Page 20 of Luca

Giada

After graduation four years ago, my father didn’t know what to do with me. I knew he was going to be marrying me off at some point, but no one had come to him with a marriage proposal he deemed worthy enough for a man in his position. My lack of a husband has nothing to do with me or what I want, only my father’s ego. Which suits me just fine. I wasn’t allowed to go to college. Carlo told my dad why waste money on an overpriced education when the only thing I was really good for was marrying the right man and having kids. No matter how many times I brought it up to my dad, he shot me down. I fucking hated my brother for that.

Thankfully, my father has been content to forget about me these last few years. It’s hard to find a “suitable” match when you’re the most powerful family in the state, shit, maybe even the entire country, for all I know. But it won’t last forever, so I’ve been living life to the best of my ability while I can. That means I spend as little time at the house as possible. I discovered a love for travel and have spent the last five months in Europe, visiting all of my favorite places, especially Italy.

The first time I visited my mother’s family there with my bodyguard, who thankfully wasn’t Luca, I was apprehensive, to say the least. I haven’t spoken to them much through the years. My grandmother never wanted my mother to marry my father, but she didn’t have much of a choice. Her husband worked for my grandfather, who was just as cold as my father. My father wanted her as a wife and that was that. My mother’s father died before I was born and after my mother died, my grandmother moved back to Italy to live the rest of her days with her family there. I never blamed her for leaving me; we weren’t close. My father rarely allowed her at the house. From what I remembered of her, she never had a kind word to say about the man and he wasn’t going to allow anyone in his house to say a cross word about him.

When I knocked on my grandmother’s door after so many years without seeing her, the reunion was full of tears, yet joyful. She kissed my cheeks over and over, barely believing I was there. It was the first and last time I was able to spend time with her. She passed away between my trips out there, but I never stopped visiting the family I met on my first trip. The second year I went to Italy, my cousin Isabella and I decided to travel through Europe together. We ate, drank, and shopped our way through Italy, Spain and France. It became a yearly tradition, and this year was no exception—only this time, I extended my trip to five months instead of the usual three.

Before I left, Isabella made an innocent comment about me just moving to Italy and living with her in the large apartment her parents bought for her after she graduated university. I laughed, but the cogs started turning in my mind. What if I moved to Italy? Technically, I’m an adult and don’t need my father’s permission. Even now, sitting in the car that was waiting for me at the airport, I know whether or not I can legally do as I please my father still needs to give me permission. There’s no way he’d allow me to stay if I took off without it. Determination steels my spine. This is the year I convince him to let me go, to let me live the life I want and not the one he’s mapped out but is completely disinterested in.

Pulling up to the giant house, a weight of sadness drops into my stomach. Coming home is always sad for me, and that’s a bitter pill to swallow. I hate feeling out of place in my own home, but this house has never felt welcoming. It’s a prison that feels suffocating to come back to, especially after spending time away.

The car stops in front of the looming house with tall ivory pillars in the front built to make it look extravagant and rich, much like the people living inside. It’s all a show, all an act. Sure, we’re richer than any family I know, but the cost was paid by the blood of others. The ivy reaching to the roof adds to the rich, stately feeling that my father wants people to see, but all I see is a cold mausoleum where happiness goes to die.

God, I really didn’t want to come back here.

“Welcome home,” one of the guards says after opening the door for me.

“Thank you.” My voice is soft and meek, like I’ve been trained to keep it since I was a young girl. Nothing like the woman I was allowed to be in my time away. Yes, I’d had a guard with me, Benny, but with only the one around it was easy to pretend I was some rich heiress on vacation instead of being under my father’s thumb. Plus, Benny liked his wine with dinner and was usually in bed by ten o’clock. It didn’t exactly take stealth of any kind for Isabella and me to sneak past his room and have a night on the town here and there. It was nothing like being in the States and having guards constantly roaming the property. Not that that was able to stop me when I was in high school.

After the night of the party in the woods, when that guy attempted to drug me, I never snuck out to one of those parties again. Not because Luca demanded it of me, but because after he beat the hell out of that kid, no one hardly looked at me. I was persona non grata for the rest of my senior year of high school. If there were any more parties, I certainly didn’t hear about them. The only person who would still have anything to do with me was Bianca, but since she went away to university, our time together has been limited, to say the least. I see her when she’s home on winter break, but that’s about it since I’ve been spending my summers anywhere but here. Bianca graduated college this year while I was away. I can’t believe it’s already been four years since we were in school and we were sneaking out to go to high school parties. It will be a nice change of pace to have someone to spend time with outside of the house while I’m home.

