Run This Town: Complete Series

by Sadie Black

  It wasn’t the first time Luka drove the busy streets in a haze, but his familiarity with shock and grief did not make it any easier. When the call disconnected suddenly, Luka found himself pulled back into reality. Still several blocks away from the hospital, he realized that this was a situation he was going into blind.

  Ciara said she wasn’t hurt, but the broadcast said she was covered in blood. Was it shock that had numbed her to her injuries, or had eyewitness reports been exaggerated? He had to brace himself for the worst, but hope for the best. His father’s recent passing still weighed heavily on his heart. If anything happened to Ciara, he wasn’t sure he could take it. There had been too many tragedies in too short a time, and Luka knew his heart needed time to heal.

  Instead of waste time with the parking lot, Luka pulled up onto the snowy grounds beside it and shifted into park. Keys clutched in his hand, he cut across the snow and to the hospital doors, the familiarity haunting him. Like Gino. Like his father. He knew whatever had happened to Ciara had been ordered by Vittore. The man was ruthless. It was time to put an end to the game of Russian roulette before he lost another loved one to Vittore’s bullet.

  “I’m mayor Luka Belmonte,” Luka announced as he burst in through the hospital’s front doors. The medical receptionist looked up at him, startled. “I’m here to see Ciara Simmons, my fiancé. I need to see her right away; there’s no time to waste.”

  “Sir,” the woman said uneasily. The green scrubs she wore were spotless.

  “No. No speeches about procedure, about the rules, about safety — I know you know who I am. I need to go see her. Either you tell me where she is and I’ll go myself, or you take me to her.”

  The woman looked torn. The waiting room was filled with patients in varying stages of injury and sickness, and she glanced to them before looking back at Luka.

  “Please, sir, we’re trying to keep details under wraps until the authorities have investigated. You can find her down the hall to the left, room C-12. We’ve been trying to—”

  But Luka was off, and he stopped listening to what she had to say. Ciara was his priority, and he had to make sure she was okay with his own eyes. Seeing was believing, and Luka had a lot of seeing to do.

  C-12 was a third of the way down the hall, and Luka went in without knocking. Ciara, still sobbing, sat on a hospital bed as a member of the police department stood by her, holding a notebook and a pen. Blood stained her jacket and the thighs of her jeans, but Luka could see no signs of injury. Hearing the door, the man in uniform looked up, but Ciara remained where she sat.

  “Ciara!” Luka rushed to her side, and the officer took a step back. Ciara lifted her head, and when Luka swept her up into his arms, she stood from the bed and hugged him tight. The sobbing quieted down as Luka stroked her back, slow and soothing. “You’re going to be okay,” he promised. “I’m going to make all of this okay.”

  “Mr. Belmonte,” the officer said, “I’ve been trying to get a statement, but she’s having a hard time pulling herself together. I’m glad you’re here. Did she tell you any of what’s been going on?”

  “No,” Luka said. Tucked safe in his arms, Ciara had stopped crying, but she continued to tremble like a leaf caught in the autumn wind. There was a death, and Luka knew it was more than likely that Paul was the victim. Since Ciara had called, he’d not heard the condition of the bodyguard mentioned.

  “Without a statement, we’ve been piecing this together from the condition of the victims. Someone shot the man Ms. Simmons was traveling with point blank in the head and took off. We have reason to believe the man got between the attacker and Ms. Simmons, and took a bullet meant for her.”

  “No,” the voice, although delicate, carried its weight. Ciara broke her silence, comforted enough by Luka’s presence to speak. Luka ran a hand over her hair, encouraging her. “The bullet was meant for Paul. They want to scare us. His name was Paul Litman. He was a good man, just doing his job. He didn’t deserve this.”

  “Can you describe the assailant, Ms. Simmons?” the officer asked. “Any details at all that you can remember, even small ones, may help serve in an arrest.”

  Was this so crucial? The hairs on the back of Luka’s neck prickled in irritation. Ciara needed comfort, not to be dragged back into the troubled memories of the last hour. Luka held her closer and scowled at the guard.

