by Tamara Lush
She had dark hair, wore a sloppy-T-shirt, and from the shape of the nose and the plump lips, she looked like Skylar Shaw, the local reporter. Swaying palm tree fronds blocked Annalisa’s view and she lowered the binoculars, her mouth drooping along with her mood.
Fuck. How much time was he spending with Skylar? Surely she was just one of his many conquests. It would be trouble if the American became involved.
Annalisa shuffled through the water. She didn’t want to hurt anyone, much less a reporter. She liked reporters, because she had been one. But she’d come all this way and wasn’t above eliminating a woman if it meant getting to Luca.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Setting her coffee on a table, Skylar stood at the terrace railing and looked out at the view of sand and water. She nodded appreciatively. “You must have had a great view of the plane crash.”
Luca leaned on the rail, his back to the Gulf. The corners of his eyes crinkled into a smile.
“You did see the crash from here. And you didn’t tell me. You’re so bad,” Skylar teased, then pointed. “That’s where I do yoga.”
Glancing at him again, his head was bowed and he was biting his bottom lip, grinning.
“Have you seen me do yoga?” she asked, astonished.
He nodded. “Confession time. Yes.”
Laughing, she stood in front of him and squeezed his forearm. “You have? Why didn’t you come join me? Or say hello? Or did you just enjoy watching me bend over?”
Still grinning, he scratched the back of his head then went to sit on a chaise and sat his coffee on a nearby table. “It was the Saturday after we saw each other at that store. You were right there, practically in my backyard. And you were really flexible. Sexy. I did enjoy watching you bend over, if you want to know.”
She leaned into his ear. “Sometime soon I’m going to let you watch me do something else. Something we talked about on the phone.”
She kissed him. When she turned away, he swatted her ass and she yelped, giddy. He grabbed her wrist then pulled her into his lap. Sliding his arms around her waist, he pressed his mouth to hers.
“How did you get so good at yoga?”
“My mom taught it. I practically grew up in her studio, but then I took lots of classes and even taught little kids during summers in high school.”
Her mom also worked at a health food store until six weeks before her death to make ends meet, but Skylar didn’t reveal that. She didn’t want Luca to know that if it wasn’t for her mom’s job at the health food store, they wouldn’t have had money to eat. Or that one January when Sky was twelve, her mom didn’t make enough to pay for heating oil and they wore coats inside all winter long.
“Did you learn to meditate and everything?”
“I grew up a New Age Buddhist kid.”
“What does a New Age Buddhist kid do? Were you on a commune?”
Skylar grinned. “No. But I had friends who were. They had a house rule that they couldn’t smoke pot until they were thirteen.”
Luca shook his head, incredulous. “But…is New Age Buddhism even a thing?”
She rolled her eyes and chuckled. “Who knows. My mom was into a lot of fake spirituality. Lots of talking about peace and love and respecting the inherent worth and dignity of all human beings.”
“It sounds kind of nice, actually.”
She shrugged, not wanting to get into how all that inner peace didn’t help her mom die in a calm way. Something about telling Luca the story of her mom made her sad. Chemotherapy and radiation had made for lots of suffering, and enlightenment be damned.
“Yeah, it was good, mostly. I learned to meditate when I was a toddler, that’s what my mom said. I don’t do it as much as I should now, though.”
“That must be why you seem so calm on the outside. Strong.”
She tilted her head. Was this his way of saying that she was cold and passionless? She wriggled out of his arms. “And on the inside, what? Emotionless? Vacant? Stupid?”
“God, no. Not even close. What?” he asked, looking surprised. “I was paying you a compliment. You seem really mature for twenty-two. Balanced. I love how calm you are. I grew up around Italians. We’re excited and crazy all the time. Loud.”
She shrugged and ran a few fingers through his short hair. “My, um, calmness, whatever you want to call it, is a sore point. My ex-boyfriend used to tell me I was cold and frigid. Oh. Sorry. We’re not supposed to talk about our pasts.”