Walking into the house with the ornately carved marble table in the foyer, I spot a huge vase of calla lilies sitting on top. Though I love the beautiful flowers, they always remind me of a funeral. White calla lilies were strewn over my mother’s casket at her funeral. It’s a reminder that beautiful things come to die in this house and this life.

While the other guards bring in my bags, I take a little detour into the kitchen to grab myself some water before going to my room and unpacking. I’m not surprised my dad or brother didn’t come to greet me when I walked through the door, but I’d be lying if the stark reminder of the difference between the warm family I’ve come to love in Italy and the coldness of the one I have here didn’t sting just a little. I’ve long since given up the illusion that I’m anything more than a bargaining chip for my father, but I never feel it quite as sharply as when I first walk through that door after months away. I just chalk it up to the little girl I used to be, wanting to do everything to make her daddy love her and pay attention to her.

The bright yet silent kitchen greets me as I make my way to the stainless steel sink and pour myself a glass of water. A brief memory flits through my mind of my mother kneading bread on the white marble countertop, flour all over the front of her apron and a smudge of it on her nose while I sat on the counter next to her with one of my dolls. She gave this kitchen life when she was alive, always singing and a lot of times dancing with me while we waited for whatever she was baking to be pulled from the oven. It’s one of my favorite memories because of how important she made me feel by allowing me in her space. She’d always have a smile on her face as I rambled about whatever nonsense a four-year-old girl came up with, never making me feel like a nuisance.

Startling out of my memory with the slam of the back door, I turn and see the one person I never expected to lay eyes on again in this house.

Luca Bennetti.

“Well, look who finally came home to her castle.” His voice is still rich, with a deep timbre rolling off his tongue. He doesn’t have the typical Boston accent since he didn’t grow up here. I think I overheard someone calling him the California kid at some point, but he doesn’t sound like someone who grew up on the beach surfing every day, either. With great irritation, I have to admit the last few years haven’t been unkind to him. He seems to fill out his suit even better than the last time I saw him. My eyes appraise him from the tips of his expensive black leather shoes, trailing up his long legs and over his midsection, where the only bulge I see is the one of his gun under the dark suit jacket. It’s when I get to his eyes that I realize the toll the last several years have taken on him. When I knew him before, he had a dark-blue stare that seemed to scrutinize everyone and everything around him. Now his blue gaze looks almost…haunted, as though he’s seen some things that have changed him to the very marrow of who he is. With one blink it’s gone and quickly replaced by a smirk and, dare I say, a challenge to rise to his little dig about me being some sort of princess.

“Wow, it’s a real treat to be greeted by one of Alberto’s glorified pimps on my first day back. Slap around any hookers today?”

“Nice to see you still have a mouth on you, Giada.” For a brief moment, I swear there’s a glint of pride in his gaze, but that can’t be right. Luca is like every man in this organization. To them, a mouthy female is anything but something to be proud of or even tolerate.

“What are you doing here, Luca?” I set the glass in the sink before pinning him with my amber stare. “Are you here for some business with my father as one of Alberto’s little lackeys?”

Years ago, I eavesdropped on the conversation he and that lecherous old man had with my father. I was worried Luca and I would be found out after I blackmailed him into following me to a party rather than telling my dad what I was up to. Turns out my father wanted to reward him for his loyalty to the family and put him on a crew that dealt in the prostitution side of the family’s business.

“Alberto’s dead,” he says with no regret behind his words. “I’m here until things…settle.”

I have no idea what that means, and honestly, I don’t care. Having my teenage crush in the house again isn’t going to affect me in any way. Nope. Not at all.

“Well, you have fun around here. I’m sure it’s not as exciting as what you’ve been up to the last four years but don’t worry, I have no doubt you’ll fall right back into a routine.”

“We will,” he says with a small smirk playing on his lips.

“Excuse me? What do you mean we?”

“Your father wants you to have a personal guard, and I drew the short straw.”

Welcome home to your own personal hell, Giada.

I shoot Luca an obstinate look, my eyes narrowing on his smug face. “We’ll see about that.”

---