Renzo + Lucia: The Complete Trilogy

by Bethany-Kris

  “Do you think the owner is trying to sell it knowing it’s a fake?” Lucia asked.

  Kelly shook her head, and carefully picked up the first print which belonged to her friend. “Not at all. Christian Savino brought it in after his art dealer in Italy bought it to add to his profile, as he said. He trusted the dealer to know what he was doing. Afterward, he apparently had reason to believe the print was a forgery, and contacts of his put him in contact with us because I have access to one of the first fifty prints in this edition.”

  “He’s not going to be happy when you send that back to him with the truth—”

  “Oh, he’s here,” Kelly said, slyly. “Brought the print along with him for a trip, apparently.” Her boss checked the watch on her wrist, and then gave Lucia a smile. “He’ll be here in a few minutes, if he isn’t already. The man is punctual to a fault, but he isn’t all that bad to look at. Care to join me in delivering the news?”

  Lucia shrugged. “Yeah, why not.”

  Kelly wasn’t wrong, in fact, the owner of the fake print was already waiting in her office by the time the two had crossed to the other side of the gallery where the glass-walled offices were situated. All Lucia could see of the tall man—he was easily over six feet—was the expanse of his broad shoulders that faced them when they entered the office. With his hands shoved loosely into the pockets of his suit, he continued watching the street from the window of the office.

  “Mr. Savino,” Kelly started.

  “Christian,” the man said smoothly. “I have told you ten times now, it is just Christian.”

  The Italian lilt to his words shouldn’t have shocked Lucia, but it did a little bit. Sure, Kelly had said an art dealer in Italy, but … she didn’t know any Italians outside of those who were still waiting for her to come back home to New York.

  Then, Christian turned around. His wide smile welcomed them both, and his dark brown eyes drifted over Kelly before passing to Lucia just as quickly.

  “Ah, this must be the apprentice you were telling me about, sì?” Christian’s charming smile widened a bit as Lucia stepped close enough to take his outstretched hand. She shook his hand, noting his tanned skin, and the gold rings adorning three of his fingers. She thought he had to be in his later twenties, but not older than thirty-five, at the most. As handsome as he was, and God knew Lucia had been put in front of enough handsome men over the last few years, she didn’t feel a flicker of any interest staring at this man’s face. Nothing. It was like she was dead inside. Soon, she dropped his hand, and stepped back to stand beside Kelly. “I hope you’re soaking in everything Kelly is teaching you. I hear she is the best of the very best.”

  Kelly laughed. “Keep your charm to yourself, we have business to discuss. This print of yours, I mean.”

  With that said, she tossed the tube holding Christian’s print of Blackmouth to the desk. He didn’t move to pick it up.

  “Bad news, then?” he asked.

  Kelly gave Lucia a look.

  Lucia shrugged. “Well, it’s not great.”

  Christian scowled. “It never is when I want it to be. Go on then, tell me.”

  “It’s a fake,” Kelly said.

  “Of course, it is.”

  “I know you said the dealer bought it for your profile, but if you’re looking for an actual Blackmouth, I might be able to find you one,” Kelly suggested.

  That did make Christian’s attention perk. “Could you?”

  “It might take a while.”

  The man chuckled. “I have time.”

  • • •

  “John?” Lucia’s older brother gave her a wide smile as she opened the door to her apartment. At the sight of him waiting in the hallway, she almost blinked. “What are you doing here?”

  John laughed. “Business.”

  “You didn’t think to call before showing up?”

  “Do I have to call when I want to see my sister?”

  Well … not really, but still.

  “Since when do you have business in California?” Lucia asked.

  John shrugged one shoulder. “That’s not for you to worry about, Lucy. Are you going to let me in, or what?”

  She bristled at the nickname, but stepped back to let John enter her apartment. Once he had his blazer and shoes put away, she directed her brother into the small kitchen. He stayed silent as she prepped him a cup of tea—she was trying to cut down on coffee, so the best way was to keep it out of her place altogether.

  “You know,” John said after Lucia had passed his cup over the island, “had you let Dad call you back last week when Ma called you, then maybe you would have known I was coming out this way, Lucia.”

  Lucia gave her brother a look. “Please tell me you didn’t come all the way to Cali just to scold me for not talking to Daddy on the phone, John.”

  “No, I did have business.”

  “Good.”

  “But I wasn’t planning on coming to see you for another couple of days. Then, you went and acted like a brat to Ma, so I decided to speed that up.”

  Dammit.

  “John, listen—”

  “No, I think it’s time for you to listen,” her brother interjected calmly, his familiar hazel eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that quieted her instantly. “There’s shit going on that you don’t know, Lucia. Stuff with Dad, all right. And maybe Ma’s been trying to get you to come home because of that, but without telling you all the details. Problem is, you’re so stuck in your feelings that you won’t even let her talk.”

  “I let Ma talk.”

  “Not about Dad.”

  Lucia’s shoulders straightened. “So? I don’t have to talk about him or to him, not if I don’t want to, John.”

