Chapter 83
She needed air. Space. Distance. He could feel it the way one feels cold before the wind hits. She needed to escape the conversation.
He watched her go, watched the door close behind her. Luca leaned back against the sofa, eyes closing as he exhaled a long, tired breath that dragged pain through his ribs.
He should have waited.
If he had known he would meet a woman like Veronica Scalese, he would have waited. He would have endured his father’s pressure longer. He would have been more stubborn. More defiant. He would have told the old man no and meant it. He would have delayed the marriage, delayed the convenient union.
But he hadn’t known.
The timing mocked him.
Marco stayed busy when Luca was indisposed. Specifically, he worked on Bastardi’s men.
Luca had been very clear.
Keep them alive but torture them till an inch of their life. He wants the satisfaction of killing them himself.
They had touched Luca’s woman. That alone sealed their fate.
So Marco went above and beyond.
Marco was thorough. He was creative. He was patient.
Every scream echoed Luca’s rage. Every drop of blood was interest accrued. Marco made sure they understood why this was happening.
So when Luca arrived in the cell and Marco caught the slight, lazy lift of his lips, he knew instantly that Luca approved. Bastardi’s men were tied to chairs in a neat row, faces swollen, lips split, bodies already ruined by Marco’s meticulous work. They looked up when Luca entered, eyes glassy, hope flaring for half a second before dying when they saw the gun in his hand.
Luca did not speak. He did not posture. He did not threaten. He simply raised the gun and shot the first man in the forehead, point blank. The second man screamed, a wet, animal sound, before Luca shot him too. The third tried to beg, words tumbling over each other, but Luca was already pulling the trigger again. Three shots.
Three bodies slumped forward, blood painting the floor in thick, dark arcs.
The fear in Bastardi’s eyes was exquisite. Bastardi was chained to a steel chair bolted into the floor, his expensive suit torn and stained, his carefully groomed hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. Luca turned slowly toward him, breathing in deeply.
“Bastardi Luca said softly, almost fondly.
“Luciano, think about this,” Bastardi blurted out. “We can fix this. We can make a deal p>
“I am thinking about this,” Luca replied. “I am. You put a gun on what’s mine. You threatened what’s mine. Tell me something, Bastardi. What do you do to the men who harm the girls you sell and pimp out p>
Bastardi swallowed hard. “I kill them p>
Luca nodded slowly. “So answer me this. Do you deserve anything but death p>
Bastardi’s bravado collapsed completely then. His shoulders sagged. His eyes darted to the bodies beside him, then back to Luca. “Luciano, I didn’t know. I swear. I didn’t know she mattered to you p>
“You didn’t know,” he repeated. “People lied. Ignorance isn’t bliss, Bastardi..” He leaned in closer, his breath warm against Bastardi’s face. “It fucks you up. It brings you closer to death. And right before the end, the devil stares you straight in the eye p>
“I’m sorry,” Bastardi whispered.
“I should kill you. I want to kill you. I would kill you if your death would keep her safe.” He stood in front of Bastardi. His gun hung loosely in his hand, barrel pointed toward the floor, but the threat of it filled the cell more completely than the stench of blood ever could. “But it won’t,” he continued, tilting his head slightly, studying Bastardi the way one studied a flaw in marble. “Your death would kick up dust I do not want. Eyes where I don’t need them p>
Bastardi whimpered, his bravado long gone. “So here is what is going to happen,” Luca said patiently. “You will limp out of here. And if you come an inch near her or her sister, if I even hear a whisper of your shadow brushing against her existence, I will pay your brother a visit. I will tell him everything. I will hand your empire to the police wrapped in a neat little bow. Trust me,” he added, “I have been itching to do that for a very long time p>
“I promise,” Bastardi sobbed, nodding frantically. “I will stay away from her. I swear on my life. On everything p>
“Good,” Luca said simply.
He straightened, lifted the gun one last time, and without warning shot Bastardi in the leg. The crack of the gunshot was followed by a scream. Bastardi collapsed sideways in the chair, veins bulging, blood pouring freely. Luca watched him writhe. “I did tell you you would limp out of here,” he remarked dryly.
