When I get up, I find him already in the kitchen.
“Good morning. What’s on your agenda today, Rosa?” He opens up the cupboard, pulling out a black mug.
“I don’t know? A walk out in the garden? Can you get me some books? Maybe take me out on a job with you? Just sit and talk?”
I snap my mouth closed after the last option. He checks his Rolex with a frown and opens the fridge. “What about breakfast?” he asks.
I slide onto the barstool and watch him bring the coffee machine to life.
“Breakfast sounds lovely,” I reply.
His black Armani suit fits him like a second skin. It’s snug enough I can almost see his biceps straining against the material. But it’s those damn tattooed forearms I can’t stop looking at as he rolls up his sleeves.
“Omelet okay?” he asks, turning to face me.
His deep, gravelly voice is doing things to me I’ve never experienced.
“F-fine,” I stutter.
He nods and cracks the eggs into a mixing bowl.
“How long have you been the boss now?” I rest my chin on my palm and watch as he cooks.
“I’ve been around for a while, seven years or so, since my biological father was murdered.”
His back is to me, so I can’t read his face. Biological father? “Oh, wow.” What a strange way to talk about his dad.
“I never knew Marco had two daughters,” he says over his shoulder as he pours the egg mix into a pan. My eyes widen in surprise. It’s interesting my dad kept us hidden.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “He didn’t want us around much,” I all but whisper.
A few moments pass in silence as he fries the omelets.
He slips one from the pan onto a dish with practiced ease. “You know, I never knew my real dad. I grew up on the streets. I was a foster kid.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. That must have been hard.”
He shrugs, placing my plate down in front of me. The smell alone makes my stomach rumble.
He stops and frowns. “You aren’t eating enough, little one.”
I gulp, unsure of what to say.
“I go through phases. Sometimes I’m starving, other times I feel sick. It’s getting better though.”
In this case, it’s neither. I’m just too distracted by him.
I pick up my fork, and his eyes dart to my shaking hand.
“You need to eat properly. Popcorn isn’t a meal.” His voice is stern.
He grabs his own plate and sits next to me. I’m overwhelmed by the smell of his masculine cologne.
I poke my fork around the plate.
“So how did you go from foster kid to mafia boss then?” I ask, hoping to change the subject.
He looks down at my cooling omelet. “Eat and I’ll tell you.”
My mouth waters as I swallow down a mouthful of eggs. I pull on the sleeves of my sweater, trying to fight the nausea bubbling in my stomach.
“I was left in an apartment on my own as a baby and got taken in by Social Services. My mom was a junkie that OD’d. They found her next to me. They couldn’t find my dad.”
He takes a bite of his food. “Another mouthful.” He stares at me until I take another timid bite.
“I was tossed from place to place until one family sent me to Tony’s boxing club when I was eight because I had a temper.” He shrugs. “What they didn’t realize, Tony ran an underground fight club. So when everyone else gave up on me, I always had a place to go. But that’s where I met my brother, Keller. Tony took him in, too, and we spent our teens fighting for food and for survival.”
A smile lights up his face. “And then Mrs. Russo took us in when we were sixteen. An older Italian lady who’d just lost her husband. She tried to whip us boys into shape, and we fucking love her for it, though, and her cooking. Our bellies were full, we had a warm bed, and we had a real family. So as soon as we turned eighteen, we changed our last names to Russo. We were her sons and always will be.”
“Aww, that’s so sweet.” I stuff another mouthful of eggs. I can’t help the pang of sadness at the mention of mothers. I miss mine so much.
“So how does that lead to the mafia boss?” I say with my mouth full.
He chews his bite slowly, and I watch his Adam’s apple move as he swallows. “Well, turns out my dad wasn’t a runaway junkie like my mom. He was the head of the fucking mafia. Giuseppe Luciano.”
My mouth falls open. That’s a name I recognize. The fights my mom and dad would have always involved that man’s name growing up. Mom wanted us to go back to Italy, but my dad was obsessed with taking over power from Mr. Luciano.
Luca watches me. “You knew him?”
I shake my head. “No. Just heard of his name. I was kept away from my dad’s business.”
