Page 35 of Finding Love

“Somebody’s gonna call the cops,” Vinny predicts, cutting through my memory. He leans out onto the sidewalk and looks back and forth. The man might as well hold up a blinking sign telling the whole town something bad is happening here. “We’ve got to go.”

That seems to get through to Luca, who can’t help but spit on the kid before he checks out the sidewalk the way Vinny did. “Let’s go,” he barks, taking my hand.

After what I’ve seen and remembered, I don’t want to go anywhere with him. I can’t exactly announce that out loud, though, and my head is spinning too fast for me to speak. I’m actually fleeing the scene of an assault on a completely innocent kid. All the happiness and hope I was basking in only minutes ago is gone, forgotten. The memory of this night has been tarnished forever.

Not only this night, either. Everything. He’s ruined everything. Maybe I should be grateful to him for reminding me of who he is.

“I’m not making the same mistake I did before,” he grunts out as we walk quickly toward the house, where the car waits for us. I’m glad we’re packed and ready to leave. I’d hate to witness Luca paying off a cop to look the other way after what he did. It’s bad enough I have to hold the hand that might have broken an innocent kid’s nose. He did nothing wrong. His only mistake was crossing paths with a man whose temper is molten lava, always on the verge of exploding.

I’m almost glad he’s too busy seething during the ride home to cuddle with me. I can’t stand the thought of him touching me. While I could happily live without his energy stealing the air in the car, it gives me an excuse to sit as far from him as possible.

All I have to do now is figure out how to stay far away from him after tonight.

15

LUCA

As soon as I step into my father’s office the morning after our return from the Hamptons, I know what I’m in for. He sounded pissed when he called my cell maybe five minutes after dawn, not that I was asleep. It was a long night spent staring at the ceiling and questioning myself, briefly punctuated by a few light naps.

It was obvious Emilia’s attitude changed last night. We fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms two nights ago, with the sound of the ocean filling the air. Last night, she couldn’t have gotten farther from me without falling off the bed. I spent hours on a king-size bed that felt a lot more like an island inhabited by myself alone.

In the end, I decided she’ll get over it. She has to eventually see I’m interested in nothing more than keeping her safe. I won’t leave her vulnerable again. If it means slapping some kid around, so be it. I’d much rather that than see her suffer again. No sacrifice is too great. Not for my love.

This mantra runs through my head on repeat as I consider getting coffee from the kitchen but head straight for his office instead. It wouldn’t be a smart move to keep him waiting longer than I have, and I’d rather get this over with before my brother decides to come in and throw his unwanted opinions around.

Papa is sipping espresso from a small cup, standing by the window, and when he turns my way, his expression is neutral enough that I know I’m in for it. When he is beyond pissed, he goes quiet while other men might explode. The quieter he gets, the deeper his anger.

“Let’s get down to it,” I suggest, stopping in front of his desk and squaring my shoulders in preparation for what’s bound to happen. “I figured one of the guys would report to you like the good little soldiers they are.”

His slight scowl is the only sign he hears me as he lowers his cup to a matching saucer and sets both on the desk. “It’s their job to report back to me. I know you believe they’re your personal protection squad?—”

“I don’t,” I interrupt, my hackles rising the way they always do when he gets this condescending tone with me. “As for last night, I did what I had to do.”

His brows lift over widening eyes. “You smashed a kid’s face in because it was what you had to do?” he asks in that deceptively controlled voice that tells me he’s more pissed than ever. “You drew attention to us because it’s what you had to do? Am I hearing you correctly?”

My molars grind as I take a slow breath. The last thing I need is to have Dante stroll in here to find us fighting. “I can’t make you understand, can I?” I ask in a low voice, intended to cover up my irritation.

His sudden laughter doesn’t make things better. “I understand perfectly,” he tells me, spreading his arms wide before laughing again. “What, you think you’re the only man who’s ever worried about the people he loves? Do you think this is anything new? Like I haven’t looked over my shoulder since the day I met your mother? Then, with each of you kids, my worries grew. There isn’t a man in our position who doesn’t know that dread. He lives with it like a tumor that can’t be removed.”

He lowers his brow and points a finger at me, his voice close to a growl. “He does not beat the shit out of a random kid who was working as a fucking busboy in a restaurant, and he sure as hell doesn’t do it in public!”

It wasn’t exactly in public. There were no witnesses, but I’m not going to bother arguing. “I did what I thought I had to do,” I amend without moving or raising my voice, letting him see how serious I am and what this means to me.

At first, his only response is a soft sigh. “That’s all any man can do,” he agrees. “Which is why I want this war over.”

His sudden shift is almost enough to make me scratch my head. “We would all like it to end,” I agree. “As soon as we track down Alessandro?—”

He waves a hand, cutting off my pointless reminder of where we are when it comes to the Vitali family. “I don’t mean that. This eye for an eye shit? It doesn’t settle anything. There’s always gonna be somebody who wants to even up the score no matter what kind of truce is called. I wanted it over for good. Giorgio Vitali is still alive. He’s still head of the family, no matter what that hotheaded kid of his thinks.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “You’re going to try to strike a truce?” I ask, almost afraid to put it into words. I want fucking blood, not a bunch of empty promises.

“If possible. Listen, Luca,” he growls out when I open my mouth to argue. Now I see he’s trembling with an intensity that leaks into every word. “One day, you’ll understand. You’ll be my age, and you’ll be talking to your son. He’ll look at you like he knows everything, he’s seen it all and done it all, and you’ll want to laugh at him because you’ll know how wrong he is.”

The flash of anger fades, replaced by what looks like sadness that hangs heavy in his voice as he slowly walks toward the leather sofa, gesturing for me to join him after he’s taken a seat. “War is a young man’s game,” he quietly observes once I’ve sat with him.

He sighs deeply, staring toward a cluster of family photos dotting the bookcase across from us. It has the effect of releasing the air from the balloon. His face sags. Suddenly, I’m reminded of how worried I’ve been for him. It’s almost like he’s taken off a mask and is showing me his true self.

He offers a gentle, knowing smile when he meets my gaze again. “Don’t tell me you want to spend the rest of your life worrying and looking for enemies everywhere you go.”

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