I shouldn't be here. Not right now. I duck behind a column, then study him, trying to push more emotions away.
He stops to greet the guards, then comes closer.
I pull deeper into the shadow. My lungs refuse to cooperate. He stands next to the elevator and exhales slowly like he's already tired of whatever fight waits upstairs.
The tiny scar on his cheek catches the chandelier's light. He didn't have that when I was little. Back then, his skin was smooth, his eyes mischievous, his smile warm and wide. My Luca brought pastries and candies and whispered stories in Italian that made me giggle under my blankets when I was supposed to be asleep.
Now, his mouth is a flat line. His eyes scan the lobby with the detached, lethal focus of a man who's ordered more hits than hugs.
I angle my face and press my nails into my palms.
Why can't you still love me?
The thought hits me with a punch. I blink harder, then wipe under my eye.
He adjusts the cuff of his shirt, revealing the edge of a watch that costs more than most people make in a year. Then he unbuttons his coat and makes small talk with another guard.
The elevator doors slide open, and he steps inside. The doors begin to close. Luca's shoulders straighten, his expression hardening as if he's bracing himself for impact.
The gold metal doors shut tight, and another flashback haunts me. It's the last time I saw him in person. I was four, maybe five, clutching a stuffed rabbit in an Italian villa while my parents screamed in the other room.
"You can't trust him, Valentina. He's using you. He's using all of us," my father declared.
Mom insisted, "He's family. He would never do that to us."
My phone vibrates. I pull it out of my pocket and read the text message.
Cassian: Luca, alert! Do not go inside Zara's!
Anger spools, and I bang my fingers across the screen.
Me: I should have known that ten minutes ago.
Cassian: Apologies.
I stare at the screen, fuming. There should never be a time when I don't know if I'm in danger. Luca, seeing me, represents the highest threat.
I need to talk to Kirill about replacing Cassian. He's making too many dangerous mistakes.
I should have predicted Luca would come based on Zara's texts this morning.
Zara: I think my father knows something is up. And Sean's uncles, too. We're both getting the nonstop questions on all sides.
I asked Cassian if I was in the clear.
Did he lie?
He's just incompetent.
Is he? For two years, he made no mistakes.
I press the back of my skull against the marble and stare at the elevator numbers as they tick upward.
Ten.
Eleven.
Twelve.
