For the Love of Luca

by Soraya Naomi

  Thank goodness, Luca keeps his promise and returns home early, as he does for the next few days. Without my asking, he knows exactly what I need. He gives me a sense of normalcy and creates a typical family life, which I adore.

  BY FRIDAY, THE WEEK has flown by because the twins keep me occupied full-time. In truth, I’m glad I don’t work as a copy editor anymore and I’ve given up my volunteer work at the community center. Besides, I’ve been busy taking kickboxing lessons, which are such a rush, since my self-defense classes – which Luca signed me up for – have ended. This has allowed me to get back into shape fast and get much stronger. So, while I have stretch marks, my belly is flat again and I look like I did before I became pregnant, only with wider hips, which my husband loves anyway.

  However, this morning, I’m not busy with the twins. Quite the opposite, I’m standing inside an enormous concrete building in an industrial area right outside the Loop that reeks of smoke and gunpowder. The hall we’re in is separated by cubicles that are lined up next to each other and facing targets that are ten yards away.

  Today, I’m taking my first shooting lesson, which will hopefully make me feel even more protected, and right now, Cam and I are the only ones here.

  I’m wearing big army green headphones as Cam fires a round with her instructor since she’s been taking lessons and already knows how to shoot, while I’m merely a beginner. I slide the headphone back on one side to listen to my instructor, who, by the looks of his baby face, can’t be older than twenty.

  He teaches me how to hold my black semi-automatic Smith & Wesson and explains, “I’m going to train you to make your movements fast and consistent so that you will get familiar with your own ability. First, you need to be able to load your gun quickly, without looking at it, your hands, or the ammo. You should be practiced enough that when you’re shooting – no matter how many rounds are in the magazine – you should be able to feel when the handgun is empty. Is it full now?”

  “I think so.”

  “Yes, this is how heavy a fully loaded Smith & Wesson handgun feels. Now unload and reload before we take a shot.”

  I click the ammo out easily but fumble when I slide the new one in, so he says, “Just keep practicing and you’ll get the hang of it.” Moving up beside me, he continues, “Pull your gun up, as quickly as possible, to a firing position and focus hard on the front sight. Wait until you see a bit of the front sight between the rear sights and then pull the trigger. You should be able to land a hit in the ten-inch target.”

  When I focus and pull the trigger, I’m a bit unsteady and miss the target, making him grin as I smirk sheepishly.

  “Try going a little slower. The key is to practice accuracy, and then the speed will come naturally. Don’t worry.”

  I grip the pistol in both hands and concentrate on the target for several seconds before releasing another bullet, and this time, it does hit the mark, but on the right side.

  Not perfect, although it is progress and he commends, “See, much better. Keep shooting.”

  Firing another round, I suddenly feel him tapping my shoulder.

  Glancing back, I see Cam peeking around the corner, saying, “I’m getting another gun.”

  And the instructor adds, “I’ll be right back. I’ll get an extra magazine for you, Fallon.”

  “Okay,” I tell them both and turn back to my target, bringing up my hands and releasing more bullets, feeling exhilarated.

  Then, unexpectedly, the fluorescent lights go out and the entire hall becomes dark.

  I rip off the headphones and fling them onto the table as my sight adjusts to the darkness while I edge backward, looking to the end of the rows of cubicles and seeing that neither Cam nor my instructor has returned.

  Alarm crawls up my spine while I hold the weapon against my chest. When I hear a creak, I duck down in the cubicle, sweat rapidly forming on my palms, and I wonder how to handle this as anxiety fills my every cell.

  CHAPTER 7

  Luca

  ON FRIDAY MORNING, five days after the raid in the sex club, I’m kicked back in a chaise by the window, wearing only my black boxers. My stare is fixed on Fallon, who’s fast asleep with the grey sheet low around her hips while our twins lie beside her. They’ve slept with us in our bed almost every night this week.

  Being with Fallon unwinds me, which is why I’ve become more obsessive about protecting her. When I’m not with her and the kids, I feel wholly disarmed, so I’m glad she’s taking shooting lessons and getting her own gun today. I haven’t told my wife that the rage festering inside me hasn’t been quelled in the slightest because I crave to provide her a normal life, something I need as well. She’s my light inside a dark, merciless underworld, and I still want vengeance.

