Inked By The Mafia Man

There’s a chance I can soar, and maybe this is it.

I think I know why I’m here.

Conor wants me to watch the meeting.

That would explain the table, chairs, and the secrecy.

But why? What game is he playing?

After more waiting, I see that I’m right.

When the men walk into the room, my breath catches. Luca strides in wearing a deep blue suit, open at the collar. It’s difficult to make out his expression from here, but his body looks taut, like he’s about to twitch into action with his heaving muscles.

I gasp, then bite down, killing the noise.

There’s a guard at the door behind me.

“Don’t make a sound,” he growled when I entered. “You won’t like what happens if you do.”

A moment later, I manage to drag my gaze away from Luca. Even now, with the stakes so high, and the circumstances so messed up, it’s difficult not to greedily drink in every inch of him and imagine where the future might lead.

It’s hard not to think about that image I have of sitting on the porch, painting him as he grins and struggles to sit still.

I recognize Conor from the photos my aunt has shown me as if she wanted to get me ready for my wedding.

He’s on the shorter side, with wide shoulders, his broken nose twisted sideways, and his eyes flinty and mean. Beside him, his second-in-command walks, and there’s another man with Luca.

All of them sit.

They’ve chosen this room well. There are vents in the walls, letting their voices carry across the large warehouse room.

“So it seems you want to steal my wife,” Conor says.

The man at Luca’s side makes a tsk noise, adjusting his glasses. “Accusations are hardly the best way to begin a negotiation.”

“It’s the truth, isn’t it?” Conor spits.

“No,” the man replies. “Stealing would imply there’s no payment. We’re willing to pay.”

“Willing to pay,” Conor laughs cruelly. “Because we all know I need the money.”

“Keep your tone civil,” Luca says, voice ice-cold.

Despite Conor’s bravado, he sits up a little as though recoiling from Luca’s words. The man at his side bristles and leans back in his chair.

It’s like they’re trying to act tough, but they can’t keep up the performance when facing down Don Lucciano.

“I don’t take orders from you,” Conor says, a beat too late, as though trying to save face.

Luca shrugs, staring like a predator ready to tear the other man apart.

“So why do you want her?” Conor says. “I have to say. I was going to cancel this meeting. I even called up your consigliere, but he mentioned you, and I might have something in common. He mentioned you might have, shall we say, unsavory intentions for the girl?”

I take a step forward, my skin buzzing almost painfully.

Luca has unsavory intentions for me?

What the heck?

I don’t understand.

Was everything that happened in his office last night a lie?

Luca leans forward, his forearms resting on the table. He towers over the other men. He’s like a lion sitting amongst cubs. When he speaks, he doesn't sound pained or angry. He sounds like a man with a vendetta.

Against me.

This was all a trick.

I blink, wishing away the tears in my eyes, silently screaming at myself to keep it together. I can’t break down.

“That’s right,” he snarls. “I’ve got a problem with the Bonetti Family. I tried to take the moral high ground. I tried to be the better man. But I’m done pretending. I want L…that girl.”

Was he about to say my name?

But then he changed it, as though he doesn’t see me as a person or doesn’t want to.

“What vendetta?” Conor asks. “Surely I would’ve heard if there was a rift between the Bonetti's and the Lucciano’s.”

Luca’s hands curl into fists. It’s difficult to tell, but I think his jaw might be clenched, his rage evident in every twitching muscle.

“Your father never told you?” Luca snarls.

“My father….”

Conor’s voice goes quieter, as though any mention of his dad is painful. I understand that seeing as the person who killed my parents is sitting right there.

And the person who killed Conor’s dad is sitting opposite him.

Luca.

He’s a killer like all the rest.

Maybe he had a good reason.

Or maybe not. Not if he’s the sort of person who wants to buy me just to hurt me.

“The Bonetti's and your father were working together in the first war. You know, the one between our parents…the one that got my old man killed. So I’ve just got as much of a vendetta as you. And I mean to take my pound of flesh.”

Fainting has always seemed ridiculous to me like it could never happen in real life, but my knees actually wobble, and I stumble across the room, dropping into a chair.

My feet tap restlessly, and my heart picks up its pace even more, somehow, like it’s trying to hurt me with its aggressive beating.