“Yeah, that works,” I whispered breathlessly. As if hearing Luca call me his girl wasn’t enough to do me in, his speech had me melting into a puddle of female hormones.
“Good. When can I see you tomorrow?”
“Not sure. I’ve got to get some chores done, then I’ve got dinner at my parent’s house.”
“I’m free in the evening; I could come with you.”
What? No, no, and hell no. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, not yet, anyway.” Most guys avoided meeting the parents like the plague, but Luca wasn’t most guys. He threw me for a loop in every way.
“I understand. Whenever you’re ready. In the meantime, why don’t you tell me more about them.”
Everything he said shocked me—I never knew what was going to come out of that man’s mouth next. Curling up on the couch, I dove in. “Well, I have two sisters. Sofia is the baby, eighteen months younger than me, and we have a decent relationship. She’s an artist, marches to her own beat. Maria is two years older than me and has always been too cool for me or Sofia. She’s intensely private—I know where she lives, and that’s about it. Mom is a pretty traditional Stepford wife. She doesn’t actually cook or clean, but she organizes fundraisers and is always busy with friends or family. As you know, my dad runs Triton, so that’s the center of his universe. When we were little, before Marco was killed, he used to play with us. He would get on his hands and knees, and we would ride his back like a bucking bronco until we laughed so hard, we couldn’t stay on.”
“Sounds like a good dad,” commented Luca.
“He was, and he still is, just not the same as he was before.”
“So, you’re close to your sister?”
“Yeah, but I’m even closer to my cousin, Giada—you saw her that day at my place.”
“Right. How is she related?”
“She’s my dad’s brother’s daughter. We grew up together and have always been inseparable.”
“You have many aunts and uncles?”
“You drawing my family tree?” I teased.
“Maybe. There a problem with me wanting to know more about you?”
“I suppose not; it’s just unusual. Most guys don’t want anything to do with my crazy family.”
“I think we both know I’m not most guys.”
No joke. “My dad has the one brother and a sister, who is bat-shit crazy. My mom was an only child—her mom was never able to conceive again. She’s super close to Giada’s mom, and dad is best friends with my Uncle Sal.”
“That his brother?”
“No, he’s not actually related—it’s an honorary title. They’ve known each other since they were kids.”
He paused as he considered. “Makes sense. None of my family, except for Ari, are related to me by blood.”
“Different kind of family.”
“Is it?”
I contemplated his question. I’d always been of the opinion family didn’t have to mean blood relations, but mafia associates didn’t seem to fit the bill. The people you work with weren’t necessarily family. I couldn’t imagine how being sworn into a club would automatically make each of the members feel like family.
When I didn’t answer, Luca continued. “Our loyalty is always to family. I trust them with my life—isn’t that what you would consider family?”
“I guess so,” I muttered.
“It’s not what you’re envisioning, I promise. Just try to keep an open mind.”
“Okay.”
“I have to head out. I’ll come by your place after dinner.”
“kay”
“Night, baby.”
“Night, Luca.”
I wasn’t just sinking; I had removed my lifejacket and was doing a cannonball into the deep end.
19
Alessia
To snowball: to grow or become larger, greater, more intense, etc., at an accelerating rate.
The term is not innately good or bad. Sometimes, ‘snowball’ can be used to describe a series of fortunate events, such as ‘the young actor’s career snowballed after his appearance in an Oscar-winning film.’ Other times, the term can imply a much more catastrophic unraveling of events. In these instances, the term might conjure the image of an avalanche, rather than the friendly snowman it might otherwise invoke. The tiny bits of snow at the top of a mountain peaceably tumble until they gather enough steam and become an unstoppable force of nature.
For the innocent victim in its path, there is no escape.
The only hope for survival is luck.
As the ground shakes and the massive white cloud comes barreling down the mountainside, those in its path can only brace themselves and hope it will be enough. The tricky thing about an avalanche—you never know when one might strike. One minute, you’re sampling the fresh mountain air, enjoying the view, and the next, you’re buried six feet under, unable to breathe from the suffocating weight of all the tiny snowflakes.
If ever there was a perfect day for an avalanche, it would be a Monday.
I had dreaded that first day back at work but was armed with a plan, so my nerves were contained within reason. Before I went to my office, I rode the elevator directly to the ninth floor and marched to the HR suite. The receptionist wasn’t at her desk, but a peek around the corner told me the employees were gathered in a circle in a small breakroom, raptly discussing something.
“I’m sorry to interrupt—I was hoping someone could help me with a private matter.”
“Not a problem, dear,” said the older woman who worked at the front desk. “We were just talking about what happened over the weekend—so tragic!”
“What happened?” Had I missed a terrorist attack or some other news event? I’d been too busy wrapped in my problems to notice the world around me.
“Roger Coleman was—”
“Beth, he was her boss,” cut in one of the others.
“Oh,” she gasped, her eyes going soft. “I’m so sorry to break this to you, dear, but Mr. Coleman was killed on Saturday. It was on all the local news stations; I’m surprised you didn’t see.” All six pairs of pitying eyes fixed on me, waiting intently for my reaction.
