Page 79 of That Time I Accidentally Took Over the Mafia

It’s simple but comforting, the first thing I ever learned to cook—taught to me by Luca.

I toss the ingredients together with olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and a dash of red pepper flakes for flavor. As I take a bite, I’m transported back to that tiny dorm kitchen, where Luca and I used to whip this up between study sessions. It’s a bittersweet memory of a time when I was utterly, hopelessly in love with him.

And then he broke my heart.

No time like the present to find out why.

Iwalk into Luca’s office, balancing two bowls of pasta. I set one down in front of him, and he doesn’t move for a second, still staring at the computer screen. His fingers hover over the keys, frozen.

He closes his eyes, and I know exactly what’s happening. Every memory of us cooking this very thing together floods back to him, and I can practically feel the weight of it in the room. It’s painful.

“It’s just pasta,” I lie, trying to make light of it.

“No,” he whispers, eyes still shut tight, as if letting the moment wash over him. “it’s not.”

“I know it’s not,” I reply quietly, my voice soft.

I sit down in the chair across from him and stretch my legs, resting my feet on the adjacent chair. I spear a few pieces of penne and eat, the comforting familiarity of the dish grounding me.

Luca leans back in his chair, grabs his bowl, and turns toward me. We eat in silence, neither of us in a hurry to break it.

The encounter in the hallway yesterday afternoon still lingers, like a bruise I don’t know how to treat. It was explosive, but not in the way I had hoped. The rush of emotions—anger, pain, longing—still stings in the back of my throat. I can see it now, that young man who once gave me everything, tucked in the way Luca holds himself now. Deep down, I know he's still in there. That 23-year-old college kid who took all my firsts—the first love, the first heartbreak. He’s still sitting here, just like he was that day he ran away from me.

The last six years feel like a void between us. But today, right now, it’s like none of it happened. I’m here, and I’m ready to finally understand why he left.

Taking his empty bowl I place it in mine, sitting our dishes in the seat I just occupied.

Closing the laptop behind me, I slide it back and sit on his desk. I set a pack of playing cards from my back pocket down next to me and tap them twice.

“It’s your shuffle.”

Luca’s forearms are resting on the chair’s arms, fingers clasped in front of him. He cracks his knuckles slowly, his gaze fixed on the deck of cards. His expression is neutral, but I can see the storm brewing in his eyes, swirling with conflict.

“So, this is how we’re going to do it?” His voice holds the weight of unspoken words, but he doesn’t say them.

I nod once, a simple gesture, but it carries everything. “Yes.”

His eyes flick to me, then back to the cards. Without another word, he sighs and picks up the deck, shuffling with the practiced precision I remember so well. He was always good with cards—spending hours shuffling, perfecting tricks until they flowed seamlessly.

I was always fascinated with his hands. The deft movements of his fingers across his keyboards. The elegant mastery over theway he handles these flimsy cards. How they felt holding me, drawing out the first stirrings of pleasure from my body.

And here he is now, still flawless, handling the deck with the ease of someone who’s been doing it his entire life.

I raise an eyebrow at him, watching as he flicks the cards between his hands. A tiny, fleeting smile tugs at one corner of his mouth. It’s not much, but it’s enough to make my heart flutter with hope.

The smile doesn’t last. The walls go up again, and I can feel the tension in the air like static before a storm. But it’s a start, I think. A crack in the armor that I want to shatter.

This is a game we used to play when we were getting to know each other. If I pulled an even card, I got to ask a question. An odd card meant Luca had his turn. And the face cards… well, those meant we got to get even more personal. Black for me. Red for Luca. We can ask for anything we want. A kiss, a touch… something more.

A simple game, but one that somehow always managed to make us dig a little deeper into each other’s souls.

Luca sets the deck down, sliding it closer to me. “Go ahead.” he says, his voice almost tight.

I touch the first card, feeling the cool against my fingers as I flip it over.

Two of hearts.

I stare at the card, my question already clear in my mind. “Why did you run away from me?”

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