Chapter 14

Luca

In the dimly lit backroom of what used to be an upscale, now thoroughly commandeered, Italian restaurant, I stand at the head of a makeshift table. Cash piles are neatly arranged.

My guys line up, a motley crew of hardened criminals and wide-eyed newbies, their expressions ranging from greedily eager to cautiously optimistic. They know the drill—line up, keep quiet, and wait your turn.

Paid gangsters are happy gangsters. It”s payroll day, an event as regular as it is risky, and yet it”s essential to keeping the wheels of our syndicate greased and running smoothly.

That”s when she walks in—Lana. She”s visibly tired, the weight of the world on her slender shoulders, yet she carries it with an ease that never ceases to amaze me. Her presence shifts the energy in the room instantly; men straighten up, eyes follow her every move, and a hush falls over the crowd. It”s not just respect; it”s admiration, fear, and desire all rolled into one.

After the paychecks are dealt with, I look at Lana. She”s pacing, a frenetic energy about her that instantly draws my concern, cutting through the usual post-payroll lull.

”Lana, are you alright?” I ask, stepping closer, my tone more concerned than I”d usually allow it to show in such a public setting.

”Drink. I need a drink. A fucking cigarette,” she mutters, more to herself than to me, her gaze darting around the room, not settling on any one thing, least of all me. It”s clear as day—she”s having withdrawals.

I understand immediately, the gravity of the situation pressing down with sudden weight. ”Out,” I command.

Once we”re alone, I close the distance between us, stopping just short of reaching out to her. The space feels charged, thick with words unsaid and tension unspooled. ”Lana, talk to me.”

”It”s Roman. He... he”s not himself. Did you talk to him?” Lana”s voice breaks through the tension, her words heavy with concern.

”About what?” I ask, even though a part of me already knows.

”He”s learned about the baby”s potential fathers and that he might not be one of them.”

”Mhm about that. Yes, he wasn”t acting like himself.”

”This is not him...” Lana trails off, lost in thought, or maybe in worry.

”He just wants you all to himself, Lana. He never was good with sharing. Like me.”

I don”t know why I just said that. The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.

Silence follows, a reflective pause that allows the weight of our conversation to truly settle. In that quiet, I grapple with my own feelings, the urge to have Lana all by myself. It”s a longing I”ve kept at bay, understanding that our arrangement, as unconventional as it is, benefits us all. Lana is happy, content even, and the complexity of our lives doesn”t spiral into chaos.

But acknowledging Roman”s struggle aloud brings my own to the forefront. It”s a mirror held up to my desires, reflecting back the shared turmoil of wanting something—or someone—exclusively.

”I”m sorry for putting you all through this... It”s selfish of me to have feelings for more than one man,” Lana says, her voice a mix of apology and defiance.

I can”t help but chuckle, the sound surprising even me. It”s not a reaction she expects, clearly, given the way she arches an eyebrow at me. ”What?” she demands.

”It”s not selfish, Lana. It”s... normal, under the circumstances,” I find myself saying, though part of me bristles at the admission. ”Complicated, but normal.”

”Normal?” she echoes, skepticism written all over her face. ”Since when is anything about our lives normal?”

”Fair point,” I concede with a grin. ”But really, who”s to say what”s normal for us? We”re not exactly your average next-door neighbors.”

”Imagine if we were. The neighborhood barbecues would be... interesting.”

”Understatement of the year,” I retort. ”You flipping burgers with a gun on your hip, me making sure the salad doesn”t get poisoned.”

”And Roman?” she asks, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

I snort. ”Roman would be charming everyone”s grandmothers, probably walking away with a few too many phone numbers.”

Lana”s chuckle is a clear sign I”ve hit the mark. ”And Grigori? What”s his role in our suburban fantasy?”

”He”d be the mysterious neighbor everyone”s curious about but too afraid to actually talk to. Shows up to events, stands in the corner with a drink, and disappears without saying goodbye,” I muse.

She nods, smiling. ”Would things have been... easier for us if we were ”normal,” you know?”

”What do you mean about ”normal”?” I find myself asking, even though I understand the essence of her question. ”Everyone”s normal is different.”

She exhales. ”Like a normal fucking family that you see on TV. No sleepless nights thinking about if anyone”s watching your bedroom with a sniper rifle kinda normal, you know? Or... a happy family.”

I pause, considering her words and the world they conjure—a world so far removed from our own it might as well be fiction. ”I don”t know about the sniper thing, but... a happy family is still possible in our circumstance.”

”And how do we achieve that?”

”With impeccable planning, obviously,” I quip, ”And perhaps by cutting down on our weekly explosions quota.”

Lana smirks, rolling her eyes. ”Oh, right, because blowing things up is such a chore. How could I forget?”

”And let”s not forget, regular family dinners,” I continue, deadpan. ”Nothing says ”normal” like arguing over who gets the last piece of garlic bread.”

”Ah, so the way to a happy family is through garlic bread. Got it.” Her tone is light, but I catch a glimpse of something softer, more reflective in her gaze.

We may not be ”normal” by society”s standards, but that doesn”t mean we can”t find happiness, contentment... a family, in our own way.

Then, breaking the silence, Lana speaks, ”You know, I felt her kick yesterday.”

”Her? It will be a girl?”

Lana nods, a faint smile playing on her lips. ”I feel like it will be. I don”t know... just a feeling.”

I reach out and gently place my hand on Lana”s stomach, feeling for any movement. A moment passes, then another, until finally I feel the slightest flutter against my palm.

”There she is,” I murmur, unable to peel my eyes away from the sight of my hand resting on Lana”s belly.