Eight: Cold Feet
1445 Words
Three months passed in a blur, and Luka hadn’t seen or heard from Damon since the night of the fight.
The aches in his body had long since faded, but the tension hadn’t. It stayed with him, gnawing at the edges of his mind, yet there had been no signs of Damon—no follow-up, no challenge, no appearance in any of the places Luka had expected him to be. Yet he hadn’t been given much time to brood on it, his time consumed by one duty after another, primarily escorting Izzy as she moved through the endless wedding preparations. His best friend—usually so lively, with her bright smile and infectious energy—had become a shadow of herself. She moved through the motions of planning her wedding like a ghost, her usual excitement and fire nowhere to be found. It was as if the weight of the looming marriage had drained all the life from her and Luka…
He hated it.
Hated seeing her like this. Hated the slow, inevitable march toward a wedding that felt more like a death sentence than a celebration. But, most of all?
He hated that there was nothing he could do to stop it.
The union between the two gangs was moving forward, despite everyone’s unspoken apprehensions. The De Luca and Novak underlings murmured behind their leaders' backs, uncertain of what this alliance would mean for their futures. Luka overheard conversations that never should’ve been had out loud—talks of whether the union would hold, whether the families would ever truly trust each other, if such a union would ultimately result in their downfall. But none of it mattered. The deal had been made, and now the wheels were in motion they couldn't be stopped.
To the outside world, the wedding was being hailed as the event of the year. The unassuming public, who viewed the Novaks and De Lucas as nothing more than powerful business conglomerates, saw this union as a fairy tale—two heirs coming together, the ultimate coupling. It was all anyone could talk about. Newspaper headlines buzzed with the latest details of the ceremony, fashion blogs speculating what designers Izzy would wear whilst high society clamoured for an invitation to witness the merging of the two corporate titans.
Luka could see the strain behind Izzy’s eyes whenever she forced a smile for the cameras. Could hear the hollow tone in Matteo’s voice whenever he spoke about the wedding plans during an interview. He had endured months of watching Izzy try to hold herself together, doing what was expected of her, putting on a good face for the public and the press, but he knew her too well. He could see the cracks forming. She wasn’t herself and no amount of fancy decorations or luxurious venues would change that.
“Do you think it’ll ever get easier?” She asked him one evening as they walked through the venue where the ceremony was to be held.
Her voice was soft, far from her usual confident tone and Luka couldn’t bring himself to answer. What could he say? Nothing about this union was easy. Not for her. Not for Matteo. And certainly not for him. The knowledge that this was happening—despite every instinct screaming at him that it was wrong—made it harder to keep his emotions in check.
“I hate my dress.” She suddenly blurted.
Luka stopped walking, turning to face her with a look of confusion. “…What?”
“I hate it. I hate everything about it—the style, the cut, the beading, how puffy it is. It’s ridiculous and ugly.”
“Then why did you choose it?”
“I didn’t. My stylist did. Apparently, it’s the perfect dress for a De Luca bride and of course, the most expensive and in style. Everyone loves it, Luka. Everyone except me.” She said bitterly.
“Iz…” Luka's voice softened.
“I hate the veil too.” She added, her voice cracking slightly as she walked ahead, her fingers curling into fists. “It’s suffocating. This whole thing is suffocating!”
To everyone else, she was Isabella De Luca—the perfect bride, the dutiful daughter marrying into another empire. But to him, she was just Izzy. His best friend, trapped in something far beyond her control.
“Then why are you doing this?” He asked angrily.
She stopped in her tracks, shoulders tense. For a moment, it seemed like she wouldn’t answer, but then she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Because I have no choice.”
He wanted to tell her she did have a choice, that she could walk away from all of this, that she could choose to remove her blindfold and put an end to this game, but he knew better. There was no walking away from something like this. Not without consequences. Not without blood.
“I don’t want to be a bride, Luka.” She admitted turning to face him, hazel eyes filled with pain. “I love Matteo, but I don't want to be with him like this.”
Luka’s heart twisted painfully in his chest as he took a step closer, reaching out to touch her arm. “I’m sorry.” He said, knowing the words felt hollow.
He couldn’t fix this for her. He couldn’t change what was coming. He couldn't do anything.
Izzy smiled weakly, shaking her head. “It’s not your fault. You’re the only one who sees it, who sees me. Everyone else just sees the De Luca heir. Even Matteo, now.” She paused, her voice faltering as she looked down at the floor. “He hates me, Luka.”
He had seen it too, in Matteo’s guarded expression, the way his jaw tightened every time the wedding was mentioned and in the tension in the air whenever they were together, the way they barely looked at each other anymore. This wasn’t just suffocating Izzy; it was trapping Matteo too, forcing both of them into a cage neither had asked for.
“Then why don’t you tell him the truth?” He asked, searching her face for answers.
“What good would it do?” She whispered. “It won’t change anything. Our marriage isn’t about love. It’s about our families and Matteo and I... We’re just pawns in all of this. Him knowing my reasoning won’t change that.”
Luka shook his head, taking a step closer, his voice firm. “But it would stop him thinking you had a part in it, that you wanted it. Maybe if you talk to him—”
"Talk to him?" She interrupted, looking up with a bitter smile. "Do you think Matteo wants to hear anything I have to say at this point? You’ve seen how it is between us."
Luka opened his mouth to argue, to reassure her that things weren’t as hopeless as they seemed, but the look in her eyes—the quiet defeat—stopped him. She was carrying a burden that wasn’t hers to bear and it killed him that he couldn’t lift it for her. She sighed, her shoulders slumping as she leaned against the window, her voice so soft it was barely a whisper.
“It’s just easier this way. If Matteo knew the truth, I think it would hurt him even more. At least this way, he can focus his anger on me, believe I’m some selfish b***h who wanted to trap him.”
“You shouldn’t have to be the one to carry this—”
“But I am.” She cut him off, voice trembling. “I have to be. If he knew... If Matteo understood the real reason why this is happening, the lies, the threats—he’d blame himself and I don’t want that for him. At least if he thinks it’s me, if he can hate me for it, then he’s not hating himself.”
Luka’s throat tightened, his anger at the situation mixing with helplessness. He wanted to tell her she didn’t need to shoulder this alone, that Matteo deserved to know the truth. But the way she spoke, the way her voice broke when she said his name, Luka realized that this wasn’t just about duty—it was about protecting Matteo. Even if it meant sacrificing herself in the process.
“Is that really what you want?”
Izzy gave him a small, sad smile. “What I want doesn’t matter anymore.” She looked out the window, her eyes distant. “It never did.”
- Writer
