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"This petty infighting has to stop," he continued. "The Irish have their hackles up, sticking their noses where they don't belong. We need to be constantly vigilant." His gaze swept over the table, pinning each of us in turn.
Angel straightened in his chair and grinned smugly. Dom remained impassive, his expression giving away nothing.
Lorenzo rapped the table. "There are going to be a lot of changes over the next months. New friends to help us fight an old enemy and maybe even eliminate the Irish once and for all. So, you will keep your mouths shut, your heads down, and any man who can't handle the heat will be looking for a new job."
No one moved a muscle. Lorenzo's threat was effective one. You were either with the Family, or you were six feet under.
My mouth was dry. Lorenzo had mentioned new friends before, and I couldn't shake the feeling that they had to do with the Russians. The Bratva was one of the most brutal mafia groups in the world. Lorenzo had been negotiating a deal with their leader, Dimitri Volkov, for weeks now. If this deal went through, it meant new opportunities and a stronger foothold for the Family, but it also meant blood. I had heard the stories. Volkov's people were little better than guns-for-hire.
Dinner concluded in a subdued, weighted silence. I couldn't be out of that room fast enough. My family was all right for the most part--there was a lot of love in that house amidst the bulletsand the dirty money, and I was lucky for the job and the roof over my head, but it was nights like this that made me want to break my gilded cage and fly away.
Luca caught up to me as I headed out onto the balcony after dinner. The sun had set, casting the sky in hues of dusky lilac and rose gold. "Hey, kid."
I smiled at the endearment. Luca had called me that ever since I was a teenager, even though I was only a year younger than him. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and shook one out. "You mind?"
"You know I don't," I said, and he lit the cigarette with a lighter from his pocket.
Luca blew out a cloud of smoke and leaned against the railing. "Are you okay? You seemed down at dinner tonight."
I smirked. "Was this before, or after you decided to defend my honor against Angel?"
"Sorry about that." He winced. "I know you can fight your own battles, Em. Angel just gets under my skin."
"He’ll get over it. He always does."
"Yeah." Luca took another drag on his cigarette. "And I meant before. You look like you've got a lot on your mind."
"I'm just tired, that's all." I tried for a reassuring smile, but I didn't think it worked. I reached up and brushed back his hair from where it had fallen into his eyes. It was starting to get shaggy. "I really do appreciate it, though. I'm glad you're here tonight."
Luca gave me a crooked smile and leaned into my touch, but his dark eyes were troubled. "You know I would do anything for you, right?"
"Yeah." That was, I suspected, part of the problem. I viewed Luca like a favorite older brother, but I sometimes wondered if he saw me in the same, familial way. Angel certainly didn't.
Okay. New subject. "What do you think Lorenzo meant by that whole, new friend business?"
"I can't say right now." Luca held my gaze. "Whatever happens, Em, I need you to trust me."
I was perplexed. "Of course, I trust you, Luca. Have I ever not?"
"Then you need to trust me now. No matter what comes up, no matter how much you want to interfere--and I know you, kid, it'll take everything in you not to. I need you to stay away from this."
"I don't understand." I searched his face for answers, but he kept it carefully blank. "What do you mean? Why do I need to stay away?"
Luca gave me a hard look. "Because things are getting messy. Everyone’s on edge, and that includes Angel and Dom. You know where I stand on the Irish—I think the city’s big enough for all of us, but Lorenzo's made it his personal vendetta, and my opinion amounts to precisely zero.”
He reached up to tuck a curl behind my ear. “War is coming, Emilia, whether we want it, or not. And when there's a war, people get caught in the crossfire." Luca’s face softened. "And I'd never forgive myself if you got hurt."
I shivered, despite the warm evening. Luca stubbed his cigarette out on the railing and gave me a tight smile. "Come on. Sofia will be wondering where you ran off to."
My head was buzzing as I climbed the stairs to my bedroom. Despite the veiled insinuations, it was clear that we were getting ready to make a major move against the Irish. Lorenzo had been hinting at a deal with Volkov during dinner, and if Luca's ominous warning was any indication, the Bratva would be a major player. I couldn't shake the bad feeling I had in the pit of my stomach. War meant violence. Violence meant death.
Against the Irish.
My hands trembled as I touched them to my lips. Alfie's kiss had been a sweet kind of danger, a roguish wink of sea glass eyes beneath that unruly mop of hair. He looked like he was in the business of breaking hearts, not heads. Certainly not causing turf wars.
But Lorenzo wouldn't differentiate. Alfie was the enemy. A McTiernan by affiliation, if not by blood. And I was a Moretti by fate, with a duty to my family. There was only one thing I could do.
I would hide away the ghost of that kiss and forget that the Irishman ever existed.
