Page 16 of Enzo
It was the same pact we’d made as children.
6
LUCA
Ifailed them.
It was the only thought that rang loud and clear in my ears after Enrico Marchetti uttered those dreaded fucking words.
The wedding date has been set.
“Christmas Day will give us enough time to arrange it all, and it’ll be strictly family,” he continued, while I fought the urge to throw myself across the table and strangle him. Judging by the look in his eyes, Enrico knew it too. It was probably the reason he picked a very public restaurant in the heart of Rome.
“It’s too soon,” I gritted.
“Our families are meant to merge, become stronger and more powerful, so that we remain protected,” he continued as if I hadn’t spoken.
After that, I simply tuned him out. There’d be no way in fucking hell I’d help him plan this wedding. He talked about food, the wedding guest list, flowers, and location?—
“No,” I cut him off when he brought up the church in Rome. “If they’re doing this, it’ll be in Sicily, in the same church where my parents, and my wife and I got married.”
Contrary to what it appeared, sentiment had nothing to do with my decision. It had everything to do with the priest who’d do my bidding on my territory. When the time came, he would annul the marriage while anyone in Rome was on the Marchetti payroll.
“Very well,” he agreed, surprisingly easy.
The waiter brought over our food and I shot to my feet, not ready to share a meal with the man who forced me to tie my child to his family before she’d ever been born. Just looking at him brought on the horrible memories from when Margaret went into hiding, leaving me to battle the world while searching for her.
I strode out of the restaurant and onto the street where my car awaited. Light rain drizzled onto the pavement, the weather matching my gloomy mood despite the festive decorations strung in the streets and window displays.
When the back door to the car opened and my wife’s concerned gaze met mine, her expression fell. We’d gotten to a point in our marriage where we didn’t need words to understand each other.
She scooted over and patted the leather seat next to her. My chest squeezed painfully at the recognition of my failure.
I shut the door, shrouding us in darkness in the back seat, the partition separating us from the driver. The car shifted forward, away from this cursed restaurant and Enrico Marchetti.
“That bad, huh?” She sighed and took my hand in hers. I nodded, trapped in the memories when I despaired I’d lost her forever. “When?”
“Christmas Day.”
“Wow, he’s really rushing it.”
“That’s not how he sees it. He says it’s dragged on for far too long,” I retorted dryly.
For twenty years, I’d fought tooth and nail to break this cursed arrangement—just so my eldest could marry for love. But every effort ended in failure. I offered the Marchettis more territory. They declined. I gave them a bigger cut of my drug profits. Still no. I even sent the most beautiful women money could buy, Enzo Marchetti’s way, hoping one might distract him.
None of it worked. The bastard was immovable—like some kind of saint.
“Luca?”
“Hmmm.”
“We’ll get through this.” My jaw clenched and another small sigh left her lips as she began to stroke my hand. “I made a mistake running once, I won’t do that again.”
“I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”
She buried her face in my chest.
“You should. What I did wasn’t okay.” Her voice broke before she cleared her throat. “I fucked up, and I haven’t let myself forget it. Not in over twenty-one years. You made that agreement with Marchetti to protect me and our unborn child, and rather than talk it through with you, I ran.”
