Luca.
4
LUCA
My angel is trembling.
I see it before I even touch her. Clive Bernardi’s filthy hands on her arms, pinning her to the wall like she’s something he can take, something he’s entitled to.
And Erin, myangioletto, is frozen. Wide-eyed. Terrified.
The sight unleashes something primal inside me. One second, he’s gripping her. The next, I’ve got him by the collar, dragging him off her like a rabid dog.
“Get your hands off my woman,” I snarl, slamming him into the far wall. The drywall cracks on impact.
He wheezes, scrambling for breath. “She…she took my wallet.”
“She’smine,” I growl, my voice low and murderous. “You don’t get to fucking touch her!”
I punch him once, hard. Just enough to make his knees buckle. Then again, and again. Until Erin’s voice breaks through the haze.
“Please, stop!”
I freeze.
She’s clutching the edge of the sink, eyes wide with panic. I can see it’s not because of Clive, but because ofme.
I release him with disgust and let him slump to the floor.
Then I reach down, pick up his thick wallet from the floor, and casually extract a few hundred-dollar bills. “I believe this is a fair tip for the service you received tonight.”
I toss the wallet onto his chest and lean down, voice like ice.
“You walk out of here, Bernardi. You disappear. If I ever see you near her again, I’ll forget she’s watching.”
He scrambles upright and practically crawls out the door.
Finally, we’re alone.
The silence wraps around us like fog. Erin doesn’t speak. She’s still shaking, still stunned. I walk to her slowly, careful not to crowd her, but desperate to be close.
“Are you okay?” I ask again.
She nods, barely.
"I... I'm so ashamed," she whispers. Her voice cracks like she’s trying to hold it all together and failing. “I didn’t mean to cause you so much trouble, Mr. Lucchese.”
"Luca."
"What?"
"Call me Luca."
She blinks, startled by the intimacy of the offer. But she doesn’t argue. A gentle flush spreads over her freckled cheeks, turning them a soft, vulnerable red. “Luca,” she murmurs, testing it on her tongue. It doesn’t sound like a name. It sounds like a promise. A prayer.
It sets something alight in me.
I step a little closer. “Tell me the truth, Erin.” My voice is commanding, but soft. The kind of tone you use when you don’t want a frightened thing to run. “You're not the type to steal. Something's happened, hasn't it?”