Roger was dead.
Not just dead, killed.
I was in shock—unable to react because I couldn’t process the unexpected news. Instead, I nodded and stumbled from the office. I couldn’t go upstairs; I needed somewhere private to think. I found myself back at the elevator, next to which was a maintenance room. Hurrying inside, I closed the door behind me and dropped down to sit on a large cardboard box.
The source of my torment for a solid year was dead.
I was free.
The relief I experienced was so great, I felt physically lighter, almost dizzy. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if it was wrong that I was glad a man had died. Trailing behind that thought was image after image of Roger’s snide face as he commented about my legs or ogled my chest. I could still feel his unwelcome hardness pressed against my backside from days earlier when he very likely would have raped me had Luca not arrived.
No, I had every right to rejoice.
Roger was a disgusting human being, and the world was a better place without him.
How had he died? I hadn’t even thought to ask. They said he was killed—did that mean he was murdered? Or had they meant he died in a car crash or other accident? I pulled out my phone and Googled Roger Coleman.
New York businessman, Roger Coleman, found dead early Sunday morning. Coleman received numerous stab wounds in what appears to be a surprisingly brutal attack of gang violence.
Gang violence? Holy shit!
Aside from being a pervert, Roger seemed strait-laced, as far as I could tell. My reeling mind focused as confusion set in. How on Earth had he wound up being murdered by a gang? It could have been a chance encounter, but a stabbing with numerous wounds sounded rather intentional—not like the stray bullet that had killed Luca’s mom.
>
Luca—could he have had something to do with this? Looking back, I was somewhat surprised he never lifted a finger when he caught Roger assaulting me. He wasn’t exactly the type to turn the other cheek. He hardly even spoke about the incident when we got to his place. I knew it had affected him; he’d been practically vibrating with anger.
An ominous chill settled over me, causing goosebumps to perch on my arms and legs. Had Luca used his mafia connections to have Roger killed? What were the chances Roger’s death was a coincidence? Rolling waves of nausea caused my stomach to surge into my throat as I faced what was most likely the ugly truth.
Luca had Roger killed.
Or had it been even worse? Had Luca done it himself?
Fighting off the insistent need to vomit, I lowered my head to my knees and took shaky, deep breaths. Luca wasn’t the type of man to let Roger’s crimes go unpunished. The simplest solution was most likely the right one.
Luca was a criminal. Luca was angry at Roger. Roger was killed. Luca killed Roger.
I should have known Luca let the incident go too easily. I should have followed my gut instinct and ended it the minute I discovered his mafia connection. I hated Roger, but I didn’t want him dead because of me. Beating up someone was one thing—murder was entirely different.
A cloud of emotions swarmed me like angry wasps. Attempting to free myself from their suffocating grasp, I stood and began to pace the small room. I needed help, but I was more scared than ever to bring anyone else into this mess. Before I fell into a total panic, I needed to know the truth. I needed to confront Luca. As much as I wanted to run and never look back, I’d promised him I’d come to him with my problems, and he was the only one who could confirm my suspicions.
Not giving myself a chance to chicken out, I dialed Luca’s number with shaky fingers. I was petrified and furious at the same time, perched on the precipice of a point of no return.
“Alessia, is everything okay?”
I took in a shaky breath to calm my nerves. “Did you kill my boss?” Jerky and no louder than a whisper, the words punctuated the deafening silence in my small hideout.
“I’ll be at your building in ten. Meet me outside.”
The line clicked dead, and with it, a stabbing pain wrenched through my chest.
He didn’t deny it.
He knew exactly what I was talking about and didn’t deny it.
I could feel myself falling apart like a sheet of glass splintering until it was webbed with cracks. All it would take was the right touch, and I would come apart, a jigsaw of pieces scattered across the floor.
I tried to take a deep, calming breath, but my lungs wouldn’t cooperate. They convulsed with each attempt, making the air draw in and out in shaky puffs. Tears burned in the back of my throat, and I felt the intense pressure of the walls closing in around me. Unable to bear the crushing strain any longer, I burst from the room and came face-to-face with two coworkers.
They gaped at me, eyes rounded as they both took in my disheveled appearance and tear-filled eyes. The moment it registered who I was and that I was likely upset after finding out my boss had been killed, their brows lifted in pity, and their lips thinned in awkward smiles. If only they knew—my problems were far more extensive than mourning my deceased boss.
I jumped when the elevator dinged behind me, glancing back as the doors opened.
“You go ahead, hun. We can catch the next one.”
I wasn’t sure which one of them had spoken; I couldn’t even recall any of their names. I nodded wordlessly and drifted into the waiting car. The elevator ride and walk through the lobby were a blur. The possibility Luca might harm me never even entered my mind. All I could think was I needed to hear him say the words, then I was done.
I would walk away for good.
Whether it was the distress of suspecting he was a killer or the apprehension of leaving him, I wasn’t sure, but something had caused my brain to overheat and shut down. I walked numbly past the security desk and outside where I found a seat on one of the raised flowerbeds and waited.
