“Port authority didn’t ask questions. They were paid off before they even saw the manifests,” Marco continued. Luca gave a small nod to let him know that he was good with everything.
“And the Russians?” Marco asked. The mention of the Russians made Luca’s jaw tighten just slightly. “They’ve been quiet—too quiet.” Luca turned, slowly. The movement alone was enough to shift the air in the room, tension tightening like a wire pulled too thin. Luca’s gaze locked onto Marco, dark and sharp, cutting straight through him.
“Quiet men are planning something,” Luca said evenly. “Or they’re waiting for the right opportunity to strike.”
Marco shrugged, but there was a flicker of unease beneath it. “You think they’ll move against us?” he asked.
Luca took a slow sip of his drink, letting the burn settle low in his chest. “They’ll try to. We just need to make sure that they fail.” It wasn’t paranoia that Luca felt—it was experience. In their world, alliances weren’t real. Loyalty was temporary. And peace? Well, peace was just the silence before the next war.
Luca set the glass down with a soft clink and moved toward his desk, every step deliberate and controlled. Some people called him deadly, and they were right. He was always in control, and that made him not only dangerous to go up against but deadly if anyone tried to take him down.
“Double the guards on the west side warehouses,” he ordered. “And I want eyes on every port entry that we have. If they breathe wrong, I want to know about it,” Luca ordered.
Marco nodded immediately. “Done, boss.” There was a pause, and that was never good. “There’s something else.” Of course, there was. Luca’s fingers stilled against the edge of his desk. He didn’t like Marco’s tone or the look on his face.
“Just say it,” Luca growled. Marco hesitated just long enough to confirm Luca’s suspicion—this wasn’t about business. This was personal.
“There was a girl at the club tonight,” Marco said carefully. Luca’s expression didn’t change. But something in his chest tightened.
“A girl,” Luca repeated.
“Yeah, and she asked about you,” Marco said. That was enough to earn Marco Luca’s full attention.
“People ask about me all the time,” Luca said flatly. “Most of them regret it.”
“This one didn’t seem afraid,” Marco insisted.
Now that was interesting. Luca leaned back slightly against the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. “And what does a fearless girl want with me?”
Marco hesitated again. “She didn’t say. Just watched other people at the club, asked a bunch of questions, but not the usual kind.”
Luca’s mind was already racing, dissecting the information piece by piece. She wasn’t afraid to throw his name around, was watching other people at the club, and asking questions. Either she was stupid, or she was dangerous.
“What did she look like?” Luca asked.
Marco smirked faintly. “She was hard to miss with her dark hair and light eyes. They were the kind that make you think she knows more than she should.” Luca felt something shift in his gut—subtle but unfamiliar. Maybe it was annoyance or even curiosity—neither of which he had time for. His gut was telling him that he not only knew this woman, but she was going to soon be his wife. But why would Isabella be asking about him at his own club? If she wanted to talk to him, all she had to do was ask. He’d at least grant her an audience, since she was going to be hiswife. He needed to know for sure if it was Isabella before he sent men out to find her.
“Find out who she is,” Luca said. “I want to know who she belongs to, and why she thinks it’s a good idea to ask around about me.”
Marco pushed off the wall. “Already on it.” Of course he was. Luca didn’t tolerate inefficiency, and Marco was anything but. That’s why he had kept him around for so long.
Marco moved toward the door and Luca added, “And Marco—” He paused, glancing back. “If she’s connected to anyone who might be a problem?—"
Marco’s grin turned mean. “I’ll handle it.” The door shut behind him with a quiet click, and silence filled the room again. But it wasn’t the same silence as before.
Luca turned back to the window, his reflection staring back at him in the glass—cold eyes, controlled expression, a man carved from power and blood. If the stranger who had been asking about him turned out to be Isabella, then she was going to be more trouble than he had signed up for. Instead of fear, she’d shown interest in him, and that was a mistake, because in Luca Camorra’s world, interest came with consequences—future wife or not.
And curiosity? Curiosity got people killed. Still, his gaze drifted back to the city below, his mind circling the thought he couldn’t quite shake. Marco said she had dark hair, light eyes, and didn’t seem to be afraid of anything. A slow, dangerous smile curved at the corner of his mouth.
“Let’s see how fearless you really are,” he murmured. Because if she’d come looking for him, she was about to find out exactly what kind of man Luca Camorra truly was. He’d show her just who she was marrying.
Luca’s meeting with old man Romano wasn’t going as planned. He had refused to see him—at first, and then, Luca reminded him that his daughter’s life would soon be in his hands. He assured Romano that Isabella would be well taken care of if he agreed to cooperate, and that had the old guy agreeing to meet with him.
He hurried across town to the Romano headquarters. Damion insisted on tagging along, and he was happy to have him there. The illusion of safety was just that, and he wouldn’t take any chances. His uncle had taken chances and underestimated the Romano family, and that ended up getting him killed. Luca wouldn’t make that same mistake.
He was escorted into Romano’s office and ordered Damion to wait for him just outside the door. Romano did the same with his guard, and he sat down uneasily in front of the old man’s desk. He allowed himself a quick breath, trying to calm his speeding heart, while Romano poured them each scotch.
“Why have you demanded this meeting?” he asked, cutting right to the chase. “Have you decided not to marry my daughter?” Luca knew better than to renege on their contract. If he did, he’d be as good as dead before he even left the building.
