Chapter 9 - The Choice in the Dark
At midnight, I walked down the dark hallway toward Luca’s study.
The crack of light beneath the heavy oak door was the only illumination in the silent house. I didn't knock. I turned the brass handle and stepped inside.
The room smelled of old paper, leather, and dark tobacco. Luca sat behind a massive mahogany desk, two open ledgers spread out before him, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his dark hair messy as if he had been running his hands through it for hours.
He looked up when I entered, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.
"You should be sleeping, Sophia," he said, his voice dry and raspy.
"I called my manager in Boston," I said, stepping up to the desk. "He’s bringing the tin on the first flight tomorrow morning."
Luca’s hand froze over his ledger. He looked up at me, his eyes narrowing slightly in the low desk light. "What tin?"
"The Castiglione land grants," I said flatly. "The ones my mother left me. The ones that give the owner forty percent of the Genoa docks."
Silence filled the room—thick, heavy, and full of unspoken consequences.
Luca stood up slowly, his massive frame rising until he seemed to take up all the air in the room. He didn't look pleased; he looked like a man who had just been struck by lightning.
"Who told you about the grants?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.
"Elena," I said. "And it doesn't matter who told me. What matters is that tomorrow, when the council meets, I will sign the titles over to you."
Luca walked around the desk, stopping two feet away from me. He looked down at my face, his dark eyes searching every inch of my features with an intensity that made my breath catch in my throat.
"I didn't bring you here for your mother's land, Sophia," he said, his voice trembling with a rare, terrifying emotion. "I didn't know."
"I know you didn't," I said softly, reaching out to grab the lapel of his open shirt, pulling him down half an inch toward me. "That’s why I’m giving them to you."
"Why?" he rasped, his broad hand coming up to hover near my waist, hesitant, terrified of touching something he might ruin.
"Because six women came through those gates, Luca," I whispered, stepping closer until my chest pressed against his. "Five of them looked at you and saw a mob boss, a giant, or a meal ticket. I looked at you and saw a man who needed someone to bake him a cake."
Luca let out a ragged, broken breath.
His hands came around my waist—heavy, solid, and warm—pulling me flush against his massive body. He lifted me slightly off the floor, his face burying into the crook of my neck, his hot breath fanning over my skin as his broad frame shook with a silent, overwhelming relief.
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"I won't let them take you," he growled into my skin, his grip tightening until I could barely breathe, but I didn't care. "I won't let Silvano or your father or anyone else use you."
"They can try," I whispered, holding his dark head against my shoulder. "But I have a very heavy copper pan."
