♛ L U C A N ♛
His regret is instantaneous.
A frown twists his father's already sour expression. "A waitress?" He pauses for a moment, his gaze defocusing as he becomes lost in thought. "Is she normal?"
Lucan ignores his flaring senses as he gives a shallow nod. "I'm assuming. She seems normal to me."
Domenico shakes his wireless computer mouse and begins typing. "And what was the name of the diner you went to this morning?"
The twenty seven year old narrows his eyes. "Blacktop..." He pauses, his breath halting in his throat as he waits for his father to elaborate.
The older Cacciatore does no such thing. Instead, his icy brown eyes remain focused on the bright screen in front of him. Lucan watches, nearly disinterested, as his father clicks a few times before speaking.
"And what was her name again?"
His response is empty. "Jelena."
"Last name?"
"E initial. That's all I knew from her nametag." Within his next breath, Lucan felt strange, as if he's giving out sensitive information, crossing a line. Before the twenty seven year old can stop himself, he calls out to his father. "Why are you asking this?"
The older man doesn't answer, instead he types away for a few more seconds before turning towards his phone and dialing a number. The air between the two Cacciatores is tense as the rhythmic tone of the call waiting fills the space.
A gruff voice echoes into the silence. "Hello?"
Domenico grunts and leans forward. "Jameson. I have a quick favor to call in."
Lucan recognizes the name instantly. Reggie Jameson is his family's P.I., a man who has come to Sebastiano's aid more times than any of them would care to admit. The Cacciatores owe more to Jameson than anyone else in the world- which is why Domenico refuses to let him go.
"When do you not have a favor to call in?" Jameson chuckles over the line before sobering quickly. "I have things to do, so make this quick Domenico."
For reasons unknown, the older Cacciatore makes no move to silence him. He just presses on. "I need to find the phone number of a woman that my son encountered today."
The ill feeling from before, the one that told Lucan that he's crossing a boundary he shouldn't be, returns. He settles in his seat, his pale eyes falling to the polished mahogany wood that comprised his father's desk.
"Do you have any other information besides her name?" Jameson asks.
Domenico's reply is swift. "She works at a cafe named Blacktop. It's close to downtown. That's all we know." As his sentence continues, his patience clearly wanes, leaving his dark brown eyes cold as ice. "I expect to have her phone number before sunset."
The private investigator snorts, clearly amused. "It'll take me no less than an hour, tops. Always the underestimating one, aren't we, Signor Cacciatore?"
Lucan watches his father mutter Italian expletives into the phone before, "Just get it done, Jameson." The older man then hangs up.
And now... we wait.
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"It's already 5:45, Lucan. Where is your waitress?" His father paces the length of his office, his gait moving in prideful stalks.
The twenty seven year old holds off an eye roll as he tugs on his sleeves. "I don't control her actions, Father, and I probably never will. Nor is she 'my waitress.'" Somehow his response is blank. He applauds himself for that.
Domenico doesn't answer and continues pacing. Lucan notices that his father's eyes constantly cut to the pager that sits lifelessly on his desk.
He slinks in his seat enough to release the tension in his spine, muttering a prayer in hopes that his father won't notice his slight slouch.
The older Cacciatore continues to pace around his office, getting more and more aggravated with each passing step. Lucan is able to tell because Domenico's footfalls steadily grow heavier and more deliberate every time they came crashing against the carpet. Before long, his father is practically stomping around the room.
In the corner of his eye, he sees a quick flash of blue light. Lucan immediately turns towards the desk to confirm his suspicions before putting a voice to his alert. "Father, your pager!"
Domenico stops pacing (ahem, stomping) and takes three extra long strides to get back to his desk. The aged man then slams his finger down on the 'receive call' button and speaks out gruffly. "Hello?"
While he clears his throat, his secretary's voice wafts out of the small speaker. "Mr. Cacciatore?" Anna calls, her tone is slightly wary.
"Yes, Ms. Lance?" His father answers, eyes twitching with anticipation.
The corner of Lucan's mouth flickers up into an amused smirk. Domenico glances over at him with a flash, his brown eyes piercing. The twenty seven year old's emotionless expression returns and his father resumes his focus on his pager, satisfied.
Anna speaks again. "The receptionist from the lobby tells me that there's a woman here to see you, but you don't have any meetings or appointments scheduled for this time slot. Should I send her away?"
