by Sadie Black
“You think I’m beautiful, Vittore?” she cooed. What was Vittore’s angle? The affection between them was more than Luka could stomach. He backed away from the desk, shaking his head.
“I said what I had to say. I’m not cooperating with you any more, and you’d better watch your fucking back.” It was time to leave, but Vittore wouldn’t stop talking.
“I think you’re gorgeous, but our friend Luka doesn’t seem to think so,” Vittore told her. “Do you know why that is?” Luka turned and started to walk toward the door.
“Why is that, Vittore?”
“Because Luka is in love with another girl. A girl with smaller breasts and tiny hips.”
Ciara.
Luka stopped in his tracks and turned around, eyes locking with Vittore’s. The Don’s lips were set in displeasure.
“I’d advise you to cool your jets and simmer down, Luka. You’re hurting right now — I get that — but my patience has limits. Can you imagine how sad it would be if, after all this tragedy, something were to happen to your pretty little fiancé? What a damn shame that would be.”
“Oh no,” the blonde gasped, her fingers curling against the front of Vittore’s shirt. “What would happen to his fiancé, Vittore?”
“Anything could happen,” Vittore told her as though he spoke with a toddler. “Accidents claim thousands of lives across the globe daily. There are bad men out on the streets, and sometimes people find themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. New York is only the safest big city if you don’t have a target painted on the back of your head. And Luka’s poor, poor fiancé already flirted with death once before.”
“So sad,” the blonde sighed. She looked at Luka, frowning. “Don’t let that happen. Pretty girls have so much to live for. Why don’t you just be nice and listen to what Vittore has to say? Everyone would be so much happier.”
“You wouldn’t,” Luka breathed, but he already knew the answer. Frozen where he stood, his heart battered his ribcage as though it longed to burst free from his chest.
“I wouldn’t,” Vittore agreed, “but who knows who would. There are so many bad men in New York, Luka. Bad men all over the world, really. You don’t want that to be something you have to worry about, do you? Something she has to worry about?”
The blonde shook her head in discomfort, sliding off of Vittore’s lap to try to walk away on wobbling legs. Whatever shit she was on left her disoriented and unable to get far. Vittore grabbed her by the arm and saw her seated upon his lap once more.
“Vittore, I’m scared,” the blonde whimpered.
“You have nothing to be scared about, Gattina. Stay here with me and you’ll be safe. Only those who turn their back on Vittore Lombardo have anything to worry about.”
The Don’s bright blue eyes twinkled as they caught Luka’s. I’ve got you by the balls, those eyes said. Vittore’s lips were far more eloquent.
“I’ll be in touch again soon, Luka. I trust you’ll answer promptly and obediently. If not, the next call I make might have to be on your fiancé, and we all know what would happen then.”
There were no more words to say. The room spun, and it felt like luck alone that saw Luka to the door without losing his balance. His hand closed in around the doorknob, and he saw himself out. The goons, Alex and Anthony, waited on either side of the door for him.
“Let’s go,” one of them grunted. “You’re gonna leave as soon as you get back to your car. No dawdling.”
“And clean the fuckin’ blood from your face. It’s fuckin’ disrespectful,” the other added, shoving a handkerchief into Luka’s hand. He clutched the square of fabric tight in one hand, but nothing helped bring him back down to Earth.
The Don had already tried to off Ciara once before; nothing would stop him from doing the same thing again.
The cold December night froze the congealing blood on his face, and only then did he think to dab at it with the handkerchief. By then, it was largely too late. Large clots of blood clung to his skin and would need to be washed free. What little that came away left the white handkerchief a color like war torn midnight.
“Gedoutta here, Belmonte.” One thick palm pushed him toward his car, and Luka took the initiative and went. The interior was still warm, although his leather seat was chilled. When he turned the engine and the motor hummed to life, it was as though life continued as normal, but life would never be normal again.
