by Sadie Black
Gino was tough, but his voice was shaking. Whatever was going on had him near shitting himself.
"The boss is makin' me do somethin' I don't think I can do. I want to say no, but... But you know it doesn't work that way. Luka, I can't go back to jail again. I don't wanna take another fall, and I didn't know who else to call. They're comin' soon, and I don't know when you'll get this, but try to call me back. If you love me, Luka, call me back. Even if I can't answer, I'll see the missed call from you the next time I get to look at my phone and know you're on my side."
The message ended abruptly, and Luka tore the phone away from his ear to look at the time signature more carefully. Gino had tried to call just over fifteen minutes ago; maybe he'd still be able to answer before shit went down.
A single tap of his finger redialed the number, and Luka lifted the phone to his ear once more. Gino didn't answer. The hollow sounds of the dial tone gave way to his inbox, and Luka left a simple message.
"Gino, you know I love you. I'm here for you for whatever you need. Call me back and we'll figure this out. Be safe, and call me back as soon as you can."
With the call ended, Luka folded his arms upon the desk and laid his head upon them. He'd done what it took to secure his future, but at what cost to his present?
* * *
Ciara
The smooth texture of cotton and the comforts of a new mattress were nothing compared to Luka's body. Ciara gazed out the window of the train at the passing vegetation while her cheeks grew warm at the memory.
Button by button she'd undone his leather jacket as his hand trailed slow and steady up her thigh. Piece by piece they'd shed each other's clothing, until the full expanse of Luka's toned body was hers to admire. A hairless chest gave way to a dark trail of hair beginning at his navel and dipping downward into a lush forest of hair below. He was slender, but his charisma made him as attractive to her as any of the defined firemen or police officers other woman fawned over.
Beyond that, the energy that sparked between them was addictive. Ciara had never connected with a man on a higher level before, and now that she'd had a taste, she knew that few men would satisfy her as Luka had. But deep down, she knew that what they had wouldn't last. As soon as she found what she needed for her story, she'd have to say goodbye. No matter how wonderful it felt to find someone she connected with, no man was worth her career. Right?
No. Especially not a party boy.
But it didn't mean that she couldn't selfishly enjoy the memory of him.
Friday night had bled into Saturday morning, and then Saturday morning into the mid afternoon. At last she'd had to excuse herself and take her leave. The apartment was nothing out of the ordinary, but from the way Luka jealously guarded his phone, she'd started to suspect that her story lurked there. There'd been no chance to sneak a peek, but there would be other chances. Luka's interest in her hadn't faded after their heated night together, and he'd invited her for dinner at his parent's place. The rare opportunity to see Mr. Marcello Belmonte interact with his son on a personal level was an opportunity she couldn't pass up. Of course, the growing part of her that urged her to take more than a professional interest in Luka also jumped at the opportunity.
And now here she was, on her way back into the city a week later for a Saturday night dinner with the famous Belmonte family.
With just one more station to be before she arrived in Manhattan, Ciara fired off a text Luka to let him know she was about to arrive.
Ciara (5:43PM): One stop away from Grand Central. Should I make my way on my own?
The reply was near immediate; Luka was anticipating her call.
Luka (5:44PM): no, ill pick u up. meet me where we met last time. no bike this time, promise.
Ciara held back a snort of laughter and turned the screen of her phone off. He'd better not bring his bike, because today she was dressed to impress. The white dress she'd selected for the occasion was form fitting. Tapering off just above the knee, the dress was long enough not to be trashy, but short enough not to be conservative. The neckline clung just below her dark shoulders, the contrast between the dress and her skin playing the perfect harmony of yin and yang. In her opinion, the look was in good taste. She could only hope that Luka's parents agreed.
By the time the train arrived at Grand Central station, Luka was already waiting outside. Dressed in a gray pinstripe button down, he was more laid back than he was at the office, but still stylish enough to suggest that he wanted to make a good impression on his folks. Respectable, Ciara thought. Best of all, this time his hair was carefully coiffed and styled — there really was no motorcycle to worry about.
As she emerged from the broad doors, Luka caught sight of her and raised his hand in greeting. The acknowledgment, as small as it was, chased a smile from inside of her, and she quickened her step to bring her closer faster.
"You're just in time," Luka said as she approached. "Dinner's just about ready." His hand brushed her arm, possessive but not restraining. Ciara looked down at his hand, then back up to his face. A docile affection shaded Luka's sharp features, as though her presence were a balm to his soul. She'd seen the look before on other men she'd dated, but this was the first time in her life she felt herself mirroring it back.
Polite conversation followed as Luka's hand moved from her arm to her back, directing her towards the idling town car against the curb. There had to be magic in the Belmonte bloodline — Ciara had no idea how they were able to get a curbside spot without fail in a city as buzzing with life as New York.
"What are we having?"
"Roast lamb with seared vegetables and quinoa salad. There is a dessert being made, but I'm not sure what it is. And of course, there will be wine."
Luka opened the door for her, and Ciara sank down onto the back passenger seat. When he wasn't enraged, he was an absolute gentleman.
"Sounds wonderful."
