by Sadie Black
"We met after my first big case, when my name was put in the papers for the very first time. I thought she was God's gift to me for doing such a good job on the case, and I spoiled her with everything I had. Jewelry, clothes, cars, vacations, you name it. The girl had never worked a day in her life, but I didn't care. Why would I? With her on my arm I thought I was hot shit, and maybe I was. But in the end, not even a month before we were supposed to tie the knot, I caught her in bed with another wealthy man. Her game was to get into bed with guys who could take care of her and live off of their generosity, and she had me hooked from the beginning. And if you think that's a fluke, that someone like her is uncommon when you get into the big leagues, think again. The prettier the woman, the more careful you have to be that she isn't playing you for your money or fame. With a woman as pretty as Ms. Simmons, I'd be watching my back."
First the comment equating Ciara to a pawn, and now this? Luka bit back a toxic reply and sat on his words, searching for the right things to say.
"Look, it's clear to me you got burned, and I appreciate the warning, but Ciara isn't like that. She's not a goddamned tool for my campaign, she's not a gold digger, and she's not the same as any other girl I've ever met. She can take care of herself, Dad. She's independent. She's sure of herself. Just because I'm following in your footsteps, doesn't mean I'm you. I mean, Christ, I don't even think I know you." His words pushed through his clenched teeth.
Whatever conversation the ladies at the foot of the table were having was involved enough that Luka didn't think they overheard any of what he said. Camilla was laughing again, and if Luka didn't look her way to see her hairless scalp, he could almost believe that she'd never been sick at all. Ciara was taking wonderful care of her. A woman whose sole focus was on money and fame wouldn't give two shits about his sick mother, but there she was giving their conversation her all.
"And Mom — look at Mom. Do you ever remember Mom looking so happy since she started chemo? You think some chick chasing my money would give a shit about making Mom happy? She's the real deal, Dad. If you can't see that, then you're as blind about her as I was about you."
It was Marcello's turn to sit on his words. He tilted his chin up to let his head sink back for just a moment, sighed, then brought his chin level to the ground once more.
"I'll tell you what, Luka," he said seriously. "I'll accept her after you've won the campaign if she hasn't asked you for money or expensive objects. That is, if she's still around. Your track record with women isn't the most impressive when it comes to the length of your relationships. I'm not sure I should even worry."
While it was the truth, Luka couldn't help but prickle. If his father was looking for a fight, all he had to do was push a little harder. The past should have been left in the past. Other girls didn't come close to what he shared with Ciara. Other girls were vapid and disposable. Other girls...
Camilla laughed again, and Luka realized that other girls had never mattered — but Ciara did. Other girls had cheated on him, done him wrong, broken up with him, and not once had he cared. But Ciara? She was worth more. The state of his mother's health was not the sole reason he was so glad to see the two of them get along, Luka realized. He cared about what his mother thought of Ciara. He cared because he felt more for Ciara than he'd felt for any girl before.
"No, Dad. Don't worry. There comes a time where you've gotta let me go, where you've gotta let me live my own life and make my own mistakes. As much as you might think I'm foolish, or that I can't see all the dangers happening right before my eyes, give me some space to let me live, okay? Leave Ciara out of this. Even if you're right, she's making me happy right now, and that's all that matters."
With a shake of his head and a deep breath, Marcello offered a shrug.
"Fine. But when she breaks your heart, don't come running to me, Luka. If you're so intent on standing on your own, then you'll stand by your mistakes on your own as well."
Laughter, both Camilla's and Ciara's, lit the room with mirth.
"That's fine," Luka replied, unable to chill his tone; seeing both women get along so well left him unable to anger.
"Would anyone care for dessert?" Camilla asked, cutting across the tense conversation at the head of the table. Ciara rose from her seat and began to collect the used plates, earning her a scolding from the Belmonte matriarch.
"Ciara, sweetheart, what do you think you're doing? I'll take care of the dishes."