The older man's blank face matches his voice when he replies. "What's her name?"
A brief pause before, "Jelena Elias, sir." Anna answers, her voice audibly laced with unease.
Father's eyes light up for a fracture of a second by a fraction of a degree. "Send her up, I've been waiting for her."
Lucan can almost hear the secretary nodding along in the same manner of a child. "Yes, sir." Then the line goes dead.
Silence looms over the office as the pair of men wait for Jelena to come up. Lucan turns to face the floor-to-ceiling window, identical to the one in his office. The pale blue shades of the afternoon sky melts into the bleeding sunset, painting the arches in pinks, reds, and oranges. The city skyline darkens, seemingly brightening the clouds to a sterile white with a golden ichor outline rather than a simple ashen gray without one.
Then the door opens and both of their heads snap to Anna. "Jelena Elias, sir." She says.
And then in the waitress walks, the woman of the hour.
Lucan is so stunned that he can hardly breathe.
He still isn't sure what he was expecting to see. A pair of jeans dressed up with a blazer? A tight bun? Perhaps a purse?
It isn't often that he finds himself in the company of the middle class, leaving him to be strictly speculative, no matter how judgmental it appears at first glance. The tendency to study others by their outside appearance has been instilled in the twenty seven year old since birth.
But nonetheless, the woman that stands by the door is near unrecognizable from the waitress who had fumbled over his coffee only hours prior. Her tight, crimson skirt accentuates the gentle curve of her shapely legs, and the white blouse that's tucked into the darkened red fabric stands out against her dark skin and brings out her even darker eyes.
And again, Lucan finds himself unable to tear his gaze away from the thick, hip-length braids that cascade down the side of her elegant neck. The argentum rings that adorn the hair only bring attention to its ethereal beauty.
Well... never let it be said that she's an ugly woman.
Domenico hums in thin approval beneath his breath. Lucan, still struggling to breathe correctly, glances over to see his father's eyes sweep up the woman's appearance. His own eyes widen slightly as Jelena cuts Lucan a brief glance and releases a tiny smirk of her own.
Shit.
All parties are silent as they stare at each other, no one really knowing what to say. The uneasy tension that lingers in the air is palpable and thick.
Finally, his father clears his throat and glances at the silver Armani wrist watch that is identical to his own. "Thank you for not arriving late, Ms. Elias."
Jelena nods stiffly and remains by the door.
Domenico gestures towards the plush and currently empty armchair beside Lucan's. His face and words are blank when he offers, "Please, sit down. We have much to discuss."
"Yes, sir." Jelena agrees. She walks over to the offered chair, her gait steady and confident while doing so.
Silence resumes its role of filling the space as she sits down. Jelena crosses her ankles and folds her hand in her lap before lifting her gaze to stare at the Roman numeral clock that's mounted on the wall behind Domenico's desk. After several pressing moments, she clears her throat. "So, this offer you spoke to me about? May I ask what it is?"
Lucan's father slightly scoots in closer to his desk while folding his own hands on the surface of the tabletop. He sets his lips into a tight line. "Ms. Elias, before I answer your question, would you answer mine?"
As usual, his voice leaves little up for discussion. The young woman is forced to oblige. She swallows and nods. "Well... ask away, sir."
The elder Cacciatore doesn't miss a beat. "How do you feel about marriage?" His face remains grim as he studies her face.
Lucan can see her eyebrows itching to lift in reaction. But to her credit, Jelena manages to keep her voice evenly balanced when she answers. "It doesn't seem to be an option in the cards for me at the moment." When Domenico doesn't press further, she hurries on to fill the silence. Jelena pauses for a split moment before, "Personally, I don't mind it. If I'm intended to get married one day, then I believe that will happen. But... getting married is far from the top of my priorities right now. I'm content as I am."
Her words ring with the pure relief of honesty, but Lucan still wonders if she's trying to convince herself or his father.
He watches as the cold brown eyes of the man in question softens for a fraction of a millisecond. Then, his stone blank stare resumes and he nods. "What about arranged marriages? What are your thoughts on those?" Domenico ventures.
Lucan registers the gears turning in Jelena's head as she attempts to assess the situation; as she tries to figure out why his father is asking such specific questions.