“Hmm.” His chest rumbles and makes my heart jump.
Ignoring the flutters in my stomach, I try to stay on topic. “So your dad made you take over the mafia? Why?” I push another forkful of food into my mouth. I want to know more and that’s how I can keep him talking.
“That, I still don’t know. I’ll never know. His advisors found me and dragged me in the back of an SUV to my dad’s gated mansion. Told me the will he had drawn up stipulated power goes to his only surviving son.”
I cough as I try to hold back a laugh. “Wait. Your name used to be Luca Luciano? That’s a mouthful of a name.”
He chuckles. “Russo is much better.”.
I tap my fork against my lips as I try to picture a young Luca being dragged into his dad’s empire. “That must have been hard.”
His lips thin as he looks at his coffee cup pensively. “My life has never truly been my own. I’ve been fighting my whole damn life to survive. This is no different. I’m at a place now where they respect me. I have more money than I know what to do with. Once I take down your father, the city is mine.”
“Something is still missing?” I can tell he doesn’t look happy about his current mission.
His eyes search mine as he leans back in his chair. “Maybe. Maybe not. I never know what’s in the cards for me.”
I push my half-eaten plate of food away from me. “My dad was never the same since mom was murdered.”
I blink back the tears. It isn’t easy to speak about my mom. I never speak about any of my agony.
His warm palm rests for a moment on my knee. “I’m so sorry.”
I look at his broad hand with the tattoo peeking beneath his white cuff. “There was an explosion at our house. I was only fourteen. It happened so fast, I don’t remember much. Eva and I were making up dance routines in the garden. The next thing I knew, I woke up in the hospital. My mom, Nona, and a few others were killed.”
I choke on a sob. After her death, my dad wouldn’t even mention her name in the house. All the photos are gone. He even pushed me away because I had her dark eyes.
“All he cares about is power. We lost our home in Sicily because of his war with the Capris. And then he brings us here and breaks us all over again.”
I bury my face in my hands.
“Oh, Rosa.” His voice is soft and comforting.
I jump off the barstool, my chest feeling tight. A feeling I know too well.
I can hear him calling after me as I dart to my room and slam the door shut.
I wake up with a yawn and snuggle into a shirtless Luca’s side. He puts his strong arm around me and pulls me closer.
In the last two weeks, I’ve only had a couple of nightmares. Both times, he’s wrapped me up in a hug and whispered. “It’s me, Luca. I’m here. You’re okay, little one. No one will hurt you.” Then rocked me back to sleep.
I feel like a new person. One who actually sleeps and wakes up not hungover.
“Morning, little one.” His voice is husky as his breath tickles over my head.
I roll my eyes. “I’m really not that small.”
He moves onto his side and gives me a smirk. His dark hair is messy on top and I have a strange urge to run my fingers through it.
A fire heats up in my core, a completely alien feeling that has me clenching my thighs together. I want this man, I just don’t know what to do about it. He would never want a broken woman like me.
“You slept well last night.” He grins, his green eyes sparkle mischievously.
“Why do you say it like that?” I tilt my head to get a better view of his face.
He bites his bottom lip. “You may or may not have grabbed my dick in your sleep.”
“No! I did not!” I gasp.
Embarrassment washes over me. My cheeks are now on fire.
“You did. It woke me up.”
“Oh my god, I am so sorry.” I cover my face with my hands. He pulls them away and his lips turn up in a smile.
I start to panic. What if he makes me go back to my own room? I’m enjoying these peaceful nights of sleep.
“Hey, it’s fine. Don’t worry. I can think of worse things than to be groped in my sleep by the little Italian beauty I have in my bed.” He puts one of his tattooed arms behind his head, propping himself up as he watches me.
He thinks I’m beautiful?
I bat my lashes at him. “I am sorry.”
He laughs and slides toward the other side of the bed. “Come on, we have to get up. I have something for you downstairs and then I have to get to work. The quicker I get it taken care of, the sooner you can have your freedom.”
My real life. It’s like a kick to the stomach. I guess he’s just humoring the poor little recovering junkie. I knew there was no way he’d be feeling the things I am for him.
