Chapter 7-LUCA
877 Words
The flight from Milan to the family estate in Tuscany was a grueling test of endurance. Every time the jet banked, the stitches in my side pulled like hot wires. I refused the morphine Marco offered. I needed the pain; it was the only thing keeping me focused while my mind kept drifting back to the hotel suite, and the woman with the steady hands and stormy eyes.
"We are landing, Don Luca," Marco said, his voice low. "Your father is in the study. He’s been... vocal about the security failure."
"I’m sure he has," I rasped, buttoning my shirt over the bandages. I didn't need a psychic to tell me what Lorenzo De Santis thought of a son who got himself cornered by the Valenti.
The estate was a fortress of stone and vine, but as I walked through the halls, it felt like a tomb. I pushed open the heavy doors to my father’s study without knocking.
Lorenzo sat behind his desk, the light of the setting sun casting long, skeletal shadows across his face. He didn't look up. He just poured two fingers of grappa, the ice clinking against the glass like a funeral bell.
"You look pale, Luca," he said, his voice a gravelly blade. "The Valenti didn't just bite; they drew blood. You were sloppy. A Don doesn't get ambushed in his own city."
"The leak was internal, Father. I’ve already burned the rot out," I replied, sitting opposite him and ignoring the flare of agony in my gut.
"And yet, you survived," he looked up then, his icy blue eye, the twin to my left, narrowing. "Reports say you vanished from the warehouse and reappeared at the hotel. Who treated the wound? We checked the hospital records. Nothing."
I stared back at him, my expression a mask of stone. If he knew a civilian, a woman, had seen me at my weakest, he would consider it a liability. He’d have her eliminated to close the loose end.
"I handled it myself," I lied, my voice steady. "I found a kit. I’m not a child, Lorenzo. I don’t need a nurse to stitch a scratch."
He let out a dry, hacking laugh. "A scratch? You were gray when you got into that SUV. But fine. Keep your secrets. I don't care how you survived, as long as you can still stand. You have a purpose again."
"And what is that? More Valenti blood?"
"Better," he stood up, leaning his heavy palms on the desk. "We are flying to New York tonight. The Snow Syndicate is in a corner. The Sokolovs are strangling their supply lines, and Mikhail is too much of a coward to fight back alone. We’ve reached an agreement. A merger."
I stiffened. I knew the price of a De Santis merger. "You’ve sold me off."
"I’ve secured our empire," he snapped. "You will marry the Snow heiress. It’s the only way to link their intelligence networks to our fleet. Without this blood bond, the Valenti would eventually find a way to finish what they started in Milan."
A cold weight settled in my stomach. I thought of the name on the ID badge I took back in Milan. Snow. For a split second, a wild, impossible thought flashed through my mind. Could the doctor be the heiress? Could Nadia Snow be the woman I'm destined to marry?
I almost let out a dark laugh at the absurdity. No. The woman in Milan had been a professional, calm, skilled, and independent. The Snow heiress was a woman who had spent ten years hiding behind daddy’s money. She was probably some spoiled brat who spent her days shopping on Fifth Avenue and her nights ordering servants around. She wouldn't know the first thing about a scalpel or an arterial nick.
She's probably already picking out which maid she'll bully next, I thought bitterly. While the doctor is out there, actually saving lives.
"Her name is irrelevant," Lorenzo said coldly, turning his back to me to look out at the vineyards. "Her blood is what matters. She is the Snow heiress, and she is the price of our survival. You will fly to New York, you will stand at her side, and you will play the part of the devoted groom. Do you understand, or must I remind you what is at stake here, Luca?"
I stood up, the pain in my side a roar now, but I didn't flinch. "I understand perfectly. You want a puppet. Just don't be surprised when the strings snap."
I walked out before he could respond, my heels clicking sharply on the marble. I didn't care about the "Snow heiress." I didn't care about my father's desperate grab for power.
My mind was still back in Suite 412. I looked at the burner phone in my hand, tempted to check the dossier Fabiano was compiling on the doctor.
Nadia Snow.
I had a debt to settle with a doctor in Chicago, and my father was dragging me to New York to marry a ghost. I’d play his game for now, but once I was in the States, I was going to find Nadia. And God help anyone who stood in my way, including my new bride.
- Writer