As the shock wore off, Luka drove down the drive and past the front gate. The guard shot him a look as he left, but no words were exchanged. Even had the guard said something, Luka was unable to reply. It wasn’t until he was a good five minutes away that words returned to him, but by then there was nothing to say.
The drive back to the condo he shared with Ciara in Manhattan was spent in reflection. Luka parked, then made his way inside. Leftovers from dinner still sat on the stove, and the overhead light was left on. Luka entered the bedroom. Ciara slept upon the bed, the black lace dress she had worn to the funeral partially unzipped down her back. The black heels Luka’s mother had gifted her with were left by her side of the bed. The day had taken its toll; she was out cold.
With care Luka unzipped her dress the rest of the way and soothed the sleeves from her shoulders. Ciara didn’t stir as he pulled the garment down her torso and from her legs. Nor did she stir when he delicately maneuvered her into one of his old, oversized t-shirts. What would he do if he lost her? Marcello’s death put her loss into perspective, if Vittore went through with the hit, he’d never recover. Ciara owned his heart, and she would take it to her grave. There would never be another woman who could fill her place.
Luka stared out the bedroom window. New York stretched out before him, but none of it mattered if Ciara couldn’t be by his side. On the street below, a black car idled. Even from as far up as he was, Luka could see how tinted its windows were — there was no doubt such a tint was illegal. How long had it been sitting there for? Was Vittore staking out the condo?
Unable to know for sure, all Luka could do was turn in to bed. In the morning he’d tackle the issue at hand. With a clear head he’d figure out how to turn the situation around and fix the damage done. As badly as he wanted Vittore to pay for what he’d done to his father, he couldn’t endanger the lives of others. Ciara deserved safety. A comfortable life. A relationship was about sharing experiences with another person, but a marriage was about seeing to the needs of a loved one. If he had to sacrifice his vengeance and his pride to make sure Ciara was safe, he would.
“I love you so much,” he whispered to her. Luka leaned down and kissed her forehead, heart brimming as his will broke. “So much more than you’ll ever know.”
* * *
Ciara
5:30AM.
Ciara’s eyelids shot open. How was it morning? It seemed only minutes ago she’d been twisting on the bed, struggling to tug the zipper of her dress down. It had stuck on something, and craning back as she was, she wasn’t properly positioned to try to unstick it. And yet here she was in one of Luka’s soft t-shirts, the bottom hem falling to her upper thigh. Beside her, Luka mumbled something incomprehensible and rolled over. Yesterday was trying for both of them, but Luka suffered the most. He went out to clear his head, and she passed out before he came back home. How late was he out?
With a yawn, Ciara stretched out. Unemployment left her with little to do, so she took care of the condo while Luka worked. The day started early, with breakfast for the two of them, followed by cleaning and other domestic chores. The life of a homemaker was not one she’d ever aspired to, and as much as others pined for the position, Ciara considered herself more ambitious. Her place was out with the people, providing a service, not cooped up as Luka’s plus one.
His first lady, Camilla had called her with great affection. The thought made Ciara uneasy. She was no coddled bimbo eager to fall into the shadows of her successful husband; there was more to life than being pampered. As much as she adored Camilla, Ciara hoped to never
fall into the trap of complacency that had ensnared her. Even if she could just volunteer or work with a charity, she’d find a place where she could make a difference.
But for now, Ciara’s biggest calling was breakfast. With a curt sigh she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and padded, barefoot, from the bedroom to the kitchen. Luka’s alarm went off as she crossed the threshold.
“Ciara,” he murmured into the darkened room, voice cracking with sleep. Ciara paused and turned her head back to look at him. His dark hair was mussed, and when Luka clicked on the bedside lamp, she could see the bags beneath his eyes.
“G’morning,” she replied.
“Whaz-for-breakfist?”
If Luka wasn’t so charming, the question would have further soured her mood. Instead, she longed to return to bed to snuggle. Snuggle. What had he turned her into? Ciara laughed in spite of herself.