She sucks in a breath and blows it out softly through her pillowy, slightly pursed lips. Jelena's head cocks to the side a little bit before she answers. "My thoughts on arranged marriages? That's a difficult one, seeing how I've never really thought about it. But I guess it depends on the circumstance?" As she voices her thoughts, her dark eyes light with a certain fire that Lucan can't place.
All he knows is that he's enamored.
Jelena continues on, her gaze catching onto Domenico's. "Do you mean historic European arranged marriages where the woman has no say in whom she is wed to and has no way out? Or are you referring to modern Middle Eastern arranged marriages where the people involved typically have a long engagement and are allowed to back out at any time prior to the wedding?"
The silence that hangs in the hair afterwards forces Lucan to take in a deep breath to swallow down his rising chuckle. Domenico, who recognizes the sound, cuts him a cold glance before turning back to Jelena.
Said woman is fidgeting slightly in her seat, clearly embarrassed. "Sorry," she murmurs.
His father leans back as he stares at her, as if he's seeing the waitress in a new light. "Don't be. An educated woman is a useful woman."
A thoughtful look passes over her face at that, as if she isn't sure how to respond.
"But to answer your question, Ms. Elias," Domenico resumes his former position, leaning forward. His dark eyes are stagnant and lifeless- like a shark's. "I was thinking of one that seems to be a mix of the two examples that you presented. A marriage with a contract, that cannot be made void until both parties fulfill the contents of the document. What are your thoughts on that?"
Jelena swallows thickly under his intense gaze. Her dark pools flicker towards Lucan's pale blue eyes for a split moment before she fiddles with her hands. "I guess it isn't a problem? As long as both parties are consenting and the contract isn't in the favor of one over the other."
Amusement flashes in his father's eyes before disappearing. A pit in the young businessman's stomach swells, filled with slight amusement and an emotion that he can't place.
If only she knew what she was here for.
"So is that all, sir?" Jelena's question is earnest as she sits up straighter. It's clear that she wants to leave as soon as possible.
Domenico shakes his head. "I have one more question for you, Ms. Elias."
Jelena eases back against the backrest once more and purses her lips into a tight line. "Ask away, sir." This time, her tone is flat.
"What would you do if you were to be paid to marry someone?" His father asks, honesty lacing the undertones of his words.
Lucan feels his eyebrows crinkle. What is the old man insinuating? Is he going to make a contract and have Jelena marry him (or at least get engaged) for a certain amount a cash? His thoughts run rampant.
Is that even legal?
But the twenty seven year old isn't sure why he even bothered to wonder about the legality of the entire situation. The Cacciatores have no qualms for breaking the law. Hell, Sebastiano has made a whole career of crime.
Jelena's eyes widen and she clenches her fists so tightly that Lucan half expects for her hands to break. The young woman's palms flush a bright shade of red as her fingernails dig into them.
Guess she's finally figured out why she was called here.
The gruffness in his father's voice hints at his growing impatience. "I'm waiting, Ms. Elias."
She clears her throat and nods, "Sorry. Um... If I were to be paid to marry someone," Jelena's gaze slides over to Lucan for several tortuous moments before snapping back to his father. "It would depend on the person, the amount of money, and how long we would have to be married. And a contract is a must for me. I would need a document that I can read thoroughly and sign to know the type of agreement between us."
Domenico nods, clearly thinking over her answer. Then, without warning, he stands with his hand outstretched. Jelena hurries to get up, pushing off of the chair. Lucan's father grasps her hand and purses his lips into a thin, barely noticeable line. "Well, I'm proud to say that you got the job, Ms. Elias. Thank you for your time."
Jelena's jaw drops while Lucan clenches his own shut. His father had actually listened to him. He was to marry this woman he had just met.
This is his own fault.
"S-sir?" The young woman's voice comes out startled and unsure.
Domenico gestures to Lucan, silently ordering his son to stand up in the process, and turns back to Jelena. "I'm off to produce that contract."
Her jaw drops even further and her eyes follow the older man the door. Just before his father grips the knob, he turns and nods in their direction. "In the meantime, I'll let you and your husband-to-be get acquainted."
Then he grasps the doorknob and disappears behind the oak door.
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♛
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Author's Note:
And there's chapter 6 #revamped! Hope you enjoyed :) Please vote, follow, comment, and share!
Thanks for reading!
XOXO,
callie