Page 16 of Damiano De Luca (The Five Syndicates)
The fuck am I doing?
Talking about our past stood at the back of the line on the list of things I should have asked her. At the very least, I could justify asking why she had come. It was a stretch, but that answer could maybe benefit the De Luca family name I’d risked everything to preserve.
“Damsel.”
The sanc
tity of the just-for-us nickname died as she said it in the presence of her driver. It bothered me to admit that part of me died, too. But fuck, that nickname had spent more than a decade staying just between us. Now, here she was, giving it away freely like it was candy and she was a creeper driving a white van.
She shifted at the look I speared her with before she sighed. “It’s been nearly a decade. Get over it.”
Solid advice, if I was being honest.
The rift between us was a canyon. Deep clefts too rocky to scale. I wasn’t even sure why I wanted to.
“When you’re done dodging my questions, I’ll allow you the opportunity to explain yourself.”
She arched a brow. “The opportunity?”
I opened the door, avoiding the litter of window glass that scattered on the floor like sheep with no shepherd. “It’s more than you deserve.”
I stepped out of the car and turned to face the crowd of soldiers that had surrounded us. One of them arched a brow.
I considered what would irritate Ren most before I spoke. “Sorry, guys. She’s on her period.”
The door slammed shut behind me.
It echoed like it had that night she’d run away.
Nothing is so difficult as not deceiving oneself.
Ludwig Wittgenstein
You have to be here, I reminded myself as I strolled into L’Oscurità, a Romano bar in an expensive part of the city.
Few things in life were worth stressing over. Damiano De Luca happened to be one of them. My poor heart hadn’t dealt with the torment that was Damian in years and struggled to keep up. It scraped at my insides with each demanding beat as I perched myself on a barstool.
Normally, I was calm, collected, and cool—the three Cs my Vitali blood demanded of me. But in my little corner of the Romano bar, I wasn’t sure who was winning—my heart or my head.
I had left this world. Begged Papà to set me free. Done everything I could to live a normal life with a normal teaching job in a normal suburban Connecticut town, close enough to Maman’s place in the Hamptons that I could visit whenever she felt lonely.
I hated that I was here. I hated that, all these years later, I still felt something suspiciously close to love whenever I thought of Damian.
Upper-level mafia figures, attendees of Vincent’s funeral this morning, replaced the typical bougie, annual-income-north-of-eight-figures clientele. Their presence darkened the room. That, or the overtime my heart had put in was messing with my head.
“I’ll take a whiskey neat. Single malt Scotch.” I slid my sweater down my arms, placed it on the courtesy hook beneath the bar top, and met Ariana De Luca’s eyes. “Macallan if you have it, please.”
“I have a 35-year-old in the back…”
“That’ll do.”
I skimmed the bar as she left to retrieve my drink. Asher Black, Niccolaio Andretti, and Bastiano Romano sat in a corner booth, and I made a mental note to send my condolences their way. The senior Romanos—Frankie, Eli, and Gio—sat at the opposite end of the bar, surrounded by a sea of suck-ups. I made another note to avoid them. Representatives for the Camerino and Rossi families showed up, too. All that was missing was a De Luca in the mix. Well, an out-of-the-closet De Luca.
My eyes sought Damian, and when they didn’t find him, disappointment and relief filled me in equal measures. Ariana returned with the bottle of Macallan. Just in time, because Damian walked in.
Courtesy of the deep Vitali coffers, I slid six hundred-dollar bills Ariana’s way, took my drink, grabbed my things, and made my way down the bar. Blending in came easily to me, and as I used a particularly large enforcer to shield me from Damian’s line of sight, I knew I was in the clear but within hearing range.
I never cared enough about this world to be the eavesdropping type, but with Damian, it didn’t even occur to me not to. It was like opening a bag of chips and finishing it in one sitting. It happened before I even realized what I’d done.
