Page 50 of The Silence Lies

Luciano has pushed too far. I know it was him because nobody else would have the balls to go after me—or send someone after me. The most worrying part of all of this is that he’s now hiring externally, meaning we don’t have a grasp on any soldiers. We don’t know who’s under his family’s direction, which just adds to the mess they’ve already created. It doesn’t matter what Raf finds at this point, the conclusion will be the same. We just need to keep our wits about us, nail down a plan, and bury the Verdis in the ground.

All of that can come later because right now, I need some pain relief. Flashbacks of last night spin through my mind like a silent movie. It’s another stark reminder of coming too close to death for the second time in less than a month. Like the headache throbbing, I will the thoughts away, summoning my strength from a darker place. I remind myself of what I need to do. Who I’m doing it for. It’s no longer about revenge but putting my foot down that I will not tolerate families going against me. This would never have happened if my father was still in power, which means that these families are testing me.

The thought makes me angry but I shouldn’t be surprised. I should have anticipated this much kickback over my leadership. Hell, my father should have, too.

I rummage through the cabinet above the sink, hoping to find something. Unfortunately, it’s pretty bare in the way of medication. I’ll have to remind myself to send for some, or maybe have the doctor return with those magic pills he gave me.

“Need some of these?”

I spin around to see Luca lingering in the doorway, waving a bottle of pills. He’s still wearing last night’s clothes, sans the bow tie and jacket, looking disheveled, like he hasn’t slept at all. Then I realize, he probably hasn’t.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, tentatively stepping into the room.

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

Luca smiles weakly, his blue eyes twinkling with a level of guilt I find all too familiar. They move from the top of my head to my arm, then to my lip. “You kinda were,” he supplies, handing over the bottle of pills.

“Thank you,” I rasp, shaking two out into my palm.

He frowns. “You don’t need to thank me, Bianchi.”

I grab a glass of water from the counter, swallowing both pills eagerly. The sooner I get rid of this headache, the sooner I can focus on the next steps of our plan.

“I want to talk to you about last night,” he says, clearing his throat nervously.

“Last night?”

He tilts his head, running a hand through his blonde hair. “You really going to make me say it?”

“That depends,” I grin.

Luca huffs, taking another step closer to me. Close enough that I can just make out the taut muscles restricted by his shirt, the material bunching up over the thicker parts of his body. Luca is toned, that’s for sure. Where he finds the time to workout I don’t know, but I’m not complaining. Both he and Levi are both blessed in that department—it makes working alongside them a blessing and a curse.

Swallowing past the desirous lump clogging my throat, I look up at Luca. From this angle, in this light, I can see the worry etched in the tired lines around his eyes. From where I stand, I can feel the guilt, practically tasting it. Does he blame himself for last night?

“Are you okay?” I ask, reaching up to cup his cheek.

Luca nods, his palm sliding over my hand. “I am now,” he rasps. “But it should have been me protecting you. I knew something was going to happen, I just—”

“How?” I tilt my head.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “I just knew. Something in my gut was telling me it all went too well. The Verdis keeping their distance; Greco agreeing to help.”

“This wasn’t your fault. It was nobody’s fault here.”

“I should have protected you.” His words fall as a whisper.

“You did,” I confirm, brows furrowing because I’m so fucking confused by what he isn’t saying. He did protect me. He was at my side, fighting for me with his gun. He was the first person I set my eyes on when I got out of the wreckage.

Luca’s sad eyes are drawn to the bandage on my arm. His other hand brushes it carefully, the tingling sensation spreading goosebumps up my arm. “You saved my life last night, I never got to thank you for that. But at the same time, you shouldn’t have done it.”

“Is that what this is about? You’re suddenly anti-feminist?” I laugh. “I thought you didn’t have a problem with me—“

“No!” he snaps. “I just… We just don’t want to see you hurt.”

Clearly, he’s downplaying what happened. Not just the attack, but what was happening between us on the dance floor prior; the way he looked at me when he found me in the car. And let’s not forget the tender name he called me when he was checking me over. Something about the sweetness of his intentions stirs up the butterflies in my stomach. I don’t know if it’s excitement or nerves, but when he closes the space between us, those wings become frantic.

“We?” I gulp.

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