LUCA {Sample}

8

"You're quiet," Crystal whispered through the dark.

I stared out the cab's window. "I never heard my father was proud of me. I thought he had written me off."

"He's your father. Of course, he'd be proud."

My reflection in the glass faded to his face, midnight in Manhattan suddenly broad daylight on Wall Street, the memory feeling so real.

"I did it!" I charged out the elevator doors, yelling for the whole damn office to hear as I bolted to Papà's office, signed contract in hand. I burst through his door, tossing the paperwork onto his desk. "Fletcher's ours! Fifty mill!"

He sprung from his chair, arms up to congratulate me. "That's my boy! Complimenti, figlio!"

I'd just bagged the biggest client of the decade, huge for Romano Investing. "Let's celebrate!"

"Perdonami, I have to go. Let's rain check it."

"Rain check? Fifty million, Papà!"

He nodded, already grabbing his coat while checking his watch. "Gav's got a soccer game."

Soccer! I'd just put our company even higher on the fucking map, and he was blowing me off to watch that kid kick a ball. A ball he kicked every fucking week. Fine. Whatever. "Tomorrow?" I'd party with the guys tonight, celebrate with him tomorrow.

He shook his head again. "Domani, we're going out with Stefano."

"Fine, we'll all go out and celebrate."

"No, Luca. He asked that only Mamma and I go. Why don't you swing by? Giorgia's coming over to watch Gav; you can see your sorellina and fratellino."

I landed a fifty-million-dollar contract, and he wanted me to fucking babysit. "The next day?"

He started for the door. "Your mamma and I have the Garden Gala."

I see. He didn't respect the contribution I'd made not only to this fucking famiglia but to this fucking business. He underestimated my fucking value! Nobody could produce the way I could, but he could care less.

"You know what—" I ripped the ID badge from my pocket, chucking it at his desk. "I quit! And I'm taking Fletcher's account! Fuck, I'm taking all my accounts over to Cohen's. I don't need this compagnia di merda! Or you, a fucking asshole who doesn't see my worth! I'm done with you! I'm done with this fucking company and this fucking famiglia! You're dead to me!"

"Luca, aspetta!" he yelled.

Too fucking late. I stormed out of the building, blocked his calls, binged for days, snorted so much fucking coke I couldn't see straight—and when I could, he was dead.

"Luca? Luca?" a calm voice pulled me from the yells and rage of the memory. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just tired. This should help." I elbowed the door open, gesturing her out.

She stopped on the sidewalk, staring from the window to me. "Coffee?"

I walked to the door, holding it for her. "I'm not gonna take you to a bar on Christmas. And you're paying. You owe me for dicking me around all week."

She started in, ass barely contained in that dress, my hands barely contained at my sides, wanting to imprint on those cheeks.

"Small Christmas tea and a gingerbread scone. Luca?" Crystal twisted back, waiting for my order.

"Espresso."

For some reason, that made her laugh. "At one in the morning? Okay." Her hand dipped into her purse as if I would actually let her pay.