“No. Actually, I want to hear about this stronzo. That means asshole. Stronzo. I want to know exactly what he did to you so I can figure out how to undo the damage. Who was he?”
Skylar let out a snort and slipped off Luca’s lap, settling next to him on the chaise. “James was an editor at the newspaper where I interned. We started dating after my internship was over. He was a lot older than me, but I liked him. He was interesting. Told good stories. He was a former war correspondent. At first we got along really well.”
“And what happened?” She noticed that Luca looked at the sky as she spoke.
“It’s difficult to say. He just became gradually more…I don’t know, demeaning. Abusive. He got laid off from the paper. He’d tell me that I was boring in bed. He told me I was getting fat. It was like a slow erosion of my confidence. Then he got a little physical with me. Once, when he didn’t like something I was doing, um, sexually, he pushed me off the bed. Like, pushed me. Hard.”
Luca said something in Italian. “Sorry. I use the nastiest words in my native language. Skylar, why did you stay?”
“I don’t know. I thought that somehow he would become nicer, that he was just under pressure. It sounds so stupid and lame now. And I guess my self-esteem took a hit and I was too ashamed to say anything to anyone.”
“But you broke up with him?”
“Yeah. I worked up the courage after he invited another woman to his house to fuck me. On my graduation night.”
Laughter exploded from Luca’s mouth, and Skylar’s heart sank. He must have seen the troubled look on her face, though, because he sobered and reached for her hand. “Skylar. I’m not laughing at you. I’m just shocked. I can’t believe anyone would do that to you. It’s so absurd.”
She shrugged. “I dunno. I think all men want threesomes. He was just upfront about it. And an asshole.”
Luca groaned. “No. All men don’t.”
“Please. I’m sure you’ve had threesomes. You probably have women throwing themselves at you.”
“Skylar, I can’t deny I’ve had a past. But I’d never share you with anyone, man or woman. It would make me crazy to see anyone else touch you.”
The sound of the soft waves of the Gulf filled the silence.
“And yet, you don’t want a relationship, so what does it matter?”
Luca licked his lips, and Skylar wondered if she’d been too caustic, self-sabotaging this fledgling relationship before it had a chance to hatch. Suddenly she didn’t feel like hanging out with him, was embarrassed about spending so much time wrapped up in him when he probably would never reciprocate her feelings.
“I think I’m gonna go. I have lots to do today. I had a really good time with you.”
God, this was awkward.
His green-gray eyes clouded and flickered downward for a brief second. Was he disappointed? No, he was probably glad to get rid of her.
“Okay. I’ll call you, or text. But you can, too. You know that, right?”
She smiled, but a sad feeling washed over her. “Yeah. I do.” But she wouldn’t. She would make him come to her. If he wanted.
* * *
Why the hell did she have to leave? Why hadn’t he tried harder to make her stay? More importantly, why did he care so much?
Sitting before a blank screen of his computer, Luca sighed. Maybe he should drive to the store for cigarettes. Writing was easier while smoking; it made him think more fluidly. All the reporting notes for the second book on another Mafia family were transcribed and he had an outline. B
ut tonight he didn’t feel like creating sentences or paragraphs or chapters. Grabbing two pens, he tapped them on the desk like drumsticks, and the sound matched his quick-beating heart.
He wanted to lounge more on the sofa with Skylar. That little taste of normalcy, of watching a movie, of sleeping next to her and waking to her kisses, was oddly seductive. The intimacy and the cozy cuddling was just part of it though, and a gnawing need still raged inside of him. Skylar’s touch, how she brought him to orgasm with only her soft hands, had stirred an intensity inside him that he had never experienced before. So much so, that concentration on anything else was impossible. The memory of how she slowly rubbed her finger over the tip of his cock made him hard, and he thought about jerking off.