The new spring leaves in the trees above me fluttered in the wind, and the constant stream of people on the sidewalk coasted past me. Life went on, even when I felt like my world was crumbling down around me. The reminder helped me pull back the reins of my chaotic emotions, so I was somewhat coherent by the time Luca arrived.
My eyes stared directly ahead, unseeing as he approached and joined me where I sat.
“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to take a drive with me so we can discuss this more privately.”
I shook my head, just a hint of movement, but it was enough.
He exhaled a resigned sigh. “Alessia, he hurt you. I couldn’t stand by and let that go.” He spoke softly, an attempt to keep our conversation private on the busy sidewalk.
“People will hurt me—that’s just life. It happens. You can’t go killing someone just for upsetting me.”
“I can and will if I decide it’s necessary—if someone touches what’s mine. Plus, that man was scum. He deserved what he got and worse. You think you were the only woman he assaulted?” he spat angrily.
That was true. I highly doubted I’d been Roger’s only victim, but that didn’t justify killing him. Sending him to prison would have kept other women safe just as effectively. Of course, that had been my job—to report him to the authorities. But what was I supposed to tell them? My boss told me I have great lips? The cops would have laughed me out of the station.
My thoughts were digressing on a tangent of self-imposed guilt. I had plenty of time later to dwell on my role in what happened. For now, I needed to deal with Luca. He had given me the admission I was after; it was time for me to find my backbone.
“I can’t do this; I can’t be with you. I thought I could ignore your situation, pretend you were an ordinary man with an ordinary job, but I can’t.” I forced as much calm certainty as I could muster into my voice.
“You don’t know what you’re saying. You’re upset—”
“Don’t treat me like a child,” I hissed, turning to glare at him. “Whether I’m upset or not, I’m not okay with you killing people. Me being upset changes nothing.”
“We can’t discuss these things in public. We need to go somewhere private.” He stood up, towering over me.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
He leaned down, and I froze as he spoke quietly next to my ear. “Either you come with me willingly, or I throw you over my goddamned shoulder and carry you out of here. We are going to talk about this, and I’m not doing it where half of New York can listen in.” When he pulled back, his black eyes bore into me with ice-cold fury.
He wasn’t the only one battling indignant rage. I experienced anger so violent, it pulsed at my temples. He was the one who had brought on this situation, not me. He was the one responsible for a man’s death. His actions had pushed me away. His anger toward me was completely unfounded, and it made me furious.
I shot to my feet, giving him an equally cutting glare. “Fine. There’s a family restroom in the lobby. We can go there, but I’m not leaving this building.” Not allowing him a response, I whipped around and stomped back to the Triton entrance.
Once we were inside the single-stall restroom, Luca locked the door, and I folded my arms defensively across my chest. When he turned to face me, I had to fortify myself against his dominating presence. He was a giant in the tiny space, and I had to force myself not to cower.
“I don’t know why we’re here—there’s nothing more to say,” I snapped at him.
“There’s a hell of a lot more to say. I couldn’t figure it out at first. You seemed so naïve and rule-bound, but then I realized you had no idea. He’s done such a flawless job secreting himself away, not even his children know who he is.”
“What are you talking about?” My arms came down to my sides, my austere resolve faltering.
“You think I’
m a monster, but you live with the biggest bad of them all,” Luca sneered.
“Stop playing games and just tell me what you’re talking about!”
“Your father, the boss of the Lucciano crime family.”
“Don’t be absurd! My family isn’t in the mafia—I would know.” I stepped forward, pointing my finger at him angrily.
He met my advance head-on, closing the small distance between us. “You think you would have had any idea what I did if I didn’t want you to? I told you I would never lie to you, and I haven’t. I didn’t lie then, and I’m not lying now. Your Uncle Sal is your father’s underboss and acts as the face of the outfit—to keep him and his family safe, your father’s identity has been kept confidential. His own soldiers don’t know who runs the outfit. Your mention of Sal is what confirmed my suspicions that your father was the boss.”
“So, you don’t even know for sure—you’re just guessing. You think just because my dad is friends with Sal and because we’re Italian, we’re in the mafia? That’s just crazy!”
“You think what I’ve done is bad, your father is ten times worse. If you don’t believe me, ask him. You think I’m full of shit, fine, but go talk to Daddy and see for yourself.”
His insistence was absolute.
He was wholly confident he was right, and his resolve shook me. What if he was telling the truth? I suddenly felt like I’d walked into the movie Inception where the constructs of our reality no longer applied—as if at any moment, the walls of the room might turn, and I’d be walking on the ceiling rather than the floor. Could my father be a mafia boss? Had my entire world been a thing of fiction?
The possibility was more than unsettling—it rocked me to my core.
“Get out,” I whispered, not meeting his eyes.
“Lessia—” he started, but I never let him finish.
“Get out. Get out. Get out!” Each of my commands grew in strength until I was nearly shouting. If someone heard me in the lobby, I didn’t care. I was done caring. My world was turned upside down, and the only thing I could focus on was survival.
Forever Lies (The Five Families Book 1) Page 15