  “Officer, she’s been through a lot. Can’t she give her statement after she’s had a chance to calm down?”

  “Luka, no,” Ciara muttered. “I need to tell him when it’s still fresh. They need to know exactly who to look for so they can arrest his ass for what he did to Paul.”

  Since he’d arrived, a switch had flipped inside of her that turned her from a blubbering mess to the level-headed woman he knew. Ciara had talked him into disobeying Vittore, and Luka had allowed her to sway him. He almost lost her. There would be no more arrests and no more stings. Bringing down Vittore wasn’t worth losing Ciara. This time there was nothing Ciara could do to stop him.

  “He was tall, maybe six-one, wearing a full ski mask and a blue and white winter jacket. Regular jeans. Big black boots. For a man, his voice was a little shrill, and he definitely had an Italian accent.”

  The officer scribbled down the details, and when Luka saw his pen finally rest, he spoke.

  “Officer, I want to thank you for taking the time to do such a thorough job. Right now, Ms. Simmons and I need some time alone to collect our thoughts.”

  “You got it. When you’re ready, head on down to the police department and ask to speak to one of us on the case. Whoever’s at the desk will put you in touch, and we can work together to put together a press release.”

  What formalities. Irritation twitched in Luka’s temple, but he kept his anger in check. Emotions ran high in times such as this; it felt as though he’d never know peace again.

  “Thank you.” Dismissed, the officer took his leave of the room, and when the door closed, Luka looked at Ciara and steeled himself for the conversation to follow.

  “This is the final straw,” he said, and meant it. “I’m doing what Vittore says from here on out. I’m not going to sit around and pretend your life isn’t in danger.”

  “What?” Ciara’s brow creased as she looked at him, and she took a step back to put some distance between them. The more time went on, the more their opinions diverged. “No. You can’t listen to Vittore. We talked about this already. Even if you listen to him, he knows that I know too much. He’s not going to stop in his attempt to off me whether you listen or not. Don’t be a fool, Luka.”

  What didn’t she understand? Anger continued to cloud his judgment, but Luka fought against it and remained as calm and rational as he could. She deserved that much.

  “So what should I do, Ciara? Ignore him and guarantee you get offed in the next few weeks, maybe days, or listen to Vittore and buy you some time? If I get cozy with him, he’s won’t do shit to you as long as you learn your place and keep quiet. You can live. We can be together. It’s the only way.”

  Ciara scowled. The expression was ugly and distant. The fiercely independent woman Luka loved refused to back down, and he wished she would settle when it really mattered. This was no small matter, and Luka knew that he was right.

  “Learn my fucking place? Keep fucking quiet? Can you hear yourself?” She spat her words. “I can’t believe you’ve even consider giving in to Vittore. Where is the Luka Belmonte who swore to avenge his father’s death? Where is the Luka Belmonte who saw what happened to his friend Gino and promised himself he was getting out of this life? Don’t be so weak! Stand up for what you believe in and take Vittore down!”

  “I am standing up for what I believe in,” Luka said, tone pure ice. “And I won’t be weak and bow down to your will either. This is what I am doing; it’s not up for discussion. I’m going to work for Vittore to keep you safe, and that’s final.”

  Ciara’s jaw dropped, but anger burned in her eyes instead of surprise.
/>
  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me,” Luka replied, voice even. Despite his own anger at how Vittore had forced his hand and how blind Ciara was to the situation, he kept himself in check. The woman he loved deserved nothing less than civilized conversation. He would not lose his temper, and he would not yell, no matter how badly she went off on him. Ciara’s constant encouragement, and his few weeks in office had seen him grow up fast.

  “A killer doesn’t stop killing,” Ciara seethed. “Are you saying you’d rather listen to the man who killed your own father than than to your fiancé?”

  “If it means that my fiancé will get to live to see another day, yes,” Luka shot back. “What do I have to do to explain this to you, Ciara? Do I have to drag you in front of a mirror and force you to look at yourself? You’re covered in blood. You were screaming when you called me. You could have died today. How am I supposed to ignore that? How am I supposed to stay on course when the woman I love more than anything else in this whole fucked up world might not live to see the next sunrise?”