He considered her request. Her rule. Of course he wouldn’t seek out anyone else. Why would he want to? The way the pain fogged her eyes when she talked about her ex-boyfriend made his heart pound uncomfortably against his chest, and hearing about how the guy pushed her had nearly taken his breath away in anger. Luca now realized why, as he thumped the pens harder against the desktop. He’d covered some nasty domestic violence stories while at the paper in Italy, and he’d never forgotten interviewing one woman in particular. Her husband had beat her severely, and her tears and pain had imprinted on his 22-year-old brain. He’d felt helpless, knowing that his article was probably meaningless. The story, like so many others he’d written as a young reporter, was an unbylined brief. Five paragraphs to sum up a tragedy.
The idea of a man putting his hands on a woman in that way sickened him. He tossed the pens on the desk.
It was irrational, but Luca wished he’d been able to protect Skylar from James’s abuse. The only thing he could do now, though, for her future, was to not hurt her in any way.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Skylar walked into the newsroom on Tuesday morning to find a box on her chair. What had she bought? Why had the package slipped her mind? She had been forgetful lately because of Luca and work. It wouldn’t be surprising if she’d ordered something and totally spaced out.
Slicing open the tape on the box edges with a pair of scissors, she discovered another box nestled inside, wrapped in gold paper and tied with a gold ribbon. She carefully unfolded the attached note card and tilted her head in curiosity.
Più baci per te.
—Luca
Sky laughed out loud. She’d look the Italian words up on the Internet as soon as she opened the gift.
Sliding her finger under the thick wrapping paper, she extracted a midnight blue box. Baci, it said in light blue cursive letters on the front. Grinning, she lifted the lid to find twenty-eight chocolates wrapped in sparkling silver foil.
He’d remembered.
She looked around, anticipating her coworkers would cluster around to tease her—or, more likely, to beg for candy. No one was nearby, thankfully. This was a moment to enjoy alone. She plucked a chocolate from the box and unwrapped it, biting into the sweet and closing her eyes. It was dark and delicious. As the chocolate melted on her tongue, she sank into the chair and went to an online translator to type in the words of Luca’s message.
Her heart soared when she read the translation. More kisses for you.
* * *
Luca tugged at his shirt collar as he settled back into the tan leather seat of his uncle’s private jet. Federico had invited him to Miami, suggesting a change of scenery for a couple of nights. After pacing the mansion for two days, thinking only of Skylar, Luca couldn’t argue with his uncle’s logic.
Of course, he had first sent Skylar chocolates, and she’d sounded so happy when she called to thank him that he wanted to stay on the island and invite her over. But he needed to slow down with her. Not be so eager. That’s why he didn’t tell her where he was going. It also still felt odd to reveal his plans to anyone. So he’d put on a real button-down shirt and pants and a jacket. He carried a smart-looking, black leather overnight bag, as if he were any young professional on a business trip, then left the house. He felt like an impostor, since he’d gotten so used to the beach-bum attire of shorts and a T-shirt. He’d parked his uncle’s Mercedes at the island’s executive airport, tipping the security guard an extra few hundred to keep it safe.
After a quick flight across the state, a limo whisked Luca to his uncle’s downtown Miami penthouse. He grinned when he walked in, because as tropically ostentatious as the beach house was, the penthouse was something out of a sleek Miami dream. Like stepping into a cliché. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean. Everything—the furniture, the walls, the floors—was decorated in white. What wasn’t white was clear glass, as shiny and tranquil as the ocean just beyond the windows.
“I didn’t take you for a minimalist,” Luca laughed, clapping his uncle on the back as they hugged.
Federico shrugged. “It helps me think. Let’s have a drink.” He led Luca over to a chair—white, of course—and then stood at a bar. “Scotch?”
“Absolutely,” Luca said. His uncle had great taste in booze.
Federico handed Luca his drink and then sank into a matching white sofa. They made small talk, and Luca was surprised how comfortable he felt. This was good, getting to know his only living family member.
He rattled the ice in his glass. “Zio, I meant to tell you. The workers came to fix the fence. Thanks for calling about that. If Skylar opened it so easily that day, who knows who else could come in?”
