Chapter 3 - The Ghost from the PastThe interior of the estate was a study in intimidating luxury—exposed stone walls, towering Gothic fireplaces, and modern biometric security panels mounted beside every doorway.
Luca led me down a long hallway toward a massive, mahogany-paneled study on the second floor. A roaring fire burned in the hearth, casting flickering orange light across leather armchairs and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
"Sit," Luca instructed gently, pushing me toward an armchair by the fire before shrugging off his wet coat. "I need to coordinate security teams in the city and brief my captains. Marcus will bring you up something to eat."
"I'm not hungry, Luca," I said, hugging my arms across my chest as the chill of the evening finally seeped out of my bones.
"Eat anyway," he said, his voice softening just a fraction before he turned and walked out of the room, locking the heavy wooden door behind him with a sharp click.
I stared at the locked door, a flash of irritation flaring up in my chest. Did he seriously just lock me in?
I paced around the expansive study for twenty minutes, my mind racing a mile a minute. Every shadow outside the rain-streaked windows looked like an assassin. Every creak of the old wooden floorboards sounded like an intruder.
Restless and claustrophobic, I walked over to a set of double doors on the far side of the study that I hadn't noticed earlier. I turned the brass handle. It gave way silently.
Stepping through, I found myself in a smaller, private library overlooking the rear gardens of the estate. Rows upon rows of leather-bound volumes lined the walls, illuminated by a single green-shaded desk lamp resting on an antique mahogany writing desk.
On top of the desk sat an open leather ledger and a stack of old black-and-white photographs.
Curiosity getting the better of me, I stepped closer and looked down at the pictures.
They were old photographs of Luca—younger, maybe in his early twenties, standing beside an older, severe-looking man with silver hair and cold, calculating eyes. Vance Moretti.
Beside the photos lay a handwritten journal, its pages covered in jagged, frantic handwriting. I shouldn't have read it. It was a blatant invasion of privacy. But my hand reached out anyway, turning the heavy cream pages.
“July 14,” the journal entry read. “Vance thinks brutality is leadership. He wants me to burn the docks on the East Side to send a message to the Irish syndicate. I refused. He reminded me what happens to wolves who show mercy to the pack.”
I flipped to another page further down.
“March 3. Vance believes I am weak because I buried my mother instead of using her death as leverage. He has started watching my movements. If he ever finds out about the off-shore accounts I’ve been building to dismantle his operation from the inside out, he will kill me before I can kill him.”
My breath hitched in my throat.
Vance Moretti wasn't just a rival enforcer. He was the man who had raised Luca—and the man Luca had been at war with for years.
"You shouldn't be reading that."
I gasped, spinning around so fast my hip slammed against the edge of the desk.
Luca stood in the doorway connecting the study to the library. His expression was unreadable in the dim light, his dark eyes fixed on the open journal in my hands.
"I'm sorry," I stammered, dropping the journal back onto the desk as if it were burning hot. "I heard a noise, I didn't mean to pry—"
"It's fine," Luca interrupted quietly, walking slowly toward me. He didn't look angry; he looked tired. A profound, bone-deep exhaustion that made him look younger, and infinitely more human.
"Is this why he's hunting you?" I asked softly, gesturing to the desk. "Because you broke away from him? Because you refused to be the monster he trained you to be?"
Luca stopped right in front of me, his tall frame casting a warm shadow over my face. He reached out, his fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear, his touch infinitely tender compared to the violent world he inhabited.
"Vance didn't train me to be a monster, Clara," Luca murmured, his voice thick with repressed emotion. "He trained me to be a weapon. A weapon with no heart, no attachments, and no weaknesses."
He looked down into my eyes, his thumb tracing my jawline.
"And then I met you in that ballroom. And for the first time in my life, I realized I didn't want to be a weapon anymore. I wanted to be a man who could protect something fragile."
The air between us charged with an electric, suffocating tension. All the fear, the anger, the chaos of the past five days evaporated, leaving only the raw, magnetic pull that had drawn us together in the first place.
Before I could form a coherent thought, Luca’s hands slid around my waist, pulling me flush against his chest. His lips came down on mine, fierce, hungry, and desperate—a kiss that tasted of smoke, rain, and absolute surrender.
I let out a soft gasp, my hands gripping the lapels of his shirt as I kissed him back with equal, reckless fervor, forgetting the danger, forgetting Vance Moretti, forgetting the world outside the reinforced walls.
May you like
For one fleeting, perfect second, we were safe.
Then, the entire estate plunged into absolute darkness.
