"It does to me." He, once more, reaches for the door handle.
I jump forward and plant myself between him and the door. "You will not hurt the director."
"What’s his name?" He lowers his chin to his chest. His entire body, once more, seems to bristle. This is not the happy Hulk mode, but the other one. Where he’s about to burst out of his skin and go apeshit. Or is that Hulkshit?
"I won’t tell you."
"You think I can’t find out who the director of the musical is, or where he’s staying here, or where his family is?"
I stare at him in growing horror. "You will not hurt him or any of his family, or his extended family and friends circle, you hear me? This is not how things are done in my world."
"It’s how they are in mine."
"And that’s why whatever this… thing is between us can only remain a farce."
He glares at me. Those blue eyes of his darken until they seem like a sheet of night sky, the moonlight turning the dips in the clouds into sleepy hollows.
We stare at each other for what seems like a long time, but must be only seconds. I sense something shift between us, but can’t put a name to it.
I lock my fingers together and search his face. "Promise me you won’t do anything illegal."
25
Luca
"I can’t do that."
I search her features. In the world I live in, the Mafia are a part of life. As omnipresent as air. As inevitable as taxes. As woven into the fabric of the country as corrupt politicians. We provide the checks and balances that allow this country to function in a stable fashion. Well, as stable as any western economy trying to manage the clash of the rich and the poor; the struggle between those who have power and the powerless.
I’ve stopped thinking of my actions as illegal. I don’t question my conscience anymore. I was born into this life, and there was never a question of accepting what we do for a living. But it’s more than that. We see it as our duty to provide protection to those who can’t fend for themselves. To provide a livelihood for those who find it difficult to get a job. To share our wealth, our happiness, and our sorrows with those whose lives we’ve improved, and who are our extended family, in a sense. It means we often take from those who have more and give it to those who don’t. You might call it a Robin-Hood-esque style of living. I’ve never questioned it, not for one second, not until this slip of a woman came into my life and forced me to examine the very foundations on which I’ve built my existence.
Her features pale. She searches my eyes as if she’s looking for an excuse to redeem me. Sorry sweetheart, you’re not getting that here. I lost my soul a long time ago. Lost it when I saw how my father abused my mother, with no consequences. Lost it when he whipped me and my brothers. Lost it when my mother stayed with my father because she loved him. Lost it when she finally dropped dead one day. That kind of a love is not what I want. That kind of relationship is not for me.
My brothers may have found their happy endings, but that’s not something I aspire to find.
I can't trust myself not to turn out to be like my father.
The door is pushed open and I retreat back. So does she. A crowd of people walk out, separating us. Likely, other members of the cast, leaving. Some of them call out to Jeanne and her two friends. A couple of them pause to say how sorry they are she lost the role. Others congratulate Olivia, then they move on.
All through it, I hold her gaze. Across the stream of faces. Across a chasm that I may never be able to bridge. A gap I hadn’t even thought of until she pointed it out to me.
I take another step back.
She firms her lips. By the time the crowd has separated, she’s pulled herself back together. But she still looks shaken. Her eyes are shadowed, and the hollows under her cheekbones seem more pronounced. She looks exhausted and I am the cause of it.
I gesture toward the car. "Can I take you ladies out to dinner?"
"No," she gripes.
"That would be lovely, but we couldn’t possibly intrude on your romantic evening together," her friend responds.
"We’re not going to have a romantic evening," Jeanne says through gritted teeth.
"But you two are getting married, right?" Her friend looks between us. "I’m Penny, by the way."
"Luca. Luca Sovrano." I take her proffered hand and air kiss her knuckles.
Penny sighs. Jeanne makes a noise at the back of her throat. I suppress the smile that threatens to break out on my lips and turn to the other woman. "And you are?"