Chapter Two:Smoke and Mirrors
1220 Words
Smoke and Mirrors
The Romano estate stood on the north side of Chicago three floors of old-world wealth cloaked in iron fences, marble pillars, and secrets no one dared whisper.
Inside, Luca Romano poured himself a glass of bourbon and leaned back on a leather chair in his father’s study, surrounded by shelves of dust-covered books no one read. The fire crackled. Outside, the city was a different world.
“Are you listening to me, Luca?”
His uncle Gio stood near the desk, voice sharp. “The Alvarez shipment came in light again. Fifty grand missing. You need to handle it.”
Luca didn’t flinch. “I’ll speak to their captain tonight.”
“No. You’ll make an example of him.” Gio stepped closer, the firelight casting deep lines across his face. “Your father let you run things your way for too long. No more soft hands. We need blood.”
Luca’s jaw tightened. He stared into the amber swirl of his drink.
Gio leaned down, his voice cold. “You either remind them who the Romanos are… or they forget.”
Luca nodded once.
Gio left without another word.
The door clicked shut.
And for a moment, Luca just sat there. Quiet. Tired.
Being the heir to the Romano crime family wasn’t a life. It was a sentence. And lately, it felt like the walls were getting closer.
---
By midnight, Luca was in the back of a black SUV, driving through Little Mexico with Benny his right-hand man and Rico, the youngest of the crew, all nerves and sharp eyes.
“You want me to rough him up?” Rico asked from the back seat, twirling a silver ring on his thumb.
“No,” Luca said calmly. “I’ll handle it.”
They found Alvarez’s captain outside a taco joint, laughing with three of his men. When Luca stepped out, the laughter stopped.
“Romano,” the captain said, nodding. “Didn’t expect you out here in person.”
“That’s your first mistake,” Luca replied.
The man paled. Behind him, his boys shifted, hands twitching toward weapons.
Luca didn’t blink. “You shorted my shipment.”
“There’s a misunderstanding”
“No,” Luca interrupted. “There’s a disrespect.”
In one smooth motion, Luca drew his Glock and shot him in the knee.
The man screamed, collapsed. His crew froze.
Blood pooled fast. Cars screeched down the block, people ducked, but no one ran to help. This was Chicago. Everyone knew the rules.
Luca stepped over the man, leaned down. “Tell Alvarez if he crosses me again, I won’t aim for the knee.”
He got back in the SUV, calm as ever. Rico stared at him like he was watching the devil. Benny just drove.
Luca didn’t speak again until they were ten blocks away.
“Send his wife twenty grand.”
Rico blinked. “What?”
“He’s got two kids,” Luca said, eyes cold. “We hurt people. We don’t starve them.”
---
Back at the Romano estate, Luca showered off the blood and smoke, but he couldn’t wash off the thought of her.
Velvet.
The girl in red heels. The one who moved like silk but looked at him like she saw the scars he didn’t show. There was something in her a stillness, maybe. Or a sadness that matched his.
He’d known women. Slept with them. Spent on them. Used them.
But none stayed in his mind after he walked away.
Velvet haunted.
He opened the matchbox she’d tucked into her bra the one he’d handed her earlier and smirked at his handwriting inside.
"If you’re going to be a sin, be the one I can’t forget." L.R.
Corny. But true.
He poured another drink.
He was a criminal. A Roman. Women like her were off-limits. But limits only mattered when you planned to follow them.
---
VELVET, meanwhile, sat on her apartment floor with a sketchpad in her lap. Her long dark hair was damp from the shower, her robe threadbare, and her favourite sad playlist humming in the background.
She’d drawn him.
Not perfectly her hand had trembled halfway through the jawline but the eyes were right. Cold. Curious. Tired.
She stared at the sketch.
Why had he followed her? Men like Luca didn’t do anything for free. And no one ever looked at her like they wanted more than her body.
She should have felt fear.
But she didn’t.
She felt…
Seen.
And that terrified her more.
---
Two days passed.
She tried to shake it. Went to work. Danced. Smiled when needed. But her mind kept drifting.
On the third night, she walked into the club and Paolo, the club owner, stopped her near the dressing rooms.
“You’ve got a private client tonight,” he said, adjusting his gold chain. “Top floor. Room B.”
Velvet frowned. “I don’t do private rooms.”
“You do tonight.” His eyes dropped to the folder in his hand. “Ten grand for one hour.”
Her heart thudded.
“Who?”
Paolo smirked. “Didn’t give a name. But he said you’d remember the matchbox.”
---
The hallway to the VIP suite was dimly lit and lined with velvet wallpaper. Velvet hesitated outside Room B, one hand on the door handle, the other pressed against her thigh to stop the shaking.
She knocked once. Then pushed.
The room smelled like whiskey and leather. One single lamp glowed in the corner.
Luca sat on the couch.
Alone.
He looked up when she entered, his expression unreadable. “You came.”
Velvet shut the door behind her. “Ten grand is a hard no to say.”
He smiled. “That’s not why you came.”
She stayed near the wall, arms crossed. “You going to ask me to dance?”
“No.”
He rose slowly, took two steps toward her. “I just wanted to see you again. Without the noise.”
Her pulse quickened. “People don’t pay ten grand to talk.”
“I’m not people.”
She almost laughed. “No. You’re not.”
They stood in silence. The distance between them was small. But heavy.
He spoke first. “Have you ever thought about running away?”
She blinked. “All the time.”
“Where would you go?”
“Somewhere with ocean air. Clean sheets. A name no one knows.”
Luca nodded. “Sounds nice.”
“And you?” she asked softly. “You ever want to escape?”
His gaze darkened. “Only when I look at you.”
The words hit her like a match on dry paper.
She should have walked away. Said something clever. Set a boundary.
Instead, she stepped forward.
Close enough to smell the bourbon on his breath.
Close enough to see the shadow of his bruised knuckles.
And he didn’t touch her.
He just looked at her like a man who wasn’t allowed to want anything.
She reached up.
Brushed her fingers against the scar over his eyebrow.
He caught her wrist.
But his grip was gentle.
“You don’t belong in my world, Velvet,” he said, low.
She looked up at him. “Maybe I already do"
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