Chapter 81: No Need To Worry

Nonnina stood at the entrance as Luca was wheeled in, her heart breaking. He looked smaller on the gurney, stripped of his armor, dark hair damp with sweat, skin sallow beneath the harsh lights. Her boy. Always her boy, no matter how much blood followed him home.

She reached out, brushed her fingers over his knuckles before the doctor and nurses closed in around him.

The room sealed itself off.

Authorized personnel only.

Vee stood just outside the threshold, the invisible line suddenly heavier than any locked door. She hadn’t been told to leave. She hadn’t been dismissed. She simply wasn’t included. She swallowed hard, hands curling at her sides, and let out a slow breath. At least he was alive.

At least he was being cared for by people who knew exactly how to stitch him back together.

That would have to be enough.

She turned away before anyone could see her face crumble and walked back toward the smaller apartment tucked behind the mansion.

He was married.

Luciano Genovese was married.

God, she was a fool. A spectacular one. What had she been expecting exactly? That a man like Luca would orbit her forever, singular and obsessed, like she was some once-in-a-lifetime miracle?

She unlocked the door and stepped inside, the apartment greeting her with stillness.

What was she thinking would happen?

That she mattered?

Men like Luca didn’t have room for mattering. They collected moments. Bodies. Women. They enjoyed the shine, the thrill, the way a woman looked at them before reality set in. Then they shelved them neatly, like trophies behind glass. Admired from time to time. Never touched again.

She dragged a hand down her face, anger bubbling up beneath the hurt. She had known better. Hadn’t she? She’d seen his office. The women drifting in and out, polished and hungry, perfumed and disposable. She wasn’t special. She wasn’t different. She was just another distraction.

A fleeting thing.

That was all she was to him. A phase. A dangerous little indulgence during a turbulent time. And she had let herself believe otherwise because he looked at her like she was worth protecting. Because he asked who cared for her. Because he bled on her bed and held her hand while he did it.

Stupid. Stupid heart.

She sank onto the edge of the bed and stared at the floor, blinking rapidly as tears threatened but refused to fall. No. He hadn’t lied exactly. He had just… not told her. And that felt worse somehow.

What made her think she would truly matter to a man whose life was built on secrets, blood, and chaos?

*****

When Luca finally opened his eyes, the world came back in pieces. Light first. Then the dull, insistent ache stitched through his side. Then the quiet hum of machines. He blinked slowly, lashes heavy, and there Nonnina was.

She sat beside his bed. Every time this happened, and it had happened more times than Luca cared to count, she was there. Always. As dependable as pain. As loyal as blood. She used to joke that the grey threading her dark hair was entirely his fault, each silver strand born from a night she waited for a call of his death.

Her rosary slipped endlessly through her fingers, bead after bead worn smooth by decades of prayer and worry. Her lips moved silently, a private conversation with God.

“Nonni…” he croaked.

Her eyes flew open, red-rimmed and swollen from sleepless night spent bargaining with heaven. “Diavolino,” she breathed, already on her feet, crossing the short distance to his bedside with surprising speed.

“Nonni, I’m fine,” he rasped, attempting a smile that tugged painfully at his stitches. “I’m fine. Okay? No need to worry.”

“Too late.”

Luca chuckled weakly. He reached for her fingers. “Don’t tell father.”

Her grip tightened instantly. “Diavolino,” she sighed. “You know what he will do if I don’t tell him.”

“He won’t know if you don’t,” Luca said stubbornly.

“Luca…” Nonnina’s shoulders slumped, exhaustion finally catching up with her.

“Please,” he said. “Just this once. I… I do not want to draw attention to Veronica.”

She nodded slowly. “Just this once.”

“Thank you.” He swallowed, throat dry. “Is Marco still here?”

“Yes,” she replied, already turning toward the door. “I’ll get him.”

Moments later, Marco stepped in, closing the door behind him quietly.

“What’s the situation?” Luca asked immediately, the haze gone, the calculating mind sliding back into place.

“Bastardi and his men are in holding,” Marco said evenly. “Waiting for you.”

“Vito?” Luca asked.

“At home,” Marco replied.

“I want him in holding too.”

Marco paused for half a breath. Just enough to register surprise. “Why?”

Luca’s jaw tightened. “He led his own daughter into an ambush,” he said. “Thank God I was there.” His gaze flicked to the ceiling. “No one hurts her, Marco. No one.”

It was a law.

Marco nodded immediately. “I will give instructions.” Then, carefully, he added, “Also… your wife called. She wants to speak with you. Julian has arrived in Vienna, and I believe she heard about the issue with the exchange.”

Luca let his head fall back against the pillow. “Great.”

“Luciano…” Marco said.

“What?” Luca snapped, already irritated by the tone.

“Miss Scalese knows.”

“She knows what?” Luca asked slowly.

“About Mrs. Genovese.”

“Crap!” Luca barked, already ripping the IV from his arm and the wires attached to him. Blood welled instantly, dotting the sheets. He didn’t even look at it. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, gritting his teeth as pain tore through his side.

“Where is she?” he demanded, breath tight.

“I believe she is still in her apartment,” Marco said quickly. “No one has been allowed in or out since we arrived. Luca, I can bring her here. You need to stay in bed.”

“Nonsense.” He pushed himself upright, muscles screaming in protest, hospital gown hanging loosely off his broad shoulders. He had dragged himself out of worse.

“I need to see her,” he said. “Get me some damn clothes.”

Marco hesitated. “Luciano—”

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