“I’m going to bake those avocados with some eggs. Do you want a bowl of oatmeal as well?”
Luka groaned and covered his face with his hand; he was far from a morning person. His years of partying had seen to that.
“Whennid we get old and healthy? What happenna pizza for breakfast?”
If only she had her phone so she could record some of this. Luka had to still be out of it; he wasn’t acting like himself. To stop herself from laughing, Ciara bit down on her bottom lip.
“Mayors only get pizza for breakfast on Saturdays,” she said. “You’ve got to go in to the office this morning to work.”
“Ugh.” Luka rolled over, burying his face in the pillow.
“Let’s go,” Ciara encouraged. “I want us to have enough time over breakfast to have a talk. There’s a lot that needs to be said.”
With yesterday’s events fresh in her mind, there was no denying that they were in a lot of danger. Luka’s refusal to work with Vittore meant that their lives were on the line. They needed a plan before trouble came to them.
“Mmph, fine,” he mumbled. The sheet fell away from his body as he propped himself up with one arm, exposing his defined abs and the trail of hair leading down to his thick cock. Ciara had to look away, the heat already rising to her cheeks. Luka’s naked body was no mystery to her, but it never ceased to quicken her pulse. With all they had to take care of that morning, there was no time for a passionate romp. That would come once the day was done.
While their breakfast cooked and Luka showered, Ciara opened her laptop and checked the news. Coverage of Marcello’s funeral swept the front page of every local paper, but each one was written tactfully. Not all reporters had sold out. But as she moved from reputable news sources to gossip sites, the focus shifted. To her surprise, Ciara found TCD had written up a piece on her. There she stood, arm-in-arm with Luka on her way from the funeral parlor, head turned just slightly with a somber expression on her face. To Ciara’s surprise, the picture was flattering. It was rare that TCD had respect for anyone, but more surprising yet was the tone of the article written up about her.
Ciara Simmons, 25, leaves Glendale Funeral Home by the side of newly elected mayor, Luka Belmonte, 28. Ms. Simmons is the hottest new face in New York’s elite, and we’re not saying that just because she used to work for us! This go-getter is the girl to watch in the next several months — trust us.
No writer’s name was attached to the piece. Ciara wondered who wrote the flattering piece. When she’d failed to produce her story, she thought she’d lost all respect from the team. Apparently not. Maybe, when things settled down, she’d have an avenue to explore to keep herself busy.
The faucets squeaked and the rushing sound of flowing water ceased. Luka entered the kitchen dressed in a suit and tie, hair still drying, face clean shaven.
“Good morning,” he managed at last. Ciara grinned at him, placed his plate and utensils before him, and sat opposite with her own meal.
“Good morning. Good to see you’ve finally woken up.” Yet even as she teased him, Luka’s mood did not perk. She prodded at her avocado with the prongs of her fork. “Let’s talk about whatever’s on your mind.”
“After what happened yesterday at the wake, I couldn’t get my mind to slow down. I was a wreck thinking about what Vittore did to Dad.”
Luka hadn’t picked up his fork, and he fixed his avocado with a listless gaze. Maybe pizza would have been better for today, just because of all that they’d been through. Small comforts meant so much.
“So what did you go out to do?”
“You’re not gonna like it,” Luka prefaced. He looked up from his avocado, partially guilty and partially apologetic. Ciara’s stomach filled with dread, and she braced herself for the worst.
“Tell me.”
“I went to Vittore’s place and forced my way inside to speak with him.”
Ciara’s hand tightened around her fork, and she breathed in deeply to try to ground herself. Vittore had Marcello killed. He gave the orders that left Gino so broken he couldn’t breathe on his own. And Luka thought it was a good idea to burst into his home to give him a piece of his mind? The thought made Ciara sick with worry, but it also left a bad taste in her mouth. Anger. Luka had so much to live for, and yet he had no qualms flirting with death all for the sake of his temper. She pushed her emotions aside in an attempt to dig for further details.