I sigh and scoot away from him, getting myself out of bed and grabbing my black silk robe that hangs behind the door. As I turn around, I catch him staring at me intently, his eyes scanning my body, which makes my stomach flutter.
“Well, what’s downstairs for me?”
He throws off the comforter, revealing his muscular frame. Dark ink scales down his right arm and across his chest. He throws on a pair of gray sweatpants and a black hoodie. He might always be dressed to kill when he leaves the house, but the second he’s back home, he’s in his comfy gear and ready on the couch to watch a marathon of films.
I open up the door and lead us downstairs. As I reach the last step, he catches my hand, which makes me stop. “Hang on, I want to check it’s here first.”
“Okay.” I laugh. “I’ll wait then.”
He nods and heads towards the lounge. I step over to the side table opposite the stairs that’s filled with pictures. Him, Keller, and Grayson when Keller won his championship fight. In another, Luca is sitting smiling and cuddling his niece Darcy with her brother Max cuddled into him on the other side.
And a picture of Luca, Keller, and an older lady I assume is Mrs Russo. I squint–I swear she looks vaguely familiar.
“Ready,” he calls.
As my foot hits the final stair, I stop in my tracks as I find him beaming like an idiot, pointing a massive camera at me.
“Umm, Luca, what are you doing?” I tighten my robe reflexively.
Laughing, he walks towards me and hands me the camera, a high-end Canon. “This is for you.”
“You told me the other day you’d love to be a photographer. So, I’ve enrolled you in an online course,” he says, shoving a new laptop in my other hand.
Tears threaten to spill as I look at the two most thoughtful gifts anyone could ever buy me. “I-I don’t know what else to say, other than thank you.” This could mean a future outside of the mafia.
He beams at me and takes the camera and laptop out of my hands, placing them on the glass coffee table behind him.
I shake my head. Thank you. I can do better than that.
I walk up to him and wrap my arms around his waist and squeeze him tight. He returns the hug right away. His heart hammers against my cheek.
“I thought it would be good to have something to keep you busy during the day. Something you can continue when you’re free.”
I look up at him through my lashes and notice a pained expression etched across his features.
“It’s the best gift I’ve ever had.”
He gives me a small smile, and his arms tighten around me.
“You deserve everything, Rosa,” he whispers, sending goosebumps across my skin.
“So do you, Luca.” Unshed tears sting my eyes.
His lips brush along my cheek as he brushes away my hair over my shoulder. Every cell in my body reacts to his touch. “You need to get ready for your appointment. Dr. Jenkins will be here soon.”
Nerves pit in my stomach. My first shrink appointment. I start to release my arms, and Luca holds me firmly.
“You are going to be just fine, little one. I promise you.” His soft words fill me with confidence.
After Dr. Jenkins leaves, it’s a strange feeling. I’m a ball of nerves, yet there is an element of relief washing over me. I did my first session, I didn’t break down, and she didn’t think I was crazy or a junkie.
I head to the bathroom and turn on the shower in the en suite in my room. I might sleep in Luca’s bed, but I’ve moved my stuff into my original room. I don’t want him to feel like I’m completely intruding on every aspect of his life.
I open the door to grab some more towels and crash straight into Luca’s hard chest.
His large hand catches my elbow, keeping me from falling.
“How was your first session?” He smiles down at me.
“Good.” I take a step back, giving us some distance. But it’s really to stop my skin from overheating from his touch. He scratches the back of his head, a silence clouding us.
“I was going to make some hot chocolates. Want to watch a movie?” He shifts his feet and watches me.
I bite back my smile. “I’d like that.”
By the time I shower and get in my pajamas, Luca has two hot chocolates smothered in whipped cream on the table and a massive bowl of popcorn ready for us. I join him on the sofa and sit on the adjoining cushion. I’m itching to move closer, our bodies are only inches away.
It’s his turn to pick, so I settle in, resting my head on one of his gray cushions.
As my eyes start to flutter closed, I shake my head, trying to combat the exhaustion.
