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I’m here, waiting and safe. Please be careful.
I stop myself before I can write anything stupid like I love you, folding up the napkin instead and handing it to Guilia. “Thank you, Guilia. It’s so nice to meet you.”
She tucks the note in her pocket along with the pen. Her eyes still twinkle like she’s having the time of her life. “Same here. I’ll try to come back later with lunch and, you know, whatever else needs to be delivered.” Then she’s gone, and somehow, the room seems a little dimmer without her in it.
I wish he’d had the chance to say more than those two short sentences, mainly because I don’t know how to feel about what I just learned and would appreciate an explanation. He went against his father, his family. He essentially made himself a prisoner on the grounds so long as it meant me getting the help I needed. The way Guilia described it, he was on the brink of losing his grip completely and all because of me.
I figured he had to be obsessed with me. Why else would he have gone to the lengths he did otherwise? Sneaking around my apartment, even murdering for my sake.
But standing up to his father? If I woke up to find ten million dollars in my checking account, I couldn’t be more stunned. I don’t know how to feel or what to think.
I don’t know who I am anymore. All thanks to a mafia man who, at this moment, is locked in his own home, kept away from me.
Away from his family.
Because of me.
I close my eyes, covering them with one trembling hand in hopes of hiding my tears from whoever is watching me. I refuse to give them the satisfaction.
20
LUCA
There is no fucking way I’m spending another minute in this house.
I check my phone, reviewing the latest text from my cousin, Niccolo. Why the hell it took me so long to consider texting him, I have no idea. I’ve always considered him the brother I should have had. We have more in common, and we’ve gotten along better because we understand each other in the way Dante and I never will.
We’re both second sons, neither of us expected to sit at the head of anything. To make it worse for him, he’s the second son of a second son, Papa’s brother, Tomasso, who died a few years back. Once Papa absorbed all of the businesses his brother managed, Niccolo came to work for us.
Niccolo: I’ll be down as soon as the meeting ends. Wrapping up.
He was invited to attend a meeting I was forbidden to attend. I have devoted my life to learning our business, understanding the connections we have to other families—friend and foe alike—learning the intricacies of the diplomacy needed to avoid war, and nurturing long alliances.
I’ve been left behind because I refuse to back down and sacrifice the one thing that has ever made me question my loyalty. I’m going to find a way for us to be together.
End of story.
They’ll have to get used to it.
Niccolo: On my way.
He’ll keep this between us. We’ve covered for each other more than once, though it was never anything with stakes as high as they are now. Has anything ever been? Incredible, the way Emilia has realigned my priorities and set everything in order.
Right now, my priority lies with seeing and touching her. A simple image on my father’s phone isn’t enough. He should know better than to think I’d be satisfied with that. I’m too much like him to be anything but demanding.
Voices ring out on the other side of my front door, right on schedule. “Go ahead, grab some grub.” Niccolo’s approach doesn’t give off any hint that he’s hiding something.
“I’m supposed to be here for another two hours.” I don’t know which of the guys is on guard right now, but he doesn’t seem to be one of the brighter ones. They don’t have to be—strong and ruthless gets the job done.
“Go ahead. I already ate, and my uncle wants everyone to stay close, so I’m not going anywhere.”
Another minute passes before the door swings open. The sight of Niccolo’s swarthy face is a relief. “Thanks. You’re a lifesaver. None of the regular guards would’ve let me out.”
“It’s nothing.” He shrugs it off as I join him outside and lock the door. There’s a light on, and I left the television tuned to football. If I’m still up at the house when my next guard shows up, they’ll think I’m watching the game in peace. They know better than to check in with me unless they feel like hearing what I think about being locked up, whether it was my idea or not.
My quick, anxious breaths leave a fog around my head as we make our way along the eastern side of the main house. Anxious for Emilia, not for myself. There’s one lesson we boys learned a long time ago with no help from our fathers—how to sneak in and out unnoticed.
When I was a kid, the old men used to tell stories of how bootleg liquor was run through this very property, delivered from Canada, stored here, then shipped out across New York using tunnels running underground to keep outsiders unaware of the activity. In the decades since, my family has twice used the tunnels for the sake of safety, bundling the women and children through them when shit hit the fan.