"I'm afraid I can't let you do that," Ciara insisted. As she passed by Luka's place to collect his plate, he let his fingertips brush across her thigh. The touch sent shivers through the back of his hand and up his arm, like tiny bolts of electricity. Could she really be the one? He hadn't been looking for anything serious, and yet what he felt couldn't be dismissed. "I'll bring the dishes to the kitchen and bring back dessert. Please, consider it my thanks for inviting me to such a lovely dinner."
For as much as his mother tutted and shook her head in disbelief, the smile on her face could not be contained. Luka rose from his place, heart pounding in his chest from the joy of it. Ciara treated his mother like gold and made her shine like she was back to her regular self, and Luka adored her all the more for it.
"I'll get the dessert plates and forks," he announced. "Mom, you stay where you are and relax. We've got this."
The way Ciara's dark eyes flashed over to his, a tiny smile curving her lips, made the offer more than worth it. The dinner had gone better than he ever could have hoped. Even with his father's pig-headed refusal to accept Ciara as anything more than a scam artist or fraud — that was an opinion that would be changed over time. Luka found himself caring less and less about what his old man thought anyway. Who was he to judge his life? Not the man Luka had once looked up to.
Besides, Luka had a feeling that there would be plenty of time in their future to prove that opinion wrong.
* * *
Ciara
Tiramisu had been prepared for dessert, and Ciara couldn't recall tasting something as perfect. Crisp, not too sweet, and flavorful, it had been masterfully prepared. Likewise, the meal had been excellent. Dining at the Belmonte's was a treat, and engaging with Camilla only improved the experience.
Well after dessert and coffee were out of the way, Camilla brought Ciara into the living room to sit down with a photo album while Luka lurked nervously by the door. Marcello had excused himself to his office, leaving the three of them time to bond.
"This," Camilla recalled, placing her finger beside a photo of a toddler-aged Luka standing in the very room they now sat in, rosy cheeks bright beneath a mop of dark hair, a plastic training potty propped up between the floor and one of his chubby fists, "is Luka when he was learning to potty train. I'd told him that he needed to use his potty whenever he felt the urge to go, and so he took it upon himself to drag his potty around so he'd have it on hand instead of visit the bathroom like he was supposed to."
"Mom," Luka groaned, embarrassed. He slapped a hand over his eyes and leaned against the door frame. "Really? Can't we save the embarrassing stories for the next time she's here?"
"Hey now, I didn't share any of your naked phase with her, Luka. Or the times when you'd only wear underwear if you could also wear a pair on your head. I promise, I'm sparing her from your worst."
Ciara's mouth scrunched as she tried to hold back her laughter, but a dry chuckle escaped despite her best efforts.
"Luka, it's okay," she said. "When I was little, every time a television show ended, I wouldn't stop bothering my mother until she waved goodbye with me to all the characters. We all did silly things when we were young."
"Not just when he was young," Camilla whispered, and this time Ciara did laugh.
By the time they made their way through the photo album, Luka's hand may as well have been permanently attached to his face from embarrassment, but Ciara had been treated to a fantastic time. It was easy to see why Luka was so attached to Camilla — she was a gem.
"Before my
mother can show you any of my grade school art," Luka announced, "why don't I take you home for the night? It's getting late."
The thought of parting ways sank Ciara's mood. Early that evening she'd overcome the guilt she felt by engaging with Camilla in earnest, and she felt as though there was so much more to discuss and laugh about.
"I think that's for the best," Camilla agreed. "I'm not used to being out of bed anymore, and it's starting to get the better of me."
Seated side by side on the couch, Camilla took Ciara's hand and held it loosely between both of hers. Ciara lifted her gaze to look into the woman's dreamy blue eyes, the connection between them powerful.
"You are an absolute doll," Camilla told her, sincerity blanketing her voice. "When Luka first told me about you, I thought that you'd be like the other girls he's brought home only to forget about weeks later — but I know that you're different. Never stop being the smart, funny, beautiful woman that I met today. I hope this isn't the last time we get to embarrass Luka together."
