3. Luca

THREE

Luca

The cold bites harder than usual tonight. The snow is falling steadily, soft and thick, blanketing the streets in an almost peaceful quiet. Little white lights twinkle on every street corner, wreaths hang on doorways, and there's a soft glow from the windows of shops still open late. It's like a holiday postcard—cheerful, bright, and completely oblivious to the darkness just beneath the surface.

I glance over at Fiamma. She's sitting next to me in the car, arms crossed over her chest, pouting like a kid who didn't get what she wanted. I can feel the tension radiating off her, and it's been like this ever since we left that alley. She hasn't said much, but her silence speaks volumes.

She's still got the vodka bottle unopened between her legs, so I supposed that is a plus.

We pull up to the meeting spot, an old, rundown bar on the edge of town. The lights outside flicker, half the sign missing, the rest faded from years of neglect. It's the kind of place you go to forget, the kind of place where no one asks questions. I told Adrian I needed to get out of the downtown area in case someone else saw my car leaving the alley.

I cut the engine, turning to her. "Stay close."

She doesn't answer, just gives me a side-eye and tugs her coat tighter around her. Typical. She puts the liter of alcohol on the floorboard and opens the car door.

We step out into the snow, the wind biting at my face as I lead her toward the door. Inside, the bar smells like stale beer and smoke. It's dimly lit, the kind of place that feels like it's stuck in time.

A few regulars huddle at the bar, their eyes half-lidded as they nurse their drinks. They don't look up when we walk in. Good.

Adrian's already here, sitting at a back table. He looks up when he sees us, and there's nothing but anger on his face. He barely acknowledges me before his gaze lands on Fiamma, his jaw tightening.

"Perfect," he mutters as we approach the table. "You've managed to ruin Christmas for the entire family, Fiamma. Congratulations."

I see her bristle beside me, her pout turning into a full-blown scowl. But she doesn't say anything. Not yet.

Adrian doesn't wait for her to respond. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Marco's men are in town because of you. This whole thing—this mess—it's on you. Goddammit."

"Adrian," I start, but he cuts me off with a sharp look .

"No, Luca. She needs to hear this. We're all in danger because of her decisions. She thought she could play games with Marco Vitale, and now look where we are. A small, peaceful town, filled with holiday tourists, and we've brought the devil to their doorstep. Great fucking call, Fiamma."

Fiamma shifts beside me, her arms still crossed, her jaw set. "How was I supposed to know this is what would happen?" Her voice low, but defiant. "You've put your dick in every woman from every family in a two hundred mile radius of Vegas. I hooked up with the guy twice and you act like I signed the declaration of war."

"You might as well have. You kept it secret because you knew it was wrong."

"You guys shouldn't have convinced me to come here, then, so you could preserve your precious holiday. I didn't want to come, anyway."

"Oh, so you could start a war at home without anyone there to protect our turf? Not a viable option. Try again."

"I had no idea he would flip out like this."

Adrian lets out a bitter laugh. "Oh, really? What exactly did you think would happen, Fiamma? That you could sleep with a Vitale and walk away like nothing happened? Did you think Marco wouldn't follow you, that the Vitale family wouldn't take this personally?"

She glares at him, but I can tell his words are hitting hard. I step in before it gets worse.

"We've already dealt with one of Marco's men," I say, keeping my voice steady. "But there's more. And we can't assume they'll stop. "

Adrian's gaze flick to me, and then back to Fiamma. "Of course, they won't stop. And now, thanks to her, we have to deal with this in the middle of what was supposed to be a quiet holiday. Our family should be here, celebrating. But instead, we're cleaning up her mess and hopefully stopping a war. Now, you've killed one of his men, so we aren't doing such a good job on that front."

Fiamma's shoulders tighten, and I can see her biting her tongue, holding back whatever retort she has ready to fire. But I know her well enough by now. She won't stay quiet for long.

I take a step closer to Adrian. "What do you want me to do?"

His gaze narrows, but I can see the calculation behind his anger. "We need to figure out just how deep Marco's reach is here. You and Fiamma—" he spits her name like it's poison—"are going to stay close. I don't care if she hates it. You don't leave her side. Understood?"

I nod, glancing at Fiamma. She's still glaring at Adrian, her cheeks flushed from anger or embarrassment—or maybe both. But she says nothing, just sulks deeper into her coat, like a kid being scolded.

Adrian stands up, shoving his chair back. "We're on borrowed time here, Luca. Keep her in line. This town might be full of fucking holly jolly cheer, but Marco's men are here to end that. And if we don't get ahead of this, Winter Haven will be painted red. I don't want that blood on my hands. This is a sacred time."

He doesn't wait for a response before turning and storming out of the bar. The door swings shut behind him, leaving us in the dim light and the suffocating tension .

I turn to Fiamma. She presses her lips into a thin line, her entire aura blazing with defiance.

"You heard him," I say quietly. "You stay with me. Now you know it isn't some power play on my part. You only have yourself to blame."

She finally looks at me, her eyes sharp and full of fire. "This isn't my fault."

I let out a slow breath. "Isn't it?"

She recoils, her face flushing. "You didn't have to kill him, you know."

I stiffen, my jaw clenching. "I did what I had to do. You have no idea what's coming, Fiamma. Marco's men aren't here to talk. They're here to kill. That man would've done the same to you if I hadn't stopped him."