  “You made a promise to the city, Luka. You promised you’d end the corruption,” her voice was rising now, her temper spiraling out of control. Luka had never seen her so angry. “You promised your father you’d get revenge. A Belmonte doesn’t step down from his promises!”

  “And I made a promise to keep you safe,” Luka replied. All the pieces were fitting into place, but the picture they revealed was not one Luka wanted to see. There was only one way he could keep his promises. It was time to face the reality of the situation. “You’re right. You know what, you’re absolutely right. I’d never forgive myself if I worked with Vittore, but I can’t live with your life on the line, either. Not anymore. It’s been tearing me the fuck apart, and I just can’t have you dangling in danger’s way any longer.”

  “What are you saying?” Ciara demanded. Anger still flavored her words, and her eyes were sharp blades. Even at her angriest, even when she hated him, she was beautiful. Luka’s heart ached. There would never be another woman like her.

  “I’m moving into Gracie Mansion,” he told her, “and I’m calling off the wedding. There’s no way I can get through a term fighting tooth and nail against the mafia and keep you safe. The only way I can do both is if we go our separate ways.”

  For a long moment there was nothing. Ciara didn’t move, she didn’t speak. The significance of his message soaked in, and she processed it slowly. When she found her words once more, there was no scathing remark for Luka to rebut. Instead, a simple question parted from her lips.

  “What?”

  “Vittore wants to destroy the people I love. The only way I can save your life is to cut you out of mine.”

  Anger disappeared, replaced instead by heartbreak. Ciara’s gaze softened, and her lips drew downwards in confused agony.

  “No. No, that’s not the only way. We’ll keep fighting like we have been. We will make it work.” All the determination had vanished from her voice. She pled with him now, begging him to reconsider.

  “I can’t, Ciara,” he said. “You can stay in the condo until you’ve got a place of your own figured out. I’m moving into Gracie Mansion tonight. Maybe you should leave New York; it’s not safe for you here anymore. Go start somewhere else and free yourself of this filth. You’ll be better off for it.”

  “Luka, no, just—”

  “I’ve made up my mind,” each word was snapped, and Ciara recoiled. Tears welled in her eyes, and he knew he’d hurt her. The truth was, Luka’s own heart felt as though it was breaking in two. This wasn’t what he’d wanted, but it was what was best for the both of them. At night he could rest easy knowing that Ciara was safe. Knowing she was alive would be a sliver of happiness he would cling to for the rest of his life.

  Tears fell down Ciara’s cheeks, but she did not sob. This was a different kind of sorrow.

  “I’ll have my things moved out in two hours. After that, the condo is yours. I’m sorry, Ciara. But you’re right. If I work with Vittore I can’t live with myself, and if I don’t he’ll kill you. This is truly the only way.”

  Tears of his own welled, but would not manifest. Luka kept his jaw tight as he walked to the door, then slipped out into the hall. Ciara hadn’t made a peep. In a selfish way, Luka was relieved that he hadn’t heard her cry over him.

  What started as a game to seduce the smartest woman we’d crossed paths with, turned into a whirlwind romance. Although the storm still raged in his heart, he knew he had to let it die. The love he felt for Ciara meant that he could never be with her again, not while Vittore still had his liberty. As much as it hurt, he had to stick to his guns. The city needed him. Ciara needed him. This was the only way he could attend to both of their needs at once.

  When the announcement of the shooting aired later that evening, it was coupled with the news of Luka’s move into Gracie Mansion. To his disgust, the media grazed over the news of Paul’s death to focus on the details of what the move meant.

