LUCA {Full Book}

7

"Fa freddo, cazzo!" It was fucking freezing out here, ten degrees on the church steps. "Why does Christmas mass have to be at fucking midnight? It's New York!"

Stefano shook his head, taking a step away from me.

"What?"

"Nothing," he replied, taking another step back. "Just clearing space for when that lightning bolt shoots down for you."

"God doesn't care if you curse, as long as it's in Italian." I stepped closer to him to piss him off. "And that bolt's taking you down too."

He knocked my shoulder, so I knocked him right back, the two of us almost crashing, right in front of Sofia and Paulo walking up the steps.

"Buon Natale, Luca, Stefano!" She pulled me into a hug before sending me to shake Paulo's hand. Then we were hustling in, cramming our way through the circus.

The crowds settled, a procession of choir and clergy filling the stage, starting the show. "Welcome—"

I'd been coming to this church every year since I was a kid, and nothing had changed, including the fact that I was bored out of my fucking mind.

We stood, and like every year before this one, I played the same game, trying to guess if a chick was decent just from her back. Then waiting in great fucking anticipation for her to turn or twist.

Blonde, eleventh row, guessing she had a giant rack, bought by the grandpa next to her who was probably her husband. I leaned over in front of Stefano, trying to get a better view... and she was moving, twisting back for a purse maybe... Jesus Christ! At least double D's poured out of her top while grandpa's translucent hand dropped to her ass. I had a fucking skill for this game.

I followed her row down to a big, curvy—wait—I knew that ass. You had to be fucking kidding me right now! I'd spent the last week trying to find her, and here she was, at Midnight Mass. So she was obviously good and well, yet for some fucking reason, she couldn't call me. Had I not been fucking clear when I said I expect a call! I'd given her my number with explicit instructions to call me. That number was unlisted, a privilege to have!

After that kiss, I expected her to come banging down my door, begging for more. All fucking night I waited. Nothing. I checked my phone every goddamn minute this week. I stalked the coffee shop. I waited at the bar every fucking night. Whatever, I didn't give a fuck! She'd lost her chance. Romanos only came around once every fucking blue moon—this was her loss.

And I didn't give a fuck how good she looked in that red dress, that red dress that was tighter than skin. Nor did I care who the fuck she was standing next to. I was over it, moved on. I was Luca Romano, for God's sake. I was over it. I wasn't about to chase her ass any longer. There were hundreds, thousands of women who'd run to my bed, who'd bow on their fucking knees. She'd lost her chance. Too bad for her. Luca Romano didn't give a fuck!

"Well?" An elbow slammed my ribs.

"Well, what?" I spat at Stefano.

He started talking about something, so I gave his face a few minutes of my attention—noticing everyone around us, a stampede, people rushing the doors.

"What the hell's happening?"

"It's over," Stefano emphasized, rolling his fucking eyes at me. "Where have you been the last hour?"

I whipped my head back towards her row, eyes darting back and forth like a fucking paranoid addict, searching the crowd. She was gone. Dammit!

Not that I fucking cared!

There she was, talking and smiling as if Luca Romano hadn't kissed her five days ago! I hated this dependency I had on seeing her—that I couldn't push her aside. Why wasn't she another nameless chick who came and went?