  When Milana stirs, I stand up and lie on the other side of the bed so that Fallon and I flank our children. As Milana feels the mattress dipping, she turns her head and stares at me for a long time, as if she’s truly beginning to recognize me, and then her little mouth grows into a smile from ear to ear that melts my black heart.

  “Buongiorno, bellezza mia.” Good morning, my beauty.

  She sucks on her lower lip while concentrating on my voice. Swiping the sheet down, I settle over her, planting my forearms next to her ears. Then I unfold the pink blanket that’s wrapped around her, and when I open it, she lifts up her short, chubby arms in the most adorable manner and just beams, enchanting every part of me.

  I kiss her round belly through her yellow onesie and inhale her sweet baby scent, uttering, “You’re so funny, my little ray of sunshine.”

  But as I gaze up, she’s examining her fingers as if they’re the best thing since sliced bread. Propping my elbow next to her head to watch her discovering what she can do with her hands, I stroke her sparse auburn hair.

  Since Fallon and Noah are still sleeping, I climb out of bed with Milana, cradling her on one arm and adoring how she observes me constantly.

  “Daddy’s going to make you breakfast. Are you hungry, Milana?” I say to her, and she kicks her feet, wriggling her body while I tickle her tummy.

  Exiting the bedroom, I walk to the end of the hall and turn left, going into the kitchen, which overlooks the living room. After I round the black granite island, I open the fridge and see that Fallon has already prepared two bottles. I take both of them out, knowing Noah will also wake up hungry soon, and place them in the microwave for a minute. Then I return to the bedroom and take a seat against the headboard, placing one bottle on the nightstand.

  At that point, Fallon rolls to her back and opens her eyes, the happiest expression covering her beautiful, heart-shaped face.

  Milana sees the bottle hovering above her face and opens her mouth eagerly, wiggling her toes, and the second I push it into her mouth, she starts sucking. The entire time she drinks, she watches me and I begin to realize how quickly she’s changing. Today, I notice how long her lashes are getting, framing her light brown eyes, just like her mother’s.

  Fallon sits up just as Noah starts to fuss but then stops. My son always rouses slowly, unlike Milana.

  “Good morning.” Fallon brushes her bangs aside, and thank god, the bruise on her temple has faded, leaving only some pink discoloration that’s barely visible.

  “Buongiorno. Do you know what Milana did? When I unwrapped her from the blanket, she brought up her arms as if she was celebrating being released,” I say around a grin.

  “Oh, that’s cute.” Fallon leans over Noah and addresses Milana, “You’re quite hilarious. And did you wake up daddy?”

  “No, I woke up before she did.” Then I glance at the nightstand. “I heated Noah’s bottle too, so you can stay in bed. I have to go to the club to meet the architect.”

  “Thank you.” She presses her mouth against mine and plops back down onto her side, settling her hand on Noah’s stomach.

  When she inhales a deep breath and her full lips curve up into a smile that lights up her features, I can tell the extra attention I’
ve given her the past few days has reassured her. I abhor it when my wife feels unsafe, and it’s my job to shield her and my kids – at all costs.

  After Milana has finished her milk, I burp her, and when I stand up to lay her back down, Fallon requests, “Let me cuddle with her.”

  I hand Milana over to Fallon and cross the bedroom to go into the adjacent bathroom. After I take a quick shower, I move into the connecting walk-in closet that stores both our wardrobes. Putting on a charcoal suit, I get a maroon tie from the rack before returning to the bedroom.

  Fallon’s now feeding the other bottle to Noah, who has finally woken up, as I fix my tie around my neck and throw on my suit jacket. Grabbing my gun from Fallon’s vanity, I stash it in the back of my waistband and go to the bed just as Fallon glances up.

  I kiss her lips and then Noah’s head, saying, “Call me when you’re done at the shooting range, okay?”

  “I will,” she promises as I blow raspberries on Milana’s belly to make her giggle.

