Page 7 of Checkmate

The plaid black and gray bedding is still on the unmade bed. I can’t even begin to count how many times that unmade bed caused a family feud. My parents could never understand why he refused to let the maids that worked in the house make up the bed. Leo would always say it was never as comfortable once it had been made. I never understood his theory, but I didn’t argue with him. I felt like it was his bed and his prerogative. I smile to myself as I think about it, seeing his bed still messy from sleep now brings back all those memories.

His walls are still littered with the posters from his favorite 90s grunge and rock bands like: Nirvana, Metallica, Pantera, and even Green Day. The days of him driving us around Las Vegas with that music blaring comes back to mind. I used to give him so much grief over his music choices. Then again, he did the same to me and my boy band obsession.

This whole room is like having him back—almost. He was everywhere I looked. The scent of that dumb Irish Spring soap he used still lingered in the room. I walked over to his bed and sat down before my knees gave out. A picture on the bedside table catches me off guard and breaks the last piece of my heart still holding it together. Sitting on his bedside table is a picture of me and him, it’s at one of the events that dad made us go to. We’re all dressed up. I’m laughing, barely paying attention to the camera or him. The tears slip slowly down my cheeks. I pick the picture up and study Leo. We were so different in appearance. He was my father made over and I favored our mother.

“You know, he always said you looked truly happy in that picture.”

Startled, I look up and see those sapphire blue eyes that are so unique in my world. They aren’t a color that I normally see, surrounded by so many Italians. I quickly wipe away the evidence of tears and clear my throat, before placing the picture back on the table. “I was happy there.”

Luca nods his head slowly as he nears me. “He made it sound like that was a rare occurrence for you during your time in Vegas.”

I tilt my head to the side, studying him, trying to figure out who Luca is. “It wasn’t that rare.”

He nods. “Look, Miss Giordano...”

I hold my hand up to stop him from speaking. His wide eyes meet mine. “Luca, I’m not Miss Giordano. In my world I’m Bilotti, but regardless, you can just call me, Vivianna. I’ll never claim the Giordano name.”

“Yes, Vivianna, I understand that you don’t want me shadowing you, but I have to agree with your father. Given the circumstances, it’s best if you have security with you. If you don’t want it to be me, I understand and I’ll speak to your father,” he tells me.

My eyes narrow, suspicion ebbs its way into my body. Who is this guy? He doesn’t fit into this world. “It’s fine.”

“He’s just trying to protect you,” Luca tells me.

“No, he isn’t. He doesn’t give two shits about what happens to me, he never has. I never obeyed rules. I refused to be the perfect mafia princess for him, so he marked me off in his book.” Luca seems truly shocked by my words if the look on his face is any indication. “Surely, you know that if you cross my father or fall out of line, he marks you off. You might as well be as good as dead to him.” I let him process for a few moments in silence before asking, “So, is he making you stay here, or do you still get to have a life and go home?”

“I’m staying here. I’ll be going home to gather some things, but I’ll be back shortly.”

I nod my head and he turns around and starts to head out of the room. “Luca.” He pauses and turns back around to face me. “You seem to know a lot about my brother and my father said you were his right-hand man?” He nods his head in response. “Then what happened? I mean, why weren’t you with him that night?”

I see the guilt in his eyes from across the room. One of his hands comes from his pant pocket and scratches at the stubble coating his jaw line. “I wish I knew what happened. I was supposed to meet him. He had texted and asked me to meet him in the back alley, which was strange, we never met there, but I didn’t question it. He gave me a time to meet, and I was on my way when it must have happened. When I rounded the corner I was… I was just too late. I should have been with him and I’m sorry I wasn’t.”

Tears are leaking from my eyes again, and if I had to guess, I’d say Luca is holding back tears of his own by the moisture building in his eyes. It’s different to see a man in this world cry. I’ve never seen my father shed a tear. He didn’t cry when my mother was killed, and I doubted he cried over Leo. Luca was a different type of man. Most of the men within my father’s ranks, Matteo included, didn’t carry guilt over death with them, not the way Luca does. It’s all part of the war to them. I may not trust anyone, but I did believe what Luca was saying. I stood up. “Do you want company while you go gather your things?”

I’ll give him credit for looking a little shocked by my offer to go with him. He nods. “Sure, if you’d like.”

“Well, it has been a while since I saw the city lights of Vegas.” I strut past him and head to my room to grab a coat. When I come out of my room, Luca is standing in the hallway waiting. “Are you ready?”

I nod. “Yeah, let’s go.” I lead us to the stairs, but before we head down, Luca steps in front of me. I don’t know if he thinks I’m going to fall or what, but I feel like this is more of a protection thing coming from him which is kind of cute. He has no idea of the gun tucked safely inside my purse and a can of pepper spray sitting in the pocket of my coat. I may not have agreed to the rules of being the mafia princess, but I sure as hell know how this game is played and I’m prepared. I’m going to take the king, queen, and the whole damn board by the time I’m done with my father and Las Vegas.

Ten

Luca

What the hell was I thinking? This had bad written all over it. Vivianna didn’t trust me. ell, I was pretty sure she didn’t trust anyone. I could see it in her eyes and the way she studied everyone. She was observant and I wondered how long it would take her to figure out my true identity. Then there was the problem of what she’d do when she found out. I scrub my hands over my face while looking down onto the foyer of the house from upstairs.

Ratliff would tell me I was getting too close to the enemy. I was crossing the lines, blurring them beyond repair, and mixing business with pleasure. I was seeing Vivianna as the gorgeous woman wrapped up in intrigue and I was letting my head slip from the game. He’d remind me exactly who she is. Vivianna Rose Bilotti Giordano; princess of the Giordano mafia. Daughter of the king of the mafia underbelly that controlled most of Las Vegas.

She appears, and once again, something within the atmosphere shifts, it’s ridiculous, but true. We make our way down the stairs, and I remember that I’m supposed to be protecting her, which means I should be in front of her and not behind, enjoying the view. I dart in front of her to prove I can do my job. Problem is, my lines are so damn blurred, they might as well be washed away at this point. Technically, protecting her isn’t my job, but yet, it is. I have to play this role and I’m starting to forget where Luca Healey begins and Luca Lombardi ends.

We make the way to my car. I unlock it and open the passenger side door. A whistle comes from behind me. “A Bugatti Veyron.” I look over my shoulder and see Vivianna assessing the car. She takes her delicate, slender hand with red nails and lightly caresses the car from the headlight to the back. She makes her way around the back and comes to a stop in front of the open passenger side door. Her eyes meet mine. “It’s a nice car for a newbie.”

I shrug. “Your brother insisted.”

Her façade falters at the mention of him. Apparently, Leo is her only weakness. “He always did love these ridiculous cars,” she mumbles, with an eye roll before getting in. I shut the door and go around to the driver’s side.

The engine roars to life and my country music comes over the speakers. I normally turn my music off before I get out of the car, but I was running behind and it slipped my mind. Vivianna looks at me. “What?” I ask. When she doesn’t say anything, but continues to stare, I feel the need to defend my taste in music. “I grew up in the country, so I like the music. Like you stated earlier, not all of us are pure Italians.”

I pull out of the driveway and wait for the gates to open. I don’t miss the look of shame that washes over her features. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things. I never believed in them. I just didn’t want a babysitter.”

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