  “Many of you may not know that the reason Belmonte continued living at his previous address was because unmarried partners are not allowed to live at Gracie Mansion. Following the death of Ms. Simmons’ friend, Paul Litman, and now the move, we can’t help but wonder if Ms. Simmons was getting a little on the side, and the death brought that fact to Mr. Belmonte’s attention. Could this be a breakup over infidelity? Could Luka Belmonte be the sexiest bachelor in New York once more? No one knows for sure, but if this reporter has anything to say on the matter, it’s—”

  Luka turned the program off and collapsed against his mattress. The smell of antique dust rose up as he did, the ancient wooden bed frame creaking beneath his weight. No one understood. No one could understand. They would gawk, raise their eyebrows, whisper dirty lies, and Luka’s heart would break more and more. Ciara was not by his side to warm the vast empty space of the bed. Her scent didn’t cling to the pillows. Her laugh didn’t light up the halls. And it never would.

  Without her, Gracie Mansion was an empty shell that would always remind him of the sacrifice he’d made. He wiped a stray tear from his cheek. The only way he’d get through the term with his sanity would be if he threw himself into his work.

  Tomorrow was another day, but not a brighter day. Happiness would be replaced with responsibility, he’d push himself, and New York would flourish once more. With time Ciara would heal. With time she would probably grow to hate him and move on. Luka knew the same couldn’t be said for him; Ciara had taken a piece of his heart with her, and it would never be whole again. No. It wasn’t her doing. Luka knew better. The mafia had forced the split, and instead of mourn his loss, Luka knew his emotions were better invested in getting even.

  Vittore would pay for all he had done. Luka would see to that.

  * * *

  Ciara

  Three days passed. Three long, difficult days. All her life Ciara had never let any man affect her so deeply that she mourned his loss, but Luka wasn’t just any man. Their connection was real, dangerous, and foolish. But after all they’d been through, Ciara thought that she’d found someone she could count on forever.

  She’d never been more wrong.

  Luka’s betrayal left her blindsided. Only after she staggered from the hospital room and went through the lengthy process of checking out, did the shock begin to wear off. Crippling sorrow rushed in, like water at high pressures pushing through a fault in a dam, until it broke her. The cab ride home was one of the most difficult of her life; it took every ounce of strength she had not to burst out into ugly sobs. An episode like that would hit the local tabloids hard, and her disgrace would be immortalized in print. Ciara didn’t want it to happen.

  Yet the next morning, news of Luka’s move already hit the papers, and all kinds of nasty rumors were spreading. Paul was her lover. Paul was connected to the mafia, and Ciara with him. Paul had gotten her pregnant. Paul, Paul, Paul.

  All of it lies, and all of it nothing more than disrespectful bullshit. Th
e man would never laugh again, never crack a joke, never grin that shit-eating grin of his, all because Vittore wanted to make a point. Ciara couldn’t believe he was gone. To make matters worse, the organization she planned to volunteer with called to inform Ciara that she was no longer a good fit. And in her hour of need, when things were at their worst, Luka turned his back on her.

  The pillars holding up her future all crumbled at once and left her with nothing. Nothing but some ice cream, some mindless television, and an aversion to leaving the condo. After returning home from the hospital, Ciara had changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt and hadn’t changed out of them since. Outside she risked media questions about her involvement with Paul, or what had really happened between her and Luka. Right now Ciara couldn’t deal with either. Right now she needed to mope, to lick her wounds, to nurse her broken heart.

  In the past she’d dated men who grew too attached too fast, only to shut them down. This time she was the vulnerable one, and karma had come back to bite her in the ass. If only she’d been sweeter or more supportive. If only she’d let Luka do what he wanted. If only she’d never fallen for him in the first place. Love was a bad idea. Because if there was one thing she’d learned as a child with an angry drunk for a mom, it was that love always hurt. This time she wouldn’t forget. Luka had changed her, first for better and then for worse.

  Stale pizza sat on the coffee table beside the couch Ciara lounged on, cold and uneaten. She turned her eyes from the television to it, and noticed the empty carton of ice cream beside it, and the bags of open chips left on the floor. Disgust turned in her stomach. For three days she’d wallowed in self-pity. What had happened to the woman she was before she met Luka? Once upon a time she’d had confidence and self-worth. She’d had ambition. Somewhere inside of her, that woman still lived. If she was ever going to feel better about herself, she was going to have to make an effort to get back in touch with her.