  As I walk out, I look back once, hating to leave them, but I have to focus on Syndicate business.

  SEATED AT ADRIANO’S desk, I drum my fingers irritably on the glass as he sits to my left and Consigliere Carmine, head captain, Logan, and my hacker, Henry, who adjusts his Fedora, stand across from me while we discuss how to handle the bar owner we have in custody.

  “What do we do with Rudd?” I start. “No one has contacted his burner phone.” In reality, we’re still in the dark about who raided the sex club, which pisses me off.

  Adriano gets his pack of cigs from the desk and responds, “Capturing Rudd wasn’t smart, Luca. The two men who escaped have most likely informed Rudd’s client. And the fact that Rudd is now MIA is suspicious, of course, so the man who orchestrated the raid probably assumes we have him.”

  I rake a hand through my hair to comb it back. “Well, we have him now, so what do we do? I want to know who invaded the sex club.”

  “But why?” Carmine inquires calmly. “Nothing else has happened and the sex club is closed now.”

  “Because my wife got hurt!”

  “And we all hate that, Luca,” Carmine counters, “But I’d advise you not to go looking for trouble. We have enough on our plate with the remodel. And thankfully, we haven’t had any issues with sex club clients or the escorts we fired. It’s possible that now that the sex club is closed, Rudd’s client isn’t interested in what he was looking for down there.”

  I let out a grunt. “With our luck, this isn’t over.”

  “Then we’ll handle it if the issue arises again.” Adriano steadily rotates his Marlboro pack in his hand.

  “But again, what are we going to do with him now?” I repeat.

  “Can we kill him without causing trouble for ourselves?” Adriano asks Logan and then regards Henry.

  Henry answers, “Yes, Rudd’s a nobody. Our men can make it seem like a burglary gone wrong, and I erased the footage of you two inside his bar – there isn’t any link to us.”

  “I say we end him,” Logan advises.

  “Not yet,” I disagree. “Although we can’t keep Rudd downstairs, so have a soldier relocate him to the warehouse up north. I hate that we’re completely in the dark here. This isn’t sitting well with me.”

  “What else can we do?” Carmine points out. “Hunt a ghost? We have no choice but to let it be.”

  “Have a soldier take Rudd to the warehouse, Logan. And he stays alive until Luca says otherwise. But I think it’s best to not look for trouble,” Adriano concludes, ending the discussion. “I want to talk about the schedule for the remodel, Carmine. Is the one we made last Monday feasible?”

  “Yes. Tez and I have called several associates. They can start the third week of January with bricking over the route to the L station and then breaking through the walls of the underground to create one big space like we have upstairs. After that, they can start the build-out of the dance floor, the raised DJ platform, the bar, and the sound system. So we can begin with the underground, then close down the dance club on February first as we wanted. Tez has already contacted the chef at Francitalia and offered him a generous salary, and he said yes, so they will organize the restaurant team. We can keep the wait staff; it’ll just be expanded with a kitchen staff and host at the front entrance for the restaurant. The back entrance is for the dance club, but we’ll keep the connecting door on the first floor open so that customers who have dined in the restaurant can go straight down to the club.” Carmine motions to Adriano’s pack of cigs, and he tosses it to Carmine.

  “You have to work with some legit companies too,” Adriano instructs him.

  “I know, but they don’t drop everything to accommodate us, because to them, we’re just the owners of Club 7 and not the Syndicate. When we modify the first floor, I’ll make sure that we work with a legit company as well.”

  “How much is this going to cost us?” Adriano inquires.

  “Almost a million, which is good because I have millions coming in the first half of this year, and now I can easily launder it.”

  “Perfect. Set it in motion. I’ll send out a press release that Club 7 will be closed from February first until February fourteenth. We’ll open the restaurant and new dance club on Valentine’s Day, which will allow for great marketing.”

  Furthermore, it’s a night I can take out my wife. Privately, I smile, checking my silver watch and knowing Fallon’s practicing at the shooting range.