"My family likes to show our guests a good time, and our family even better." Luka's fingers tented upwards and laced between hers. "Tonight, you're family. My mother's been asking me questions about you all day; she can't wait to meet you."
It wasn't the first time that a man had brought her home early into the relationship, but it was the first time a man had brought her home before the relationship had officially begun. An unofficial date and an official date didn't mean that they were exclusive, and neither did the fact that she'd spent the night at his condo. She knew all too well that women entered and left his place like a revolving door at the end of a catwalk. She told herself it was best she had to keep her distance, she didn't want to add her heart to the long list of donors he'd broken. Maybe an undefined relationship would be healthier for the both of them, no matter how much she wished it could be otherwise.
"I can't wait to meet her," she replied.
That chance came soon enough.
The Belmonte estate on fifth avenue was a boggling piece of architecture that spoke to old world sensibilities and new world wealth. Luka saw her to the door and pulled its thick, sculpted brass handle open for her. The lobby behind it was lit by the first crystal chandelier Ciara had ever seen, and she couldn't keep herself from gazing up at it in all of its lit elegance. When she looked down again, Marcello Belmonte stood before her, Luka at her side.
"Welcome to our home, Ms. Simmons," Marcello said with a nod of his head. "It's nice to see you again. I must admit, I didn't think that I'd be entertaining anyone from campaign headquarters. Dinner is being served as we speak; will you join us in the dining room?"
Charming, yet to the point. If Marcello was a prediction of Luka's future, the mayoral candidate would only get better with age. Without a word Luka helped her from her coat, and once their outer wear was put away, the three of them left the lobby to enter an exquisite dining room, and yet none of the room's focal pieces held her attention. Ciara's gaze fell instead on the woman seated at the foot of the table.
Her heart sank.
"Mrs. Belmonte," Ciara sa
id, leaving Luka's side to approach the Belmonte matriarch. "Thank you for inviting me into your home for dinner. If there's anything I can do to help you out tonight, let me know.
The woman lifted her chin, elegant and dreamy-eyed. Pale, gaunt skin stretched across her face. The color had fled from her lips, leaving them looking sickly and thin. Startling blue eyes locked on Ciara's, and she smiled. Even without a full head of hair, gentle pride still lived within Luka's mother — Ciara could tell that much from the fire in her eyes. Luka had never mentioned that his mother was sick, but there was no hiding it now. The fine hairs of her eyebrows and eyelashes had fallen out, and the way her skin stretched across bone told Ciara that the cancer inside of her and the chemotherapy used to treat it were taking their toll on her body.
"Please, call me Camilla," she insisted. When Ciara drew close enough to touch, she lifted a feeble hand and laid it on Ciara's arm, just as Luka had back at Grand Central Station. "It's my pleasure to have you with us tonight. The only thing I want you to do for me is to relax and have a good time. Seeing you in person is doing my heart good — Luka's been talking so much about you this past week, I knew I had to meet you.
Try as she might to suppress it, a blush warmed Ciara's cheeks and she hesitated before replying. Although they just met, she could tell Camilla was a good woman.
"Mom," Luka cut in before Ciara could stumble her way through an embarrassed reply, "are you sure you're okay to be sitting at the table? You know Dr. Brackman told you that you needed strict bed rest."
He'd cut around behind her, and had placed both hands delicately upon his mother's shoulders.
"I was going to bring Ciara up to your room so you could meet her. I didn't want you to get up and spend all your energy walking."
"I didn't spend it walking," Camilla told her son firmly, lifting her head to look up at him. The taut skin at her neck stretched, and Ciara's heart broke further. It was no wonder that Luka was as strung up and touchy about his family as he was when his mother was in such critical condition. Every attack against his father for being a sellout had to hit home much more intimately with his family life out of sorts. "I spent it cooking, and now I'm tired, so I'm going to sit and enjoy the meal while it's served to us."
A deep dish of seared vegetables had already been placed upon the table, but the odor of lamb was on the air. Luka's shoulders tensed, but he did not anger. Instead, he kissed the top of Camilla's head and sighed.
"I wish you would listen to your doctor," he told her. "And if not Dr. Brackman, I wish you would listen to me. You need your rest to get better. This isn't a little cold, Mom."
The care he took of her, and the compassion he had for her, melted Ciara's heart that much more. Luka had been struggling with a battle no one knew about, and apart from a few slip ups, he'd done a good job at keeping his emotions in check. If only she could trade in her story for one that would paint Luka in a softer, kinder light. If the voters knew about the condition his mother was in, maybe they'd change their opinions on Luka — but a story like that would never move. She knew that Killian would shoot it down.
"If I lay in bed all day, I'm going to waste away more than I already am, Luka," she replied. Both of her hands raised and squeezed at his. "I'm not pushing myself harder than I can take, I promise. Why don't you go entertain your father for a while? I want to get to know Ciara."
Hesitantly, Luka agreed. With a final look to his mother, and then a lingering glance at Ciara, he made his way across the room to settle at one of the chairs near the head of the table with Marcello. As he did, Camilla gestured to the chair to her left, next to where Ciara stood.