  She had forgiven her brother. It took time, and more than one apology. It took her brother making an actual effort to understand the way he hurt her that day in San Francisco, and owning what he did. It took things her father had yet to attempt to do for her. It certainly didn’t help that her heart just wasn’t ready to let go of its bitterness and contempt, either.

  John let out a sigh, and turned to peer out the kitchen window. “Are you going to keep being like this, or can you shut up and listen for five minutes?”

  “Are we going to talk about him, or—”

  “Dad’s sick, Lucia. He’s been sick. Stage two renal cancer. He’s been handling it privately—it’s just Ma, me, Cella, and Liliana that know. He had surgery a while back for it. Lied and told everyone else it was for kidney stones, I guess. The surgery didn’t work because the bloodwork didn’t come back clean. He’s been doing treatments for a month, now. Three times a week.”

  Lucia’s heart stopped.

  She was sure of it.

  It ached.

  “What?” she asked.

  John’s gaze drifted back to her. “The doctors say he’s gonna be okay, we do know that now, but he’s been sick for a while. And I’m fucking sorry that you’re not over your pity party yet, but it’s time to swallow it for a while, Lucia. Time to go home for a bit, and see him. If you want to be selfish on your own time, then you go ahead and do that. I’ll be the first person to tell you to go on and do it, but it’s not your time right now. It’s Dad’s.”

  Lucia had a million and one things she wanted to ask, but mostly, the pain squeezing around her heart like a fist kept her quiet. Up until that moment, every single time someone mentioned her father, the first thing she felt was anger. Ever-present, and stronger than ever. Shockingly so. Violently, even.

  Except right then … she just felt pain.

  She didn’t think about the man who took away the person she loved and wanted the most. No, she saw the man who had tucked her into bed, read her dozens of stories whenever she asked, and let her hold his pinky finger when they crossed the road.

  She thought about her dad.

  Lucia wasn’t sure how long she stayed quiet, stuck in memories that flooded her mind and heart with a nostalgia she had been ignoring for five fuc
king years. Too long, anyway. Long enough for her brother to just about finish his tea entirely.

  John cleared his throat, and stood from the stool before downing the rest of the tea left in his mug. “Ma needs you, too. They both do, but they’re not going to say it because they know you need your fucking time. But fuck your time, Lucia … I’m here to tell you that. Fuck your time. You’ve had enough of it.”

  Apparently so.

  THREE

  It took two years of constant supervision from The League before Renzo was finally allowed the privilege of having his own place outside of their compound—a large building in the middle of the desolate Nevada land that his companions at The League had not-so-affectionally dubbed the complex.

  The nickname seemed appropriate considering it was as huge as what someone would consider a complex. They all had some sort of feeling about the complex—good or bad. It was the place where each one of them had been brought in, irrevocably changed, and then in most cases, sold to the highest bidder for their skills and talents. There wasn’t much affection in that, was there?

  At first, having his own place was strange to Renzo for a number of reasons. The top one being the fact that he had never … lived on his own before. Ever. He needed privacy, and space. He needed the idea that The League wasn’t controlling literally every moment of his waking days, even if he knew they still would own his ass whether he lived on his own, and off their property, or not.

  At the time, he’d been twenty-two when The League let him find a place they approved and could monitor. They tried to say it was so they could make sure he was safe, but Renzo wasn’t a goddamn idiot. It was so that they could watch him, and make sure he didn’t break one of their many rules, or run. Not that it would make much of a difference. They would still come for him, if he did think to run.

  That was two and a half years ago, and here he was … twenty-fucking-five, and it still felt strange to come home to a quiet apartment where no one was waiting to ask him a million and one questions, or take away what little space he managed to make for himself. He’d thought he would like having the time alone to himself, but more often than not, he didn’t like it at all.

  It left him alone with his thoughts, and that was never a good thing when it came to Renzo. As if his life hadn’t already taught him that, he got to be reminded of it night in and night out. A joy.

  It was like his damn mind wouldn’t let go of the years he’d spent cramped in tiny apartments with his brother and sister. Even his mother, despite the fact he didn’t miss that bitch at all. Nonetheless, it felt strange to be alone.

  Once, Renzo made the mistake of mentioning it to Cree—offhandedly, mostly, when the man asked how he was liking his space and time outside of The League. Cree told him to, “Learn to like being alone, Renzo.”

  Cree always did have a fucking way with words.

  The asshole.

  Tonight was one of those nights, unfortunately. Renzo had been left to play alone in his big apartment with nothing but his goddamn thoughts to keep him company. Nothing good ever came from him being restless, and he wasn’t the only person to notice that fact, either. The League often tried to keep him busy by moving him from one job to the next so that he was never by himself for very long, and his hands always had something to do.

  It’d been almost a month since they had given him a job—either solo, or with one of the teams. He checked in daily, as he was supposed to do. He went to the complex daily for briefs, though none of them were for him. And lately, he came home alone because everyone else at The League were on assignments or had other things to handle; wives … families.

  People who needed them.

  Renzo, on the other hand, was alone.

  He tried walking the halls of his place—it did nothing but let his footsteps echo. That just reminded him, despite how he tried to fill the spaces with things he enjoyed looking at, the apartment was empty except for his sorry ass.