“And so what did he say?”
“Well, it was more about what I said,” Luka admitted. He sighed and stalled by tearing a chunk of egg and avocado with his fork and chewing thoughtfully. Whatever happened, he clearly didn’t want to come clean about it. Ciara was more nervous than ever.
They’d both concealed the truth from one another in the past, and almost lost each other because of it. Since then they promised to be upfront about even the smallest details. Communication was key to a strong relationship. As she watched Luka beat around the bush, Ciara wondered what happened to make Luka cut it off again.
“And you said?” Like pulling teeth.
“I told him in uh, in not so many words, that he’s a sick bastard and crazy if he thought I’d ever work for him.”
“Well, that much he should have expected. Who in their right mind would willingly work for a man who murdered their father?”
Luka looked uneasy. Four years of higher education hadn’t left her clueless; the full story hadn’t surfaced yet, and Ciara wouldn’t stop prying until she knew the truth.
“Luka, what else happened? I can see it on your face that there’s more to this. We need to deal with this together, and I can’t help if I don’t know all the details.”
“Ciara,” a heavy sigh left Luka deflated, “I think I’m going to give in and just do what he wants. Vittore’s dangerous. I need to start valuing life instead of flirting with death.”
Stunned silence struck, and Ciara stared at him from across the table. She swallowed in an attempt to clear the way for words, but still nothing would come out. When she found her tongue, she spoke slowly, as though treading on thin ice.
“Let me get this straight. You want to help Vittore? After he fucking killed your father? Are you kidding me?”
“I don’t want to help him, but I don't see any other way out of this. I’ve gotta think about what’s best for everyone else in my life and try to keep them safe, and—”
“—he threatened you, didn’t he?” Ciara pursed her lips. “What did he say?”
Luka refused to meet her eye, and even before he said the words, she knew what the message would be.
“He said if I didn’t cooperate, that he would see to it that you had an accident of your own.”
Of course. Both parents dying so close together might look suspicious. But a fiancé, that was just bad luck. Ciara exhaled long and steady as she processed the news.
“That changes nothing,” she said, doing her best to keep her voice even. She wouldn’t let Vittore get the best of her. “We’ve known for a long time now that he wants me dead, that’s old news. He already tried once, so what’s holding him back from doing it again? Nothing. You
can’t let him use me to control you. If he’s going to kill me, he’s gonna do it whether you listen to him or not.”
Luka processed what she’d said over a few more bites of breakfast. When he did speak, he did so carefully.
“But if it’s going to raise the chances of him finishing the job, I can’t risk it. It’s not like he’s threatening to break your legs — bones heal. If you die, I can’t ever get you back. I can’t ever talk with my father again, Ciara. I can’t hear him laugh or give him a hug. I can’t lose you too. I won’t.”
When Vittore hit, he hit hard. Beyond the death, Luka was suffering with guilt — Ciara could hear it in his voice and see it on his face. Not only had Vittore had Luka’s father killed, but he’d passed the blame on to Luka to cope with.
“All you did was listen to your heart and fight for what’s right. The mafia would only get you into deeper trouble, and you did your best to try to fix your mistake. Even if you hadn’t gone to Vittore, he would have come for you once you won. Men like him don’t sit back and wait for power to come to them. One way or the other, you did everything you could. It isn’t your fault he had your father murdered — Vittore had other options. Don’t let his actions control your future. We’re going to get through this together, Luka.”
Luka’s found the strength to look up at her. The insecurities of a young man haunted his eyes, and Ciara’s heart broke. Everything in Luka’s life was changing, and he was lost in the chaos. For now, in any way she could, she’d be his pillar of strength.
“The most important thing is making sure you’re safe,” Luka told her. “I want to hire some security, a body guard, to keep you safe while we’re apart during the day. And on top of that, I’m going to plant security in the condo to make sure nothing fishy is going on. Yesterday I saw a car idling outside the building, and I have a feeling it was Vittore’s doing.”