"Sit," she bade her guest. "Luka says that you've got a degree in communications, and that you're working on social media at the campaign headquarters? It's so impressive to me how fast technology is changing, and how quick we are to adapt to it. In my day, we'd never have considered something like a social media consultant — I know I look it, but I'm not all that old."
Conversation with Camilla was easy, but across the table, conversation between the men had turned to politics and Luka's standing in the elections. Camilla's soft spoken voice wasn't loud enough to drown out Marcello's commanding tone.
"You know, it's good for your image that you're dating a girl. People like to see commitment. People like to see young love. And I think it'll be good for your minority vote that she's a woman of color. Dark skin like that is going to wow a lot of potential voters."
Had it not been Marcello Belmonte who had spoken the words, Ciara would have turned in her chair mid-sentence in her conversation with Camilla to tear into him. Who the hell did he think he was? Like she was a prop for Luka's campaign? How dare he have the gall to draw her skin tone into this? Ciara's shoulders tightened, but she managed to keep her anger from her words as she attempted to ignore the senior Belmonte's ignorance and focus on Camilla's questions.
Luka's reply was prompt.
"She's not a pawn, dad. It's not like that. Why would you even say that? I know that I've brought home a lot of girls before, but I really do care about her. What I feel for her doesn't have anything to do with stupid poll numbers — she's got this mind, this way she speaks, that tests me and pushes me to do better. I like her for her, not for what benefits she might give me. Seriously, how corrupt did you get that you'd even think like that?" His voice dripped with disgust.
"Ciara?" Camilla asked. "Hello, Ciara?"
Ciara's eyes darted to Camilla's face as her immediate surroundings crisped from abstract to the real once more. What Luka had said about her had stolen all of her attention away, and she'd tuned out the words Camilla spoke to hear him with clarity. Her heart was beating out of her chest, and no longer from the anger she felt toward Marcello's stupidity. How was it that a declaration like that could make her heart flutter as it did? Luka had wormed into her heart deeper than she'd anticipated, and as glad as she felt that he would defend her as he did, it troubled her as well. If she got too caught up, the story would suffer. Could she really write it? Her mind whispered yes, but her heart screamed no.
"I'm sorry," Ciara said. "What was it you said? I got lost in my head for a second."
The way Camilla smiled at her, eyes sparkling, led Ciara to believe the woman had heard the conversation happening across the table as well.
"I was just asking you what you think Luka's chances might be. My husband has the head for such things, but not me. I'd like to hear what someone on the outside thinks."
It was as though Camilla had read her mind and sought to torture her. Ciara glanced down at the table, feigning deeper thought. The reality of the situation was she could not bring herself to look into Camilla's eyes.
"I think he's still got a long road ahead of him," she replied. "You never know what road bumps you might encounter along the way."
Camilla nodded thoughtfully.
"Well, that's enough politics for tonight. Why don't we eat? I don't have much of an appetite most days, but meeting such a sweet woman and knowing that my son is in good hands has done me a world of good tonight."
Not even the best acting could have hidden the tension in Ciara's forced smile. Camilla's appetite may have returned, but hers had suffered. Her guilt was making her nauseous.
But the twisted knot of barbed wire in Ciara's gut told her that if she pursued her ambition it would rip the Belmonte family to pieces. She prayed that somehow she could find a way out of this mess. Before she lost her soul in the process.
* * *
Luka
The bright peal of laughter was like rain after a drought. Luka paused in his conversation with his father to turn his head towards the source. At the foot of the table sat his mother, her face animated as it had not been for months, possibly years. Eyes sparkling, pale lips upturned in a vibrant grin, she'd turned her body towards Ciara as they spoke. Through this last week, stories of Ciara had kept her entertained and gave her something to look forward to. Now that Ciara had arrived, she'd come aliv
e. The two hit it off fabulously.
"Remind me again what it is Ms. Simmons does for the campaign?" Marcello asked. Luka turned his gaze back to his father, heart warmed by his mother's improved condition.
"She works on our social media platform. It's a big job. Mrs. Olsen told me that without her, we'd be lost."
"She's putting in full time hours on a voluntary basis?" Marcello followed up. His eyes turned from Luka to Ciara, observing her as she spoke. "How's a young girl like that from a small town affording a life in New York while working on your campaign as a volunteer?"
Luka had never considered the question before. He followed his father's gaze and traced his way down the back of Ciara's dress. There were many aspects of Ciara's life that he'd yet to discover, but until now the mysteries of her personal life had never mattered.
"Maybe she comes from money, Dad," Luka said, seeking to defend her before his father's scrutiny. "Or maybe she's cashing in her luck. Hoping her experience on the campaign gets her hired somewhere better than the crappy office job she was working before. I bet she's got a line of credit she's dipping into to make ends meet."
Neither scenario impressed Marcello. The lines of his forehead creased a little more, and he turned his head to catch Luka's eye.
"Before I met and married your mother, when I was a criminal justice lawyer making a name for myself, I was engaged to another woman. A woman so beautiful, you wouldn't have thought she could be real."
It was time for another of his father's stories. Luka sat back in his chair and got comfortable, resting his arms upon the flat arms of his chair. He respected Marcello enough to give him his undivided attention, even though the message was one he was likely unwilling to hear.