He turned on his heel and walked out of the cell. Marco fell into step behind him immediately, already calculating cleanup, logistics.
“Let him go,” Luca said over his shoulder.
“Yes, boss,” Marco replied without hesitation.
He had spared Bastardi not out of mercy, but strategy. Because keeping her safe mattered more than indulging his rage.
“You realise that by letting him go, you just announced to the world that you have a weakness p>
“I dare anyone,” Luca said evenly, fingers flexing once at his side, “to breathe heat around her. I would kill the devil himself for her and not lose a minute of sleep.” He glanced back, eyes sharp, mouth curving just enough to be dangerous. “My next guest p>
“He’s being brought into your office,” Marco answered.
“Good p>
Luca entered his office and lowered himself into the chair behind the desk. The movement pulled at his side, a dull reminder of the knife wound, but it was healing.
Veronica had chosen distance. The pizza parlor had become her refuge, long hours, an easy excuse to avoid the mansion and him. She left before dawn, came back long after midnight, her world shrinking deliberately so she wouldn’t have to look at his. Luca had given her space. But patience had limits.
Enough was enough.
He picked up his phone and typed quickly, decisively.
Dinner date tonight. Dress up.
The office door opened moments later. Marco shoved Vito inside. The older man stumbled, caught himself on the edge of the desk, then straightened, eyes darting everywhere except Luca’s face. He looked smaller, shoulders slumped, skin greyed. This was not a man built for courage.
This was a man who survived by choosing himself every time.
Compared to Bastardi and his men, Vito had been treated kindly. Clean room. Food. Water. Luca needed his mind sharp, uncluttered by pain.
“Scalese,” Luca said, folding his hands on the desk, “how is the detox going p>
His skin looked sallow under the office lights, sweat clinging to his hairline. He nodded too quickly. “Uh… uh… fine. Fine,” he stammered, licking his lips. “Thank you for the accommodations p>
“I don’t know if anyone has told you,” he said mildly, “but for a girl as pure as Veronica, you are a pretty shitty father p>
Vito’s shoulders sagged. “I know,” he said hoarsely. “I know.” He leaned forward, desperation leaking into his voice. “I made mistakes. I was weak p>
Luca lifted a single hand.
“Save it. I am not interested in the origin story of your failures.” He leaned back in his chair. “It has become abundantly clear that you are the bane of her existence. You are not a father. You are a liability p>
Vito swallowed hard, eyes darting to the door, to anywhere but Luca’s face.
“If it were anyone else,” Luca continued, “I would have you killed and move on with my day. But I will make you an offer.” He leaned forward now, elbows on the desk, eyes boring into Vito’s skull. “You will leave town. Immediately. You will not contact your daughters. You will have nothing to do with them p>
Vito’s mouth opened. “Luca p>
“You will leave the pizza parlor to Veronica and Valentina,” Luca went on, cutting him off without raising his voice. “Lord knows she has worked there more than you ever have. You will sign everything over. You will disappear p>
Vito’s eyes filled, but Luca did not look away. He wanted him to feel it. The severing. The amputation of the only things that had ever mattered, even if Vito had never known how to hold them without crushing them.
“Luca Vito whispered again.
Luca’s gaze sharpened. “One question,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “It has been nagging me.” His fingers tapped once on the desk, a quiet, lethal rhythm. “You clearly do not care about the pizza parlor. You ran it into the ground. You drank the profits. You gambled the rest. So tell me why you wanted your competitor, Paul Marino, dead p>
“And don’t lie to me, Vito,” Luca added softly. “I will know p>
“I do care about it,” Vito said quickly. He stepped closer to the desk, hands fluttering. “He wanted to buy the shop. I… I was desperate. The shop wasn’t doing too well. I collected half the money. Half. I thought I could fix it. I thought if I put the money back into the shop, give it a facelift, that I’d be able to replace what I took p>