Chapter 4 - Stitches and Secrets in the VestryThe vestry behind the chapel was small, smelling of old hymnals, communion wine, and beeswax candles. A single high window let in the pale, cold moonlight of Lake Como, casting silver bars across the wooden desk and the velvet-lined chairs.
Luca sat heavily on a wooden stool, his broad back hunched slightly as Sophia worked with terrifying, surgical efficiency.
She had ripped the sleeves of his blood-stained white shirt wider, exposing the broad expanse of his muscled shoulder where a clean furrow had been cut through the skin by a 9mm round. The bleeding was already slowing, but the jagged red line looked angry against his olive skin.
"Hold this gauze pad down firmly," Sophia instructed, pressing a wad of sterile cotton into his large, calloused hand.
Luca pressed the pad against his shoulder, his dark eyes tracking every movement she made as she rummaged through the antique mahogany first-aid cabinet on the wall. She moved with practiced grace, pulling out iodine, suture thread, curved needles, and a small metal tin of antiseptic ointment.
"You're very calm for someone who just survived an assassination attempt at her own wedding," Luca said quietly, his deep voice vibrating in the small, quiet room.
Sophia didn't look up as she unscrewed the cap of the iodine bottle. "I ran a commercial bakery in Brooklyn for seven years, Luca. I've dealt with industrial oven explosions, health inspectors who wanted bribes, and delivery drivers high on espresso crashing forklifts into my pastry displays. Four guys with guns in black pajamas are just a Tuesday morning with extra steps."
A low, deep rumble of laughter escaped Luca’s chest, though it quickly turned into a sharp hiss as Sophia dabbed the iodine directly onto his open wound.
"Careful," he muttered, his massive muscles tensing beneath her fingers.
"Stop being a baby," she scolded gently, though her touch softened immediately, her fingers tracing the warm skin around the bullet graze with feather-light precision. "You're six-foot-six and you fight like a medieval warlord, but put a little iodine on a scratch and you turn into a toddler."
"Most people scream when I bleed," Luca murmured, his dark gaze never leaving her face. "They don't scold me."
"Most people are idiots," Sophia replied briskly. She picked up the needle and suture thread, leaning in closer so her breath brushed against his bare collarbone. "Hold still. If I stitch your shoulder crooked, it's going to itch for the rest of your natural life."
Luca sat completely still. He was a man accustomed to having entire rooms tremble when he breathed, yet right now, sitting in a dusty church vestry with a woman who barely reached his chest, he felt entirely anchored. He watched the way her brow furrowed in concentration, the way her small, agile hands worked the needle through his skin with steady, unfaltering focus.
For the first time in his life, his size didn't make her shrink away. She didn't look at him like he was a monster to be feared or a weapon to be used. She looked at him like he was simply her husband—a man who needed his shoulder patched up after a rough night.
"Elena knew," Sophia said softly, breaking the quiet hum of the vestry as she pulled the first stitch tight and snipped the thread with a pair of silver scissors.
Luca’s jaw hardened instantly. The relaxed warmth in the room vanished, replaced by the cold, razor-sharp edge of the mafia boss.
"Knew what?" Luca growled.
"She knew the men were coming," Sophia said, pausing her work to look up into his eyes. "She told me right before the ceremony that my father’s debt wasn't money—it was blood. And she said those men were coming tonight to finish what they started with him. She said you thought I was just a debt-settlement bride, but she knew the truth."
Luca stood up so fast the wooden stool crashed backward onto the stone floor.
The movement was so violent and sudden that Sophia stumbled back a step, her eyes widening. Luca’s massive chest heaved, his dark eyes blazing with an incandescent, terrifying rage that made the shadows in the vestry seem to recoil.
"Elena," Luca whispered, his voice dangerously low, practically vibrating with fury and betrayal. "My own sister."
"Luca, wait—" Sophia started, reaching out to grab his good arm.
"She knew," Luca interrupted, his voice rising in bitter, raw anguish. He paced the small vestry, his immense frame making the room feel claustrophobic, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were stark white. "She knew those bastards were tracking you. She knew they were coming to my house, into my wedding, putting you in the line of fire—and she didn't tell me? She used you as bait to flush out a family vendetta?"
"She was terrified, Luca," Sophia reasoned, stepping toward him despite the intimidating aura of violence rolling off him in waves. "She's lived her whole life in this world of blood and secrets. She probably didn't know who to trust."
"She is my blood!" Luca roared, wheeling around to face her, his massive frame towering over her like a storm cloud. "She has me to protect her! I built this empire so she would never have to be afraid of the dark! And she risked your life?"
He stopped abruptly, his chest heaving, as his dark eyes locked onto Sophia. He saw the genuine, unshakeable empathy shining in her hazel eyes—empathy not just for him, but for a sister who had betrayed them both.
Luca’s anger drained away as quickly as it had surged, leaving behind a profound, hollow exhaustion. He closed his eyes, rubbing his face with his large, calloused hand, letting out a long, shuddering breath.
"I'm sorry," Luca muttered, his voice cracking slightly as he looked down at the floor. "I didn't mean to yell. I spent my whole life screaming at enemies, and I... I don't know how to talk to someone who actually cares about me."
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Sophia’s heart ached. She stepped right up to him, slipping her arms around his waist—her hands barely reaching halfway across his massive, muscular back—and pressed her cheek against his uninjured shoulder.
"You don't have to know how," Sophia whispered softly against his chest, feeling the solid, reassuring thud of his heart beneath her ear. "We'll figure it out together. But first... we need to go find your sister and have a very serious family meeting."
