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Alina shifted behind Luka.
Antonio noticed. “Oh, don’t worry; you’re safe here. You’re Giovanni’s dear auntie, so it’s not just because Giovanni has a soft spot for this one.” He gestured toward Luka before reaching for his own croissant.
Nera stopped him, pointing to a different batch near the side. She glanced back at Alina, trying to smile. “Sorry for staring. You have my husband’s nose, and your hair is a similar shade.”
Alina’s feet shifted over the hardwood floor as she frowned. “But I’m younger.”
Antonio shrugged as he swallowed his first bite. “Doesn’t change that your older sister was his mother. Or I guess your half sister. I heard the older pakhan took a second, much younger wife after his first wife—” He swallowed the words, and his lips thinned as he set his croissant down. He was no longer smiling as his gaze moved to Nera. “Too many women die in our world, whether Bratva or La Cosa Nostra or any of the families.”
Nera’s hand moved over his in a quick squeeze. “I’m not going to die.”
“Better not.” Antonio cleared his throat, trying out a smile, but it didn’t quite fit. “I’m not sure what Giovanni would do if he lost you.”
Luka knew. Giovanni would want to die. The man had admitted as much when he’d explained the opposite to him once before, that Nera had been why he’d wanted to live, back when Luka had tried to kill him when they were younger.
“Anyway, you’re safe here, Alina,” Antonio said. “The Di Salvos who killed women are all gone. That is, as long as you don’t do something crazy, like attack Giovanni or Nera.” His smile had an edge. “That I wouldn’t be able to forgive.” His eyes shifted to Luka.
Luka understood why the man hated him. His assassination attempt would never be forgotten. Antonio constantly brought up Luka’s fixation on Giovanni because of his own obsession with his cousin. Or brother. Luka had been surprised when he’d picked up the information. The two Di Salvos weren’t anything alike.
Alina didn’t look like Antonio had convinced her she was safe. Her shoulders remained tensed, and she hadn’t eaten a bite of the croissant Luka had handed her. She nodded politely as Nera talked to her about the differences in the foods she’d made that morning, but there was a sadness to her eyes, and Luka knew she was remembering the people at the diner.
He wished he’d gotten there sooner. One more reason to kill Ivankov, not that Luka had needed another. The pakhan would target Alina again. Luka would have to leave the estate soon.
He’d seen the painting of the woman who’d died when he’d slipped into Alina’s room the night before, and he’d told himself she wasn’t ready for him to leave yet. It was only an excuse. His eyes traced over her face as she chewed on her lip and said nothing. He wanted to huddle alone with her in a room, where she’d feel comfortable enough to speak word after word. That would be enough for him, even if he was never able to touch her again.
Luka used to wonder why he was still alive. He’d felt like he’d been granted too much time already. Now time was like sand, trickling through his fingers.
Antonio had said she was safe at the estate, but Luka had meant to talk to Giovanni to confirm it was okay for her to remain there indefinitely. He didn’t need to scan the kitchen to know that the Di Salvo boss wasn’t there. When he’d first slipped into the room, he hadn’t found Giovanni at Nera’s side like he expected. He started to slip out, deciding it would be a good time to find him alone, but a tug on his sleeve stopped him.
Alina dropped her hand, her face flushing. “Sorry,” she apologized, even though she’d been careful not to touch him. “Are you going?” Her eyes locked on his face, seeming to memorize it as if it were the last time.
Luka reached out, his glove encircling her wrist. It trembled. “Not far,” he managed, feeling her relax within his grasp. But he didn’t want to give her false hope or a lie, so he pushed himself to add, “Not yet.”
Alina’s gaze fell to where he still touched her. “You’ll tell me? Before you go?”
He’d gotten so used to holding her wrist in just that way that there was no pain at all. Luka released her anyway, and she replaced his hand with her own before looking up. He nodded, comfortable with making that promise if she wanted it.
She turned back toward the kitchen island.
Antonio was watching them, but Luka couldn’t read the expression in his eyes this time. All he knew was that it didn’t match his smile.
Nera crossed to Luka with a plate of chocolate croissants. “For you and Giovanni,” she said, reading him too easily. “Come back later, and you’ll be able to sneak a strawberry tart as well.”
Giovanni was alone in the office he shared with Nera. Luka set the plate on the desk and took a chair this time. He couldn’t quite look at the man who was the closest thing he had to a friend.
He didn’t speak. Not because he couldn’t push the words out, but because he didn’t know exactly what he wanted to say. They ate in silence.
Giovanni was the first to speak.
“Coronella told me about the warehouse.”
Luka didn’t worry that Giovanni was upset with him. They both accepted that they were from different families. It had never mattered, never changed the thing between them. Luka would have never met Giovanni if he hadn’t been sent to kill him.
The last bite he’d taken seemed to swell in his throat as he realized he’d met Alina the same way. His whole life, the few things that he’d clung to for himself had all been at Ivankov’s whims.
Luka swallowed. “He threatens her.” He’d meant to use the past tense, because that was what had happened at the warehouse, but he knew better. Bringing Alina to the Di Salvos was delaying the inevitable. She was a pawn to Ivankov, a much better one than his sister had been, his sister who had hated him.
Alina didn’t hate him. She’d told him herself. She loved him. His breath became trapped in his throat as he remembered he’d said and done nothing to acknowledge her words of love.