  It left him with far too much time to think.

  Again, that was a problem.

  Renzo opted for the familiar comfort of an empty bathtub, and him resting inside it. He lined the edges of the clawfoot bathtub with all the items he could pull out of his pockets in a neat row. He blamed that on The League, too. It wasn’t just a certain sort of skills that had been beaten into him over the course of a year during their training, but a certain way of living, too.

  If it was possible to have OCD tendencies beaten into you, The League did that to him. But it wasn’t something he wanted to get into, at the moment.

  Something else was on his mind.

  It wouldn’t leave.

  Renzo’s gaze drifted to the folder that was carefully balancing on the edge of the bathtub. Despite the many rules that The League placed on him, and the amount of control they had over his entire life for the next … six months, anyway … there were still people within the walls of the organization that would lend a hand, and stay quiet about it. Members of The League who weren’t as controlled as he was because they had earned their place and spot, and were now considered independent contractors to the organization.

  One of them—or rather, two, now—just happened to be the Guzzi twins. Christopher and Corrado Guzzi, two members of the team Cree usually worked with when he did jobs that required more than one person. The twins had come into The League willingly, for reasons Renzo never thought to ask, and had a hell of a lot more freedom than anyone else that he knew inside the organization.

  And for the most part, he’d made friends with the twins.

  As difficult as they were …

  The folder was a favor from them to him, as was the contents inside. Something he’d asked them to do a while back—a few months ago when he knew his term and contract with The League was almost up, and finally coming to a real end—but that they only now got back to him.

  Swallowing the lump forming in his throat, he brought the joint to his lips, and sucked on the tip. The heady smoke filled his lungs, and made his mind looser than ever. God knew he needed something for this.

  Before he could think better of it, Renzo reached out and snatched the folder. He stubbed his smoke into the ashtray, so he would have two hands free to do what he needed. He ignored the way his fingers trembled at the tips as he flipped open the cover to find what the first page would be when he laid eyes on it.

  Her picture.

  A recent one, likely. He knew it had to be recent because her hair had changed slightly. More highlights of reds and blondes mixed in with a chocolate brown layered style. Soft waves falling over her shoulder as she turned to look at something behind her—or maybe someone had called her name. The shot had clearly been taken from outside of somewhere. He only knew that because he could see the slight glare of glass, and the reflection of a street on the window.

  He went back to the woman in the photo. Her hazel eyes, and soft smile. Those eyes of hers were still the same. Full of life, and ready to explore.

  Renzo took in the background around her—the artwork on the walls, and the sculpture resting on a raised stand. An art gallery, maybe?

  The next page in the folder confirmed that idea. It seemed she was doing an internship for a gallery in California, and had graduated not too long ago. He wasn’t even surprised that she went after her dream where the art world was concerned. Maybe she couldn’t paint or draw or create to save her life, but damn, she loved art.

  Renzo flipped through the last few pages in the file. It wasn’t anything important. Simple details about her current status and life. Nothing that concerned him, or made him worry. He went back to the first page.

  Her picture.

  Lucia’s smile stared back at him.

  Renzo found that lump in his throat was back.

  She was off limits.

  Entirely.

  The League made that clear, and it was almost fucking creepy how much they knew about his relationship with Lucia Marcello before he was brought to their organization. He should have ex
pected that, if only because Lucia’s father had been the one to make the deal with The League. Five years of his fucking life to repay the debt of killing one of their members.

  Five years without her.

  Five years was almost up.

  Renzo wouldn’t wait one second longer once he was done. He’d waited long enough, and not once in five years had this woman left his thoughts. She was always there in the background … constantly.

  Something he couldn’t let go of. Someone he couldn’t forget, even if he had thought to try. He didn’t know about her, though. And that was the thing that probably fucked with his head the most.

  Had she moved on?

  Was she done?

  Those were questions he didn’t have answers to.

  Renzo didn’t like questions.

  It left too much unknown.

  The League had taught him to work on only absolutes. Nothing more, and nothing less. Anything else was dangerous, and trouble. This time, it wouldn’t be his fucking life on the line, but something far more important.

  His heart.

  His soul.

  Except … he didn’t have a choice, did he?

  There were no absolutes here.

  Not with Lucia.

  Not after five years.

  Flipping his arm up, he checked the watch on his wrist. The digital calendar in the background of the face told him the date, and without even thinking about it, he already knew the number of days left before his contract was up.

  Until he could find her …

  That wasn’t today, though.

  The phone on the edge of the tub rang—the device given to him by The League. Constantly monitored and scrubbed, when needed, it was just another way for them to control him. Should he be found with any electronic device not given to him or approved by them, then it wouldn’t end well for Renzo.

  He put Lucia to the back of his mind for the moment.

  Work called.

  • • •

  Renzo hung back near the doorway to one of the many rooms inside the complex. This one in particular was setup like a personal gym, but with everything and anything one of the members of The League might want or need to stay in shape, and ready to go to battle. Including an entire wall of weapons—fake and real—to use when sparring.