Page 34 of Mine Again
“I’m fully aware no one wants to be reminded of Luigi’s betrayal. That’s why I didn’t use their last name. I saidLuca.”
Luca’s father turned out to be the worst traitor in the history ofla famiglia. The night Luigi was discovered was the night Luca was torn away from me.
For nearly two decades, he had been feeding information to the De Marcos’ archenemies. Even worse, he leaked the whereabouts of Gualtiero and Mateo De Marco’s father, the Don at the time, and helped orchestrate his assassination.
By De Marco law, a betrayal of that scale carries an immediate death sentence. Not just for the traitor, but for his entire family. That was the reason Luca had to flee that night, leaving me behind with the promise he’d come back for me.
Because of Father’s close friendship with the Carusos, our family came under heavy scrutiny in the aftermath.
Father confiscated the phone and laptop Luca had given me when we first got serious. Clearly, they hadn’t been as secret as we thought.
Father’s words still sting, even five years later. “Do you honestlythink I don’t know what’s going on under my own roof?” I had truly hoped so.
He let us get away with it only because we were engaged and had kept it quiet. And because it was Luca. Father loved him like the son he never had.
“Luca may have carried that last name,” I continue, “but he wasn’t the traitor. His father was. You know that. You worked with him. You were his mentor… his friend.”
His gaze sharpens. He studies me with a colder kind of focus now, like he is trying to decide what I am playing at.
“What do you want, Signorina Accardi?” The way he says my last name is full of disdain.
I lower my voice. “Let’s be clear about something first.”
He raises a brow, but doesn’t interrupt.
“I may carry the Accardi name, just like Luca carried his. But I amnotmy father either.”
For a split second, something flickers across his face. The barest hint of a smile, too faint to be real, but not imagined either. Then it’s gone.
He waits, giving me space to continue.
“I need to speak with you. I need help.” Softer, I add, “Please.”
I glance around. We have already talked too long. Mamma would notice. Father might too. Eyes are always on me.
“Not here, though,” I whisper quickly. “Please meet me on the terrace. Ten minutes.” I tilt my head toward the glass doors at the far end of the ballroom.
He follows my gaze, then looks back at me. Another beat of silence passes.
He gives me the smallest, curt nod and walks off, heading back toward Mateo De Marco and Romeo Ferraro.
I exhale slowly, but the tension remains lodged deep in my chest. My heart is racing.
Now all I can do is wait. And hope he shows.
Hope he listens.
Hope I haven’t made a serious mistake.
I slip quietly out of the ballroom, careful to keep to the edge of the crowd until I reach the corridor that leads toward the back of the house. The music and chatter fade behind me as the heavy doors close. From there, I move quickly, cutting through the service hallway that opens out into the garden.
I’ve avoided heading directly to the terrace. If anyone noticed both Uberto and me stepping outside so soon after speaking at the bar, it would look suspicious.
The night air is cool and heavy with the earthy scent of fallen leaves. I follow the garden path, counting my steps to calm my nerves, a habit I started as a kid whenever I got edgy.
Staying low, I keep close to the hedges to evade the cameras. Luca showed me their blind spots years ago, and I’ve discovered a few more since.
Crouched beneath the terrace, I listen for footsteps above. Moments later, Uberto appears at the railing, his silhouette sharp in the low garden light.
