“The parent who sold information that got Marco killed,” Luca reminds me, but there’s less venom in it now. Just exhaustion that makes the fine lines around his eyes more pronounced. “The parent you’re asking me to die for.”
“I’m not asking you to die.” I move closer, drawn by some magnetic pull I can’t resist even now. “I’m asking you to?—”
“To what?” He turns to face me fully. The expression on his face—raw and vulnerable and so full of pain it takes my breath away—makes me pause. His eyes aren’t cold anymore but burning with anguish. “To forgive you for lying to me for over twomonths? To pretend I’m not still furious that you protected Marco’s killer?”
“No.” I meet his gaze without flinching, forcing myself to look into those dark, tormented eyes. “I’m asking you to acknowledge that we’re both guilty. That we both made choices driven by fear and self-preservation. That maybe, justmaybe, underneath all the lies and betrayals, there was something real.”
His jaw clenches so hard I can see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. “Was there?” he whispers.
The question hangs between us, simple and devastating.
“Yes.” The word gets stuck in my throat, but I force it out anyway. “My feelings for you were real, Luca. Even when I was terrified. Even when I knew I should hate you. I fell in love with you, and that love wasreal, not something I manufactured to survive.”
For a moment, hope and desperate need cross his face, before it’s swallowed by anger again. He scoffs. “And that’s supposed to excuse?—”
“It doesn’t excuse anything,” I interrupt, wanting to pull my hair and scream at his obstinance. “Not what you planned, not what I hid. I’m just saying that whatever we had—” My voice breaks. “It wasn’t all a lie. At least not for me.”
He’s silent for so long I think he won’t respond. His phone chirps, and he breaks eye contact to look at it. He reads the message then looks up at me with cool eyes. “The car’s ready. We need to go.”
We walk to the car in silence, the space between us a chasm I don’t know how to cross. I wait while Danny and Luca have atense conversation. Danny doesn’t look too thrilled by the scowl on his face and the way he’s gesturing. And from the way he stomps away, Luca has definitely said something to piss him off.
Luca moves to the driver’s side, and I climb into the passenger seat, both of us maintaining as much distance as possible in the confined space.
He starts the engine without a word, his hands gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity. Those elegant, deadly hands that have held me so gently are now stained with his own blood from his misery after our fight.
“The address is in the industrial district,” I say quietly, my voice barely audible over the engine. “Old manufacturing area.”
“I know it.” His voice is clipped and professional, like we’re discussing business instead of driving toward what’s probably a death trap. “Plenty of places for an ambush.”
The silence that follows is suffocating. I watch his profile in the dim light—the hard set of his jaw, that sharp jawline I’ve traced with my fingers, now so rigid I can basically see his teeth grinding together. His dark hair is still disheveled, falling across his forehead in wavy locks that makes him look more like a model than the cold crime lord sitting beside me.
Chicago streets move past us. The drive feels eternal and too short all at once.
“This really is suicide,” Luca finally says. “You know that, right? Romano’s not going to let us just walk out of there.”
“I know.” My hands twist in my lap. “I don’t need you to remind me. But I won’t ever forgive myself if I just let my father die.”
“We are talking about the father who got Marco killed,” Luca reminds me, his eyes darting to mine before they focus back on the road.
I’m getting really tired of him reminding me of that. “The father you were going to use to torture me before killing us both,” I counter quietly.
His hands tighten on the wheel. “Point taken,” he admits grudgingly.
More silence. The industrial district approaches, abandoned warehouses and empty lots creating a landscape of urban decay. Luca pulls into a dark alley a few blocks from Romano’s specified location and kills the engine.
We sit there in the darkness, neither of us moving, both aware this might be the last conversation we ever have.
“I need you to know something,” I say before I can lose my courage. Tears well in my eyes. “Whatever happens in there, I don’t regret falling in love with you. I regret the circumstances. I regret the lies. But loving you?” I shake my head, watching the way the distant streetlight catches in his dark hair, throwing his face into sharp relief. “I-I don’t regret that.”
His throat works as he swallows hard, that strong column of his neck moving with the effort. Those eyes—nearly black in the dim light—finally turn to face me, and the raw anguish in them takes my breath away.
“Giuliana—” he says in a low voice.
“No, let me finish.” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “You said your feelings for me were real, that I became everything. I believe you.”
His eyes widen.
“But I also know that even if we survive this, too much damage has been done. You’ll never fully trust me again, knowing I kept Romano’s identity secret. And I—” My throat closes and I have to clear it to continue, to keep pushing the tears back. “I’ll never be able to forget that you planned to kill me. That you made me fall in love with you while plotting my murder.”