“Excellent. And, speaking of that, how is the reporter girl? She did a pretty decent story on me, actually.”
Luca grinned. “She’s good.”
“So you’ve seen her again?”
Luca nodded.
Federico leaned back into the sofa and took a sip. “Does she know about the book?”
Luca shook his head. “No. I’ve thought about telling her, though.”
“Might not be a bad idea. Because you’re not in too much danger anymore. And whatever danger you’re in, you’ve got it under control with my help. You seem to like this girl. A lot.”
“Who says I like her?” Luca said, shrugging.
“I know the look of a man who is totally captivated. Trust me. I’ve been in your shoes, and I’ve regretted making some wrong decisions.”
Luca let that sink in, and it reminded him of something else that had been on his mind since coming to Florida. “You know, Zio,” he said, “I’ve been wanting to ask you. What happened between you and my father? And why did you never get married?”
His uncle sighed and looked down at his feet. “Changing the subject. Okay. Well, I knew you’d ask that eventually. And the answer to both of those questions have to do with the same reason. It’s why I asked you here.”
Luca jiggled his leg nervously. Something about his uncle’s tense face was unsettling.
“I hesitated on whether to tell you this, but I think it’s time,” Federico continued in a quiet voice.
“Time? For what?”
Federico sat back and sprawled an arm over the back of the sofa. “I knew your mother before your father did. We were in love. I don’t know if your parents ever told you, but we all grew up in the same neighborhood.”
Luca’s eyes went big and he cocked his head. He remained silent. What the hell? He knew that his mom and dad were from the same area of Naples, but it never occurred to him that Federico also grew up with his mother.
“Your mother and I talked about marriage. I came to the U.S. for law school and she stayed behind in Italy. When I returned, she was dating Cristiano, your father. It was…awkward.” Federico sighed big.
Luca reminded himself to take a breath. He had never considered that his mother might be with anyone but his father, much less dated his uncle. “I had no idea.”
Federico shook his head. “Of course you wouldn’t. Cristiano and I stopped talking to each other. You and I never got to know each other.”
“Well, it was thirty years ago, right? I guess things like that weren’t uncommon.” Luca smiled tightly.
“No. Not uncommon. For many years, I beat myself up for losing her. I loved your mother, Luca. Never stopped loving her. Still love her.”
Luca bent his head and tears pricked at his eyes. Federico’s connection to his mother made him feel a bit closer to the older man, and he was grateful for it. “I miss her.”
“I know. I miss her too—or miss who she was all those years ago.”
“Her death was my fault.”
His uncle took a deep breath. “You say that, but Cristiano played a part, Luca. Don’t kid yourself. He was a prosecutor. You know he tried lots of criminals and Mafia bosses. And he encouraged you to write your book, you said so yourself. So did your mother. They were both hardheaded about doing the right thing and never backing down.”
Luca nodded and drained his Scotch. Federico was right. “Pigheaded” was what the papers called his father when he’d tried a famous Camorra boss when Luca was only seven. Luca remembered that summer as the one where he and his mother went to live on his grandfather’s citrus farm and he didn’t see his father for months.
“Cristiano sought justice. Always. Almost to a fault. Everything was black and white with him.”
Luca nodded again. “When was the last time you saw my mother?”
Federico stood and paced the room, standing at the window, gazing at the fading daylight. Luca’s mouth went dry as the minutes silently ticked past.
Federico turned. “A month before your parents were married. And nine months before you were born.”
The words hit Luca like a swift kick to the stomach. Did he just hear his uncle correctly? He reminded himself to breathe. “What are you trying to say?”
Federico came to the sofa next to Luca’s chair and sat facing him. “I flew to Italy before her wedding to Cristiano. I wanted to try one last time to convince her to marry me. She was confused, and one night, we…we were intimate. She told me that she hadn’t yet been with your father, that he thought she was a virgin…”