Page 78 of That Time I Accidentally Took Over the Mafia

As we pull up to the main farmhouse, its charm is undeniable. The footprint of the original home is surrounded by an expansive two-story upgrade. To the side, a detached four-car garage matches the aesthetic. The buildings are painted white with black accents, creating the quintessential farmhouse look.

Stepping out of the car, I take in the surroundings and inhale the scent of fresh grass. It’s lovely here.

Luca wastes no time opening the back of the SUV and dragging Marco onto the ground by his collar. Leaving him on the gravel drive to struggle, Luca retrieves several bags, then strides toward the covered porch. “I’ll be inside,” he calls back.

Jax grabs the remaining bags, hoists Marco off the ground, and tosses him back into the SUV before slamming the door. Enzo looks at me with a mix of caution and apology, though his expression leaves no room for debate.

I brace myself for whatever he’s about to say.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he begins.

“No,youdon’t look atmelike that,” I snap back, folding my arms over my chest.

“We have to go have a…”

“A ‘conversation’with Mr. Serrano,” I finish, grinning as I wrap my arms around his waist. He pulls me into a firm hug. “Just be careful, okay?”

Enzo visibly relaxes, clearly expecting more resistance from me. But I knew this was part of the plan when we decided to nab Marco. They’re going to press him for any information they can get.

“Don’t worry about us, angel. You’ll be okay while we’re gone. Luca won’t?—”

“I’ll be fine.” Rising on my toes, I kiss him. “Maybe… he and I can talk.”

Enzo nods, his gaze softening as it flickers between my eyes. He seems to decide it’s out of his hands because he hugs me tighter, his heartbeat steady against my ear. “We’re going to be… a while,” he says, stepping back.

Jax gives me a quick, chaste kiss on the cheek before climbing into the passenger seat.

“Where are you going?” I call as Enzo rounds the car to the driver’s side.

Jax rolls down the window, hanging his arm out. “Luca has his very own murder barn!” he announces gleefully, like they’re heading to an amusement park. Marco’s muffled cries from the backseat punctuate his declaration.

“You’re incorrigible!” I yell back as the SUV drives off, following the gravel path past the house and deeper into the property.

Turning back to the farmhouse, I take a deep breath and step inside.

The interior exudes warmth. The soft scent of aged wood and leather is instantly inviting. It’s almost too cozy, like a home that’s been lived in for generations. The kind of place where the floors creak in all the right spots and every corner tells a story.

The walls are lined with framed photos—Luca at various stages of his life. Baby pictures, school portraits, and those awkward teenage years when he looked like he was still learning to walk upright. It’s oddly comforting to see him like this, smiling in that way only Luca can. I kind of want to reach through the frame and ruffle his hair, imagining how soft it must have been.

One thing strikes me as odd: there are plenty of photos of Luca with people I can tell are clearly his family, but not a single one of his mother. My finger hovers over one of the frames as I frown. I only met her once—when my father introduced us. Lucahad bolted out of the room faster than I’ve ever seen anyone move and her absence here feels deliberate.

Maybe she wasn’t part of the picture for a reason.

That awkward night is burned into my memory—my father trying to present us as a “perfect family.” A week later, he casually mentioned their marriage had been annulled. That was the day I packed up and left, determined to avoid Stepmom #6. My first love ruined over a week-long marriage.

I got my own townhouse and learned how to survive on my own. That’s when I met Jax. He was… exactly the distraction I needed. And he was very good at it.

Walking past a room with double glass doors, I pause, catching sight of Luca inside. The office is simple—bare walls, a few shelves, and several computers stacked on a desk. He’s hunched over a keyboard, fingers flying with the precision of someone who knows exactly what he’s doing.

It reminds me of just how skilled those hands are… if you’re picking up what I’m putting down.

Ever since he discovered the blackout net, it’s like he knows where to find that shadow he’s been chasing. He’s determined to uncover that final, elusive piece of the puzzle. The intensity in his expression makes me wonder how much of the Luca I used to know is still there—the one who made me laugh until I cried.

I linger for a moment, watching him work. But I can’t bring myself to say anything. Not yet. Instead, I head toward the kitchen, my stomach growling like I haven’t eaten in days.

The kitchen feels serene, a stark contrast to the rest of the house. It’s functional yet personal, with an organized lived-in charm. The fridge is stocked with fresh produce, the bright colors inviting. Someone must have recently arranged everything—it looks pristine.

My eyes land on a bundle of fresh basil, vibrant and green, alongside plump cherry tomatoes, and soft mozzarella balls. Igrin, knowing exactly what I’ll make: penne pasta with tomatoes, mozzarella, and basil.

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