Page 46 of Luca
Istared up at the white ceiling of my little room above the tavern.
It has been weeks since I arrived in Sicily. Weeks since I spoke to my brothers. Or my cousin. I missed my family. It was the first time since I was born that I was truly alone.
Some mornings I’d wake up and think I was still home. I’d even found myself longing for it. Not for my mother. Or the idiotic arrangements she and Uncle kept trying to make for me. I longed to talk to people that I knew cared for me and that I cared for.
Another hour and I’d have to make my way downstairs. I fucking sucked at my job. Day after day I’d waited for the owner to fire me. He hadn’t and I suspected it had something to do with the sweet old man who ran the Sicilian mafia.
So typical. I escaped the world of the New York Irish mafia only to get in the heart of the Sicilian mafia. A helping hand had been extended by the most unlikely man. I hoped that hand didn’t end up smacking me in the head.
I hadn’t made any friends here. Signore DiMauro was the only man willing to talk to me in this place. Women steered clear of me. Children too.
My eyes darted to my cell phone on the nightstand. It wasn’t as if anyone would call me. Nobody knew that number. But my fingers practically itched to dial one of my brothers’ cell numbers.
“We can’t call them, Luna,” I murmured softly, rubbing my belly. I’d been going through a list of names for the past month trying to settle for the one I liked the best. I was currently on the twenty-third name. “They’ll want to come and save us. Then I’ll have to marry someone. Although they’ll probably be dead before we step foot in a church.”
A soft kick and I smiled. My little girl understood me. She has been the only thing to keep me going. Keeping me sane.
I had to get my shit together. I had less than two months before the baby was due and I was nowhere near ready. All I had was diapers. The money I was able to get back from the scumbag who stole from me was long gone.
Ten thousand should have lasted me longer. I bought cute maternity clothes, went to see a local Ob/Gyn and bought prenatal vitamins, and paid for my room. It was that easy to go through ten grand.
I should have done better managing the money. Unfortunately, controlling my spending was never something I had to worry about, so I spent it unreasonably. And too fast. It made me realize how spoiled I was growing up. I never wanted or needed anything.
“Well, dwelling on all that won’t do us any good. Will it, Bella?” I murmured, rubbing my belly and shifting out of the bed. Jesus, I was all over the place with the names. I really had to nail it down. I hoped one name would strike me and I’d know right away it was the right name.
“No, not Bella,” I grumbled, my thoughts immediately shifting to Luca King.
I shook my head and headed into the bathroom. Taking a quick shower, I got dressed and wobbled slowly down the stairs.
“Ah, donna mia,” the owner exclaimed exasperatedly. I swore the old guy cringed every time he saw me. He probably hid all his good dishware.
If he had any left, I thought wryly to myself.
Some old Italian music played in the background. The tavern smelled like homemade wine. Gross. And the chatter of people in Italian had my head buzzing. I’d catch every tenth word.
“Hello, Paolo,” I greeted him, forcing a smile. I wasn’t exactly thrilled with this job, but it was the only one that anyone on the island would give me.
Thanks to Mr. DiMauro for putting in a word.
So here I was, acting like a civilized and temperamental Irish wench.Literally.A damn wench in a tavern that looked like it dated back to World War I.
Paolo muttered some Italian words, rolled his eyes, and handed me an apron.
“Go clean tables.” His thick accent made the word sound liketableau. “Do not touch.” The apron pushed into my hands, he emphasized. “Anything.”
I shook my head. God, I had fallen. From killing men and fighting human trafficking to this.This!Being told not to touch anything. It was like being a two-year-old kid all over again.
Putting the apron on, it barely covered my belly, I took a rag and started cleaning tables. One, then the other. Lost in my thoughts, I moved on to the next table when my butt bumped into the occupied table and rattled it off its skinny table legs.
With horror I watched as the plates smashed against the rustic tiled floor, the entire scene playing out in slow motion.
A string of temperamental words left Paolo’s lips. His hands waved up and down, and I was fairly certain he was firing me. Maybe wishing me off this island.
Pronto!I learned that word fairly quickly. It meant quickly. Paolo and all his guests always wanted everythingpronto.
“Ah, fuck,” I grumbled, my hand immediately on my belly rubbing it gently. “We fucked up, Alice.”
Paolo was still cursing me to the moon and back probably but I tuned him out, holding my back and readying to lower myself down.