Luca chuckles and I look over to find him watching me with amusement, stuffing popcorn into his mouth. “Not a fan of Superman?” His eyebrows raise as he turns to me.
“Umm, who isn’t a fan of Henry Cavill?” I laugh. “I’m just tired. I think all that talking today drained me.”
“Talking is good, right?”
“Hmm, we didn’t go deep today, just some basics around my habits, how to combat the cravings initially, how to cope with my—” I pause. “—trauma.”
His smile softens, and his warm palm pats my knee. “I’m here if you want to talk. No matter when.”
Tears sting in my eyes. I’ve never had anyone say this to me. But I can’t, I don’t have the words yet. “Thank you, Luca.”
He gives me a sad smile, reminding me just how broken I am. I don’t want people’s sympathy, I just want to feel normal again.
I bring my knees up and cuddle them, turning my attention back to the tv.
“Little one, what’s the matter?” The concern in his voice has the tears I’m holding back almost hurting my cheeks.
I stare at the screen, a blur of pixels at this point, my mind wandering back to that day. I hug my knees tighter, holding my breath. I can hear Dante’s voice rolling around my brain. Pain starts to radiate from my collarbone with the sensation of his teeth sinking into my flesh.
“Shit.” I squeeze my eyes shut. Dr. Jenkins taught me a technique today–four sides. I take in a deep breath, hold for four and release for four, picturing the sides of the square being drawn. And not him.
I can faintly hear Luca’s deep voice calling my name, but I zone him out. I block everything out. Focusing only on the whooshing of my breath, picturing it flowing around the square, capturing the rising fear that threatened to erupt. That craving for a hit to hide him.
After a few minutes, I look over at Luca, who’s watching me with interest, his expression warm.
“What was that?” he asks quietly.
I chew on my lip nervously. “It was about to be a little breakdown, but I used the breathing technique Dr. Jenkins taught me. Four sides.”
His face scrunches as one eyebrow raises. “Four sides?”
“Yep. Turns out it kinda works.” Amazingly.
“Tell me how it works? You know, in case I ever have to guide you?”
My heart hammers, my skin flushing as he waits for my response. Dr. Jenkins had me close my eyes and draw the square around my kneecap to visualize the shape. “Can I show you?”
“Of course you can.” He sets the bowl on the coffee table and pauses the movie.
I scoot closer to him, planting my feet on the floor so I’m next to him. I shiver in anticipation as our knees brush. “So I’m going to draw a square around your knee.”
He laughs. “Okay–”
“As I’m doing that, you breathe in for a count of four, hold it for four, exhale for four and hold again. You have to picture your breath drawing the sides of the square, as I am doing it with the tip of my finger.”
“Got it.” He grins as I look up at him.
My cheeks heat and I turn away, focusing on his knee. The second my finger touches, I hear his breath hitch behind me. Resting his hands on his muscular thighs, I start to instruct him, following the same pattern with my finger.
He leans back, his arm resting behind me on the back of the couch, his eyes closed. I take a moment to admire him, even when his hair is tousled and the first few buttons of his shirt are undone. Any woman would drool over him, me included, apparently. Who needs Superman when I have my very own right next to me?
He peers out of one eye. “You stopped.”
“Oh, sorry.” My face flushes for a whole new reason: the fact he caught me ogling him when he’s supposed to be relaxing.
“It’s fine. Can you do that thing on my knee a bit longer? It feels so good,” he growls contentedly.
I swallow, my eyes wide. Knowing I can make him feel good makes me smile. I kick my legs up to the side to try to get comfy, leaning into his frame to adjust.
My head is just inches from his chest, but my eyes are still heavy. I tense my muscles in my arm and hold my weight. He asked for me to show him, not to start cuddling and use him as a human pillow.
I keep tracing the square on his knee, his gravelly humming in appreciation lulling me to sleep.
I startle myself back awake as my head hits the pillow. Luca stands above me. “You fell asleep, and it didn’t look comfortable at all. I carried you up here.”
I snuggle up into the blanket. “Thank you,” I manage to whisper before I fall back into a deep sleep, but not before the bed dips and he cuddles into me.
That’s the moment I can finally let myself sleep.
