AllFreeNovel
Share Us
If only changing my real-life situation was as easy as changing the paint on the canvas. Years ago, when I thought myself in love with Luca, I would have done anything to get my father’s blessing to pursue something with him.
We had fallen into a relationship almost overnight, it seemed, when we were just kids. He was nineteen; I was seventeen. While the Five Families weren’t openly at war with one another, they weren’t at the point that a romantic relationship would have been easily approved of, either, so we were careful. The politics were real, and we understood the dangers. Luca and my brother, Francis, were friends, and God bless him—Francis never minded covering for us by being a third wheel on excursions outside of the city and meetups in dark movie theaters.
We found ways. Even after Francis’s death, when both of us had changed and were becoming different, angry people, and it felt like the world was trying to pull us apart, we found time and opportunity to see each other for years until I was twenty-one and Luca was twenty-three.
I tried to fight against what I felt for him, but there was something fiery and instinctive and holy about what lay between us. I had never felt that with anyone before and never experienced the same with anyone after.
It was what made everything that passed between us so damned hard to understand.
Oddly, it was Don Valachi who had expressed displeasure at the idea of Luca and I being wed. One of the Five—all of the families on the east coast—asked how high when he said to jump. It was the way of things. My personal feeling is that it would have upset the balance of power—made both the Scarpettas and Marzanos more powerful through the combined might of a union of the two families, and Valachi didn’t like that.
When he disapproved of the alliance, the Scarpetta and Marzano families saidokay, sure. Neither of our fathers cared enough, or were brave enough, to fight for us.
But then, Luca didn’t fight either, so I guess I can’t be so upset that they hadn’t seen fit to argue on our behalf.
I fought, though. I screamed. I threatened. I swore. I got sent away to cool off.
For five fucking years.
So, it’s humiliating that years later, I’ve been placed in the position of having to actively pursue him. I’d be somewhere else, somewhere far, far away, if not for my father’s edict. I guess part of me still chases his approval, even if it makes me sick to admit it.
And while I’m being honest with myself, it’s all too easy to fall into old habits with Luca Marzano. That flirting at the restaurant? Habit. Like how you try to push on the brake pedal while riding shotgun in someone else’s car.
What happened on the Concorde? Maybe not a habit, but definite proof that he still wants me at least.
Which is vindication.
At least I’m not some lovestruck girl going after a guy who isn’t interested. Luca feels it, too. He can’t quit me any more than I can quit him.
I narrow my eyes on the canvas, realizing suddenly that the verdant green is the same hue as Luca’s eyes. “Oh, fuck off!” Groaning, I toss the contents of my glass at the painting. The red liquid runs down the canvas, mixing with the paint.
Beneath the splatter of liquid, a scratching sounds at the front door. I twist, listening as it continues. Baccio goes on alert beside me, a low growl sounding in his throat, and I flatten my hand to keep him still before moving to the desk to set down the empty wineglass and retrieve my handgun.
Stealthily, I move into the foyer, Baccio a silent shadow at my heels. He’s so well trained he doesn’t bark or otherwise give away our presence as he waits for my signal. Unless I was incapacitated, he would do no more than stay at my hip, waiting for me to give him his command. That kind of trust and loyalty is an invaluable quality to have in a companion, canine or human.
The doorknob twists, and I realize the door is no longer locked. The scratching noise must have been someone picking the mechanism. It was locked—that much I know. One does not live this kind of life without getting into the habit of locking doors.
Locking doors and hearts.The thought is an unwilling intrusion, reminding me that I need to shore up my defenses against Luca Marzano if I don’t want to see my heart broken again.
I reach forward—to relock the door or open it ahead of whoever is on the other side, I don’t even know—but it bursts open, a man following the swing of the door. Without prelude, he fires a shot that barely misses. I feel my hair move as it slices the air beside my head and watch in horror as he shifts his stance, readying himself for a second shot.
I lift my hand and point. “Attack!”
Baccio doesn’t hesitate. With a low growl and teeth bared, he leaps at the intruder even as the gun fires a second time and latches onto his gun arm, shaking menacingly. The man’s howl rises, and he yells, trying to pull free without success. I train my gun on him, but it’s more observational than anything else. I won’t risk shooting with Baccio latched on, and there’s no way he’ll get loose of a Mal.
So, I wait, letting my dog have at him for a few minutes.
“You…fucking…bitch,” he bites out.
“Picked the wrong house,” I say.
He stumbles forward a step, managing to propel Baccio forward, and wraps his free hand around his neck. He can’t pull the dog off, because the lock Baccio has on his arm is too strong, but he gets a grip on the gun still in his hand and lifts it until it’s pointing at me.
Damn it… Baccio is just enough in the way that I really don’t want to shoot him. But I will. I raise my own gun another inch, trying to get a lock on his constantly shifting head.
Seconds seem like hours. I’m looking into his eyes, finger squeezing the trigger, when a gun fires.
When he drops, Baccio still attached to his arm, Luca stands just beyond him in the doorway. Smoke drifts from the barrel of the gun in his hand, and he lowers it slowly, one eyebrow raised.
