, neglecting.”
Becka’s eyes turned sad with an understanding that unsettled me.
“The worst part were the fights between kids. They never tried to stop them. There was four of us boys about the same age living there. My foster parents would just let them beat me to a pulp. If someone questioned it they would just say I started it and boys will be boys. I was always a scrapper to begin with but after that, I got angry, and mean as hell. I started to pick fights just for the chance to cause someone pain, even if I took a lot myself. It got to where I would start fights at school or in the park when I didn’t go home. I realized I liked causing pain. I thrived on it. Feeling power and dominance over someone. Being in and out of control all at the same time. I felt like an animal finally being free of its cage.”
Becka’s face stayed neutral but I could see the sympathy making the corners of her eyes crinkle. There was something else there as well but failed to put my finger on it. Empathy, perhaps?
“I met a kid in the park who was a couple of years older than me. His name was Trent and he was just as wild. My foster parents were only getting worse, so I ran away. Trent came with me, his home was no better than mine. So, we lived on the streets together, watching each other’s backs. We stole, broke into houses and abandoned buildings, doing anything necessary to survive. It was hard but living without rules was liberating.”
“How old were you?”
“I was twelve, almost thirteen.” Her eyes widened in horror.
“We were downtown one night, looking for something to steal and easy targets for pickpocketing when Lorenzo stepped out of a restaurant right in front of us. I had no idea who he was at the time. Then I saw a man come out from the alley with a gun. I just… reacted, always looking for a fight, a challenge. I tackled him at the knees, the gun flew out of his hand and without giving it a second thought I picked it up and shot him. Dead.”
Becka’s chest heaved in and out with deep breaths through her nose. Shock made her pupils enlarge but they never lost that bit of sadness.
“I should have been mortified but all I felt was satisfied anger. Trent took off, I never was able to find him again after that. And all I could do was stand there and watch the blood soak the man’s shirt. I remember Lorenzo pulling me into his car and speeding away. In the car he told me I had just saved his life and saw great potential in me. He took me home and raised me in his house, making me feel like a kind of stepson. Matteo and I became best friends. Lorenzo encouraged my fighting, got trainers to teach me kick-boxing and martial arts. Matteo was good too but I always excelled. He was proud of me. Lorenzo trusted me and I became the youngest of his enforcers, soon I was his top man. He gave me responsibility and purpose, a place my anger and skills were of good use. He encouraged me. I loved and thrived on the job. I wanted the violence. He said I was meant to lead men, that this is where I belonged all along. He gave me an adrenaline-high life full of money and power. I owe him everything.”
Becka’s expression had lost the shock but now her eyes glistened with fresh tears. She turned her head away, letting her hair act as a curtain to hide behind. Her small sniffle jabbed at my heart.
I leaned over and craned my neck, trying to see her face. I knew she must be processing and probably needed a moment, but I hated her tears. “Becka, please don’t cry.” A rush of fear crashed into me.
Maybe she is rethinking her feelings for me now that she knows the truth? I shouldn’t have told her.
“Are you ok?”
“You really don’t see it, do you?” Her voice broke with heartache.
My head jerked back in confusion. “What did you say?”
Bright green eyes found mine. Becka’s demeanor stayed calm, but a deep sorrow lived in her gaze. “He used you, Luca.” Her words were strong with confidence. “He saw an angry boy who was alone and lost in every way. He used your anger and need for a home as a means to turn you into exactly what he wanted.”
“What is that exactly?” I asked slowly, forcing the words to squeeze out of my clenched jaw.