  Unexpectedly, Carmine adds, “By the way, even though I said we need to let the Rudd situation be, in the meantime, I do want us to up security for the women. We won’t tell them, of course, but in the upcoming weeks, let’s play it safe. They hang out a lot together outside with our kids, so I want a soldier to watch Eva and Brandon constantly.” Carmine’s the only one who’s unmarried, but his girl is part of our family as well, since she’s the mother of his one-month-old son.

  “I already have a soldier accompanying Mary when she flies to her university in Urbana-Champaign, and I have him watch her in the Loop too,” Henry replies.

  “Does my sister know he guards her when she’s home in Chicago?” Adriano grins at Henry.

  Pulling up his shoulder, Henry responds, “No,” not in the least remorseful about how he protects Mary.

  “I have a guy tailing Fallon too,” I put in and Carmine smirks. “One of the Club 7 guards.”

  “Okay, then I definitely want a soldier to watch Eva as well,” Carmine decides.

  “And another soldier to guard Rosalia and Adam,” Logan states, also wanting security for his wife and son.

  “And Cam?” I ask Adriano, whose features harden.

  “She always discovers it when I have someone tailing her and, like Fallon, it makes her uncomfortable, but Cam and Fallon are together often, so your guard’s watching Cam too.”

  “Good,” I comment, realizing I haven’t actually spoken to the guard as Logan starts to make a call to summon a man up.

  Within moments, there’s a knock at the door and Adriano says, “Come in.”

  But when the door opens, a bulky guard with blond spikes enters and I surge up so fast that the chair shoots backward, the legs screeching over the black tiled floor as I bark, “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be following Fallon!”

  He freezes before he explains, “Sir, I didn’t get an order to continue today.”

  “Idiota.” Idiot. “I didn’t tell you to stop! I said until I call you. Did I call you?” I shout, yanking my phone from my pocket as I stride to the door.

  “Luca, is Cam with Fallon?” Adriano snatches his grey suit jacket from the back of his desk chair and marches after me.

  “Yes,” I reply.

  “Bastardo!” Bastard! Adriano shouts as we pass the guard who jumps back. “I’ve said this before and I’ll repeat myself – the lack of communication in this group is infuriating!” Then Adriano stops in the doorway, pushing his arms into his jacket and righting his collar. “Carmine—”

/>   “We’ll handle everything here. Call me when you find out they’re okay.”

  “I will.”

  Henry snaps his fingers at the blond guard and commands, “You stay here!”

  I swipe the screen of my phone to contact Fallon, but it rings and rings, so I grip it until my knuckles turn white before I lower my arm. “Of course, she doesn’t answer!” I snarl to Adriano, whose scowl deepens.

  “You have got to be fucking kidding me! I’m going to murder someone today!” Adriano nearly hisses when Cam doesn’t pick up his call.

  We storm down the staircase and sprint out of the club to my car parked at the back entrance. Jumping inside, I fire up the engine and drive out with screeching tires. The roads are congested with the morning traffic as I maneuver around vehicles toward the intersection while Adriano keeps calling Cam.

  “She’s not answering. Fuck!” He smashes the glove compartment and rears back, mirroring my emotions and scrubbing his palm down his mouth.

  “I swear to god that guard is going to feel my wrath if something has happened.”

  “Where are the kids?” Adriano’s concerned gaze lands on me as I hit the gas at the intersection and move into the left lane.

  “They’re at my apartment with the sitter.” I try to help set his mind at ease, but the tension coiling our bodies seems to intensify as I get on the highway.

  Unfortunately, the shooting range is outside the Loop, and during the drive, my feeling of extreme dread almost paralyzes me.

  AFTER TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES, we arrive at an industrial area where I come to a stop at the front entrance of the building so fast that I leave a gust of dirt and smoke in my trail. Simultaneously, Adriano and I leap out.

  We enter a brown-painted gun store that’s crowded with several metal aisles and a handful of customers and pace toward the back where the cash register and a door that leads to the shooting range are located.

  Then, all of a sudden, the entire place goes dark, and Adriano and I halt and grab our guns from our waistbands. Rushing forward through the shadows, we reach the cash register.