Page 17 of Luca
“Relax, Luca. Unclench your fists. You look like you literally want to kill someone.”
He exhales, the tension leaving his shoulders. The next photo catches a softer mouth. The third—God help me—catches a devastating smile that makes him look ten percent less dangerous and somehow a thousand percent more so.
“Almost human now,” I say, scrolling.
“Thank you,” he says dryly. “How much longer is this going to take?”
“One more.” I line up another shot.Perfect.A flash of movement at my back barely registers. Before I can turn around, small hands snatch the phone from my grip.
"Hey!" I shout, spinning to see a girl maybe sixteen or seventeen years old already pushing through the crowd, my phone clutched in her fist.
Time slows down.
I should probably scream for help or stand there shocked. Wait for the bodyguards to handle it like a proper mafia wife would.
Instead, every instinct I've developed over years of backpacking through sketchy neighborhoods kicks in at once.
I take off running. “Come back here you little shit!”
"Sofia!" Luca shouts behind me, but I'm already weaving through the crowd, keeping my eyes locked on the girl's bright pink hair.
She's good. Really good.
Knows exactly how to use tourists as obstacles, ducking under cameras and around families. But I've been chased by everyone from angry ex-boyfriends to actual police. This is not my first rodeo.
I cut left around a group of German tourists, leap over a small barrier, and manage to get ahead of her. When she tries to dart between two gelato stands, I'm already there waiting.
She sees me coming and her eyes go wide. She tries to change direction, but she's moving too fast on the wet stone.
I tackle her.
We go down hard, both of us sliding across the ground. She drops the phone as we fall, and it skitters across the stone. But I don't care about that anymore. I'm running on pure adrenaline and years of pent-up frustration at every pickpocket, scam artist, and creep who thought they could take advantage of a solo female traveler.
"Listen to me," I yell, pinning her wrist to the ground. "You picked the wrong fucking tourist today."
The girl's eyes are huge. She's probably never had a mark fight back like this, let alone a woman in a sundress and sandals.
"I'm sorry!" she gasps. "I'm sorry, please!"
"Damn right you're sorry." I get to my feet, hauling her up with me. "And you're going to walk away from here and find a different fucking fountain to work, understand?"
She nods frantically and takes off running the moment I let go of her wrist. I walk over and pick up my phone and check it for cracks. It's fine.
That's when I realize the entire area around the fountain has gone quiet. Tourists are staring. Some are taking pictures. A few are even clapping.
Luca stands ten feet away, expression unreadable in that way that meanseverything is being read.
Behind him, Paolo and Tony are pushing through the crowd, looking like they're not sure whether to applaud or tackle me themselves.
"Boss!" Tony calls out, slightly out of breath. "We saw her run, we were coming—"
"I see that," Luca says slowly, not taking his eyes off me. "Little late though."
Paolo scowls at me. "Ma'am, you shouldn't have done that. That was dangerous, you could have been hurt—"
"But I wasn't." I hold up the phone. "She was just a kid. I’m fine."
"Yeah, a kid with a knife," Tony points out, nodding at something on the ground.