"Mom," Luka exclaimed, exasperated.
"I hope it's not, either," Ciara replied. Deep down she knew the chances of their paths crossing again on good terms was slim, but what she said she meant. "I've had a wonderful time. Thank you for having me, and please give my best to Mr. Belmonte. It was an honor to meet you."
"Any time," Camilla said. Her hands released Ciara's, and Ciara stood.
"Goodnight, Camilla," she bade her host as Luka cut across the room to take her by the arm. By the time Camilla replied, they were on their way out.
"Goodnight."
Luka brought her from the house and to the underground garage, where several cars were parked. The black town car was there, retired for the night. Luka led her past it and towards a silver Corvette.
"I figure, looking the way you do tonight, you need to be seen in a car that's going to match," he said as they advanced. He dug a hand into his back pocket and withdrew a set of keys, and a press of a button unlocked the car with a staccato beep. Already in a good mood, Ciara didn't hold back her smile. Outside of the stress of his career, Luka was easy to get along with, and his charm followed him wherever he went.
"Well, as long as it's not a motorcycle, anything is good by me," Ciara jabbed back, offering him a flirtatious wink. Luka rolled his eyes in good humor and stepped around to the front passenger's seat, opening the door for her. When Ciara was seated, he closed it behind her before walking around the car to settle into the driver's seat.
"One day," he told her, "you're going to wake up and realize how much you miss the feel of the wind on your face and your heart in your throat. You're going to crawl back to me and my bike, begging for a ride."
"And would you give it to me?" The seat belt snapped into its lock, and Ciara lifted an eyebrow playfully as she looked across at him.
"... Well, I would. But the point is, you play it up now like it was the worst moment of your life, but I'm pretty sure you're just giving me a hard time." The keys turned in the ignition, and the engine purred to life. Luka shifted into drive and followed the ramp leading up to the surface a short distance above. The heavy garage doors opened, and he waited at the entrance for a break in the rushing Saturday night traffic. "It won't be long before you have a change of heart and see things my way."
Luka's chance came, and he wove into traffic and made his way down the street.
"Now which way do I go to get you back to your place?"
Ciara laughed, sitting back in her chair to regard him with a softened expression. Tonight had proven to her that Luka wasn't senselessly cruel — he was a man under pressure. Sure he'd made some poor choices. How could she fault him for that?
"Well, it's the other way," she laughed. "But at least we're moving. That's a good start."
"Well, shit," Luka laughed in reply. "I'll get us turned around. Just hold on."
Before long they were on their way off island and towards Ciara's apartment.
Conversation flowed easy until a chiming of bells interrupted Luka mid-sentence. Without taking his eyes from the road, he dug into his back pocket and produced his cellphone. A photograph of a baby-faced tough guy lit the screen, the name Gino written above it. Luka glanced down, cussed, and made a quick apology to her.
"Gotta take this call. It's important news from a friend. Sorry."
His thumb hit the green answer button, and he lifted the phone to his ear.
"Gino?"
From where she sat, Ciara saw Luka's expression grow worrisome, eyes wide and lips trembling.
"You can't be serious. Where are you?"
It wasn't anger in Luka's voice, but frightened concern. Ciara had no idea what was happening, but from the way Luka's hand had begun to tremble as it held the phone, she knew it had to be bad.
"Fuck that. Fuck that! Gino, I'm there."
Without a word of warning, Luka threw his phone down into the space by her feet and gripped the wheel with both hands. The car skidded, tires screeching, as he turned on a dime and sped back in the direction they'd come from. Unaware of what he'd planned, Ciara had failed to brace herself. The seat belt locked as her body rocked to the side, and she cried out in shock as Luka turned them around. The orange lights of the city blurred like strokes of paint against a dark canvas, and for a moment Ciara thought it would be the last thing she'd ever see. When they didn't die, she found her wits and gasped out a breathless inquiry as to their sudden change in direction.