Her eyes flick away, but I can see her frustration bubbling to the surface. "Maybe. But you didn't have to enjoy it."

I take a step closer, lowering my voice. "You think I enjoyed that? You think this is fun for me?"

She doesn't answer, but I can see the doubt creeping in.

"This isn't a game, Fiamma," I continue. "You're not just playing with your own life. You're playing with all of our lives."

The silence stretches between us, thick with everything unsaid. I can see her trying to hold back her emotions, trying to keep that tough exterior. But it's cracking.

Finally, she turns away, pulling her coat tighter. "Let's just get out of here."

I don't argue. There's nothing left to say.

The snow has thickened, turning the streets into a blur of white as we head back to the lodge. Fiamma is quiet beside me, but I can feel the storm brewing inside her—a storm worse than the one outside. Her arms are crossed, lips pressed into a tight line, like she's about to explode but holding it back. For now.

As soon as we step into the suite, the warmth of the fire contrasts sharply with the cold tension between us. She heads straight for the sofa, throwing herself down dramatically. I shut the door behind us, not saying a word, but I know she's not done. Not yet.

"This is bullshit," she mutters under her breath, loud enough for me to hear.

I don't respond right away, taking my coat off and hanging it by the door. I'm used to her temper by now, but tonight it feels like she's about to boil over.

"It's not my fault, you know," she snaps, her voice louder now, frustration leaking into every word. "Everything's on me, isn't it? Adrian blames me. You blame me. But it's not all my fault. I didn't ask you to shoot that guy."

Here we go.

I turn to her, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. "You think I'm overreacting? That killing him was unnecessary?"

She scoffs, sitting up. Her demeanor oozes with that unmistakable dissent she always has ready to unleash on me. "You didn't have to kill him. You escalated it. "

I push off the wall, taking a step closer. "You really think I had a choice? What did you want me to do, Fiamma? Let him take a shot at you? These things happen in our world. You know that."

"Maybe, but?—"

I cut her off, my voice low and controlled. "We don't even know if he's dead. But it doesn't matter. This is what it takes to keep you alive. Do you understand that? Or do you still think we're all overreacting because you didn't think before you fucked around with Marco?"

Her face flushes, but I don't back down. She's been playing with fire this whole time, and now she's mad that someone's getting burned.

She glares at me, refusing to back down. "I'm not some damsel in distress you need to save, Luca. You're treating me like I'm some helpless little girl. Plus, for your information, Marco and I flirted a little, maybe we kissed, but that's it. I didn't fuck him, you asshole."

I let out a breath, shaking my head. "I don't care what you did with him. You shouldn't have given him ideas. I'm treating you like someone who's in real danger, whether you want to admit it or not. Marco's men are here, and they're not going to stop because you think I'm being too dramatic."

Before she can respond, the lights flicker. Then, without warning, everything goes dark. The fire still crackles in the hearth, casting a soft glow over the room, but the power is out, and the wind gusts outside, creating a white, transparent sheet just beyond the glass of the window. It almost looks peaceful .

She sighs, loud and exaggerated, like this is all just one big inconvenience for her. "Great. Now what?"

I start moving toward the kitchen, grabbing a few candles from the cupboard and lighting them. The flickering candlelight throws shadows across the walls, and for a moment, it's a quaint setting. That is, until Fiamma opens her mouth.

Fiamma stands up, pacing. "Well, looks like we will have to go out after all."

"We aren't going anywhere. Sit your ass down."

"Fuck face."

"I've been called worse."

"Well, looks like all we can do now is play cards by candlelight and drink vodka. Isn't that what I suggested earlier?"

I glance at her, unimpressed. "I'm not playing cards, and I'm definitely not drinking with you."

With a quick eye roll, she makes her way to the counter, where she confidently reaches for the bottle of vodka and proceeds to pour herself a well-deserved drink. "Fine. Suit yourself. I'll just play solitaire and enjoy my night."

She sits back down, shuffling a deck of cards and setting up a game for herself. I watch her, arms crossed, my mind racing. Part of me knows I should be keeping a close watch, alert in case Marco's men make another move. But another part of me—the part I hate acknowledging—wants to just sit down with her, drink, and forget about the mess we're in. If only for a few minutes.

I sit in silence, watching her sip her clear liquid, straight up. After a while, the tension in the room shifts. It's still there, but it's different now. Less angry, more… something else. She's focused on her game, the flickering candlelight casting soft shadows across her face. For a moment, it feels like the storm outside doesn't exist.

Finally, I break the silence. "What do you want to play? Only thing I know how to play is poker."

She looks up, surprised, but she doesn't let it show for long. Her lips curl into a small, triumphant smile, and she raises an eyebrow. "Really? You're caving?"

I shrug, trying to keep my voice casual. "Might as well. We're stuck here."

She pushes the cards across the table toward me. "Alright then. Pick your poison."

I sit down across from her, grabbing the cards and shuffling them. The tension between us is still there, but it's softer now. Less of a storm, more of a slow burn. We play a few hands, exchanging small talk, but the undercurrent is undeniable. The bickering is gone, replaced by something more subtle, something neither of us is willing to acknowledge out loud.

I can see it in the way she carries herself, and I'm sure she can see it in mine. The temperature is dropping outside, the snow coming down in sheets, but inside, ice is thawing.