Valerio nods. “A messy one. They want Manhattan territory. They’re testing how close they can get to Luca’s end of the river without bleeding for it.”
Riccardo scoffs. “Then they’re fucking stupid.”
“More than stupid,” Luca murmurs, draping an arm behind me like a silent claim. “They’re desperate.”
I sip my coffee, trying to act like I’m not hanging on every word. But my mind spins. Hits. Signatures. Territory.
They’re not just CEOs with a taste for drama, then. The rumors are true. They’remafia.
And Luca,my Luca,is one of the Five Kings of New York.
The realization should terrify me. If even half the rumors I’ve overheard in the backroom at Notte Bianca are true, these men have blood on their hands. Power that isn’t confined to boardrooms. Influence that can’t be voted out.
But as I glance at the way Luca cuts my croissant in half before handing me the better piece, something inside me softens.
Last night, he saved me. First from Clive, then from Viktor. He scooped me up into his arms, made me feel things I'd never felt before, and gave me somewhere safe to stay.
He protected me. He cared for me. He fell in love with me.
He may be mafia, but he’s good tome.
So I won't run. I won't fight this. After last night, I'm not sure I could ever live without him. Is it too fast? Maybe, but it's real. Our love is real.
And if he wants me by his side, he'll have me.
All of me.
When we finish, Alberto checks his phone. “Neri’s expecting you in an hour, boss.”
Luca groans quietly. “Of course he is.”
He turns to me, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “I won’t be long. You’ve got the place to yourself. Room service, the jacuzzi, whatever you want.”
I smile up at him. “Okay. I'll be here when you come back.”
He kisses my forehead. "Almost thought you'd run the first chance you got. In case you didn't get the memo, I'm not exactly a saint."
"You're mine." I tilt my head so it's my lips he's kissing. "Nothing else matters."
"Cazzo." He growls that word like it burns. Like, suddenly, the prospect of having to part from me is torture. "I'll be back by lunch."
"Okay. See you soon."
The others rise, exchanging amused glances. "See you around, Miss," says Alberto. "I have a feeling next time I see you, you'll be in a white dress."
That makes me blush, but Luca doesn't deny it.
They walk out the door. Just like that, I’m alone again.
I drift through the penthouse like I’m underwater, limbs light and slow, the disbelief still clinging to me like steam.
Eventually, I find myself in the spa wing—yes,wing—where a white-tiled sanctuary houses a sunken jacuzzi bigger than my entire kitchen back home. The water glistens invitingly, already steaming.
I slip off the robe and sink into the bubbling warmth, letting the heat swallow me whole. It hugs every part of me, loosening knots I didn’t even know I had.
I rest my head against the edge and stare at the glass ceiling above, watching clouds drift past the skyscrapers.
I should feel euphoric. And part of me does. I’m safe. I’m warm. I’m wanted.