"What's going on?!"
"There's an emergency, and I should have been at the hospital ten minutes ago. I just need to go in for a couple of minutes, and then I'll be right back out to drive you home. I'm sorry."
Ciara gripped the hand rail tight, heart thudding in her chest from fear and adrenaline. Was Gino calling to tell him about his mother’s condition? Had she expended too much energy over dinner and weakened herself to the point of hospitalization? Or was this something else? Whatever the case, Ciara didn't have the heart to argue with him. Whatever had happened was important, and she'd wait for him if it meant he'd have peace of mind.
"Yeah, of course. You do what you need to do. I'll wait here for you."
"Thanks."
It was the last words they spoke to one another on that drive. Luka floored the gas pedal, and before Ciara got her bearings, they were in the hospital parking lot.
"Wait here," he told her. A firm press of his thumb unbuckled his seat belt, and Luka sprang from the car before she could confirm. The keys were still lodged in the ignition, and his phone was still by her feet. The phone Luka had so jealously guarded the week before.
Your story just fell into your lap, a wicked voice in Ciara's mind whispered. Luka sprinted for the front doors, oblivious to the mistake he'd just made. Or was it that he trusted her? The thought twisted Ciara's stomach into knots. Could she really betray him?
If she wanted to have a career in New York City, she would have to.
Ciara scooped up the phone to find the screen still unlocked. With ease she navigated into his picture folder and scrolled through images of his past. Girls. Parties. More girls. Then, in one of the most recent pictures, gold: lines of cocaine on a table, with a girl at his feet. The date on the photo pegged it at just before Luka's candidacy announcement. The photo that followed featured a group of gorgeous, topless women flashing the peace sign as Luka sat before them, looking troubled.
"That can't be all you have to give me," Ciara murmured. She emailed herself the pictures before exiting the folder to scroll through his text messages. Apart from the conversation with her number, there was a conversation with Marcello, 'Dad', and a conversation with an individual named V. Curiosity got the better of her, and she scrolled through the messages to try to get a feel for the latter.
V (8:21AM): watch the news this AM, Luka. the pieces are falling into place
Something about the message jarred her, and Ciara scrolled further back through the message history. The back and forth never explicitly incriminated either
of them, but Ciara could put two and two together. The further she read, the more obvious it seemed.
Luka was connected to the mafia.
This wasn't just the story that would launch her career — it might just be the story of her life.
* * *
Luka
The soles of Luka's shoes squeaked against the hospital's spotless floors. Bright fluorescent lights beamed down, highlighting even the smallest imperfection in everything it touched. Green scrubs splattered with blood, white linens piled high in laundry carts in a similar state. The emergency room wasn't a place Luka thought he'd see again — not after his mother had first collapsed and split her head open on the ground. It was just as busy as he remembered it, hospital staff constantly on the run from one emergency to the next. Within the chaos of rushing doctors and nurses, Luka fit right in.
"Sir!" one of the nurses called from the swinging doorways he'd just passed through. "Sir, you're not allowed in there! No one but authorized personnel is—"
But Luka had stopped listening. His eyes flitted between each door, searching for the familiar face of an old friend through the glass viewing windows on the doors. The call had come as a shock, and he needed to see it with his own eyes to fully get a grasp on the situation.
Gino had sounded rough on the phone, and had been unable to express his thoughts clearly. Luka needed to see for himself how bad it really was, needed closure. There was no hiding the reality of the situation — what had happened to Gino was no accident. It was time to see what it looked like when Vittore Lombardo decided he was no longer impressed.
It wasn't until Luka spotted a chart hanging outside one of the doors that he found who he was looking for.
Ferrera, Gino, the report read. Multiple comminuted, impacted, and spiral fractures present of oblique and transverse natures on core and extremities. Pneumothorax present. Maxillofacial damage sustained. Skin graft necessary. Ventilation required for—