Page 109 of Luca
The next twenty minutes were spent discussing traditional dishes in the States versus in Italy or Ireland. I tuned it all out, trying to ignore the anger running through my veins. I’d kept the secret for so long but now, I felt it bubbling inside me, threatening to spill it from my lips. My mind screamed, ‘You killed Da as much as Benito,’ but I knew it’d hurt my brothers. Tyran and Kyran especially.
Christmas day was hardly the time to spill bloody secrets like that.
Penelope stirred, her hungry pitch breaking through the dining room and I shot up. It was exactly the reprieve I needed. Away from my mother’s glares and away from the ghosts that haunted me.
“I’ll go feed her.”
“I can come with you,” Luca offered but I shook my head.
“No, stay and eat. I’ll be right back.”
Heading out of the dining room, I paused in the hallway. Usually, I’d make my way upstairs to my old bedroom, but I wasn’t even sure if it was right to roam the manor. It didn’t feel like home anymore.
Luca feels like home,I realized.Luca and Penelopearehome.
Deciding against my old bedroom, I headed for the library. Taking a seat behind the six foot tall divider that had an oriental theme of Ching Ming painted on it, I sat down on the little loveseat and settled with little Penelope on my breast.
My eyes lowered down on my daughter and my chest warmed. Happiness. This was sheer happiness. Luca fed our baby pre-pumped bottles, but I preferred to breastfeed. It made me feel connected to her. I’d enjoy it for a bit longer.
Her dark curly hair bounced off her forehead, and I gently pushed it away as she latched on to my nipple and started feeding. Her hazel eyes that reminded me of her daddy slowly started drooping as she sucked in rhythmic movements.
I stared at the vivid painting of the divider. Character roofs of Japanese prayer homes. Little fishing boats. Those cute Wagasa umbrellas.
Barely five minutes into the baby's feeding, the door opened. I was just about to open my mouth when my mother’s voice stopped me.
“Now doesn’t the world work in mysterious ways?” There was a hint of sarcasm in Mother’s voice. “Long time no see, Luca King.”
I stiffened. Why was Luca with my mother? And what did she mean by long time no see. Luca never gave any inclination that he knew mother.
“Cut the bullshit, Maeve, and tell me what you want!” Foreboding rolled down my spine. “We both know you’re not the philosophical type.”
My husband’s tone was unmistakable. I should announce myself. Tell them I was here and tell my mother to leave Luca alone. But something held me back.
“What? Keeping tabs on me?” The hopeful tone of Mother’s was unmistakable. “I kept tabs on you too,” she purred. I shifted slightly, peeking between the two panels of the divider. “You look just like him. Benito.” Her red painted fingernail trailed down his tie. It made me sick to my stomach. “I bet you fuck like him too.”
Luca didn’t push her away, but he took a step back, putting some distance between them. Mother’s high-pitched laugh followed, causing Penelope to startle and I immediately soothed her, placing my palm on her little head.
“Shhh.” It was more movement of my lips and light rocking of my body than a sound I made.
“I won’t repeat myself again,” Luca gritted through clenched teeth. “What. Do. You. Want?”
“Have you told her?”
Tell me what, I wanted to ask, but I kept my lips pressed tightly. I wanted to know what was going on. It seemed Luca kept secrets from me.
“Her Da was everything to Margaret.” Mother continued when he said nothing. “I swear that girl came out of me and wanted to suck on her father’s breasts, not mine. Girls are useless in our world, you know. Their pussies are merely currency. Something to trade. Something to use. We have no power except through the men who want those cunts. Margaret stole that power from me the minute she was born, and I’ve hated her ever since.”
“Maybe she preferred her father over you because she sensed what a rotten bitch you are,” Luca deadpanned.
Mother threw her head back, her dark curls bouncing. She might be in her fifties, but she had so much work done she looked like she was in her thirties.
“It wasn’t me who shot her father though.”
I swallowed, ignoring the tremor rolling through me. I didn’t like to think about Benito shooting Da. The images of him laying in the pool of his own blood, terror in his gaze.
The piercing pain in my chest radiated, and I glanced down to my baby girl. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t feeling it too. I wanted to spare her all the pain and cruelty of this world. And the underworld had pain and suffering galore to dish out.
“I thought that would silence you,” Mother bragged with a self-satisfied smug expression on her face. “Trust me on this, Luca. If Margaret learned it was you who shot her precious Da, you’d be history before you could saywait.”
