When he didn’t respond, I peered up at him. Luca was unrecognizable. He looked like another man entirely—someone terrifying. Those dark eyes that normally devoured me with such heat were cut shards of glass, and his angular jaw was rigid with tension. He rose up to sit across from me, his eyes boring into mine.
“What did he say to you?” The words were a menacing rumble. His ire wasn’t directed at me, but it was frightening, nonetheless.
“It doesn’t matter what he said. I went to HR to file a complaint, so he’ll be dealt with. I don’t want to rehash what happened with him or think about the incident under the bridge. Can we talk about something else?” I had misled himby insinuating I had filed a complaint, but I was going to at the earliest opportunity, so a small white lie wouldn’t matter.
His eyes narrowed, but he conceded. “You said you were under a lot of stress—what else has been bothering you?”
You. Us. “My parents always stress me out.”
“How so?”
“Maybe it sounds childish, but I never feel like I measure up. I have two sisters—the younger one is an artist who can do no wrong, and the oldest was taken under my father’s wing a long time ago, a few years after our brother died. I’ve always been stuck in the middle, the odd man out. I even went to school to work at my dad’s company, and most of the time, I’m not sure he notices I’m there.”
“I think it sounds perfectly reasonable to want their praise, but you can’t let their opinions rule you forever.”
“I know, and I’m finally starting to realize their opinions don’t matter. It doesn’t change anything if Dad is proud of me or not. I have to live my life in a way that makes me happy—it’smylife.” I was pleased with the conviction in my tone, recognizing there was truth in what I said. The sentiment had been building inside of me, and it felt good to put the thoughts into words.
Luca smiled softly at me before his lips fell. “How did your brother die?”
In a way, I appreciated that he had asked rather than proffering the token condolences that are customary. He didn’t mince words or play games; he came right out and asked what he wanted to know.
“My dad took my brother and sister to a movie one night. On the way back home, they were mugged, and my brother was killed. He was eleven.” It had been almost seventeenyears since I’d lost my big brother, but it still hurt to talk about it.
“How old were you?”
“Seven. My older sister and I were at a school program dress rehearsal that night. We’d been dancing and singing while my brother was murdered. After that, my family changed. We have our moments, but for the most part, it tore us apart.”
He nodded in understanding.
“How did you lose your mother?” I asked quietly.
“Drive-by shooting—wrong place at the wrong time. She had just stepped out of the house to run to the market and was gunned down on the sidewalk. I heard the shots and ran outside to find her in a puddle of her own blood. Some street thug with a target on his back had been walking by at the same time—a stray bullet hit her right in the heart.” His voice was so devoid of emotion, it gave me chills.
“How old were you?”
“Seventeen. Arianna was only fourteen.” His younger sister—she’d still been a young girl.
“Did you have to go into foster care?”
“Only for a couple months. The second I turned eighteen, I petitioned for custody of her.”
“I can’t imagine raising a teenage girl when you were only a kid yourself.” I thought back to what a nightmare my sisters and I had been at that age and grimaced.
He huffed out a laugh. “Nothing about it was easy, but I did my best. You deal with what life hands you, but that’s why I try to ensure in every way possible that life gives me a winning hand.”
When he put it that way, and knowing what I now knew about him, his actions sounded perfectly reasonable. Howcould I fault him for being domineering and assertive when he was taking charge of his life, trying to give himself the best chance to be happy? He had seen his mother gunned down and been forced to raise his young sister; and despite those odds, he’d picked himself up and made a success of himself. His perseverance and honor were more than just admirable; they were incredible.
“Does the stalking mean you consider me a winning hand?” I asked coyly.
“Baby, you’re a royal flush.” He gave me a rakish grin that was so delectable on him, I jumped onto his lap and pressed my lips to his.
There was no longer any doubt. I was in way over my head.
CHAPTER 14
LUCA
The first chance he had,my father walked away from us. There was something broken inside of him that made him weak. Made him incapable of understanding the concept of loyalty. Loyalty to his wife. Loyalty to his children. When times got hard, he turned his back on us for an easier path. A man who grasps loyalty and honor, not just the ability to recite the definition, but someone who truly understands the concepts, that man could never abandon his family. That was the conclusion I’d come to over the years when I’d wracked my brain, trying to figure out how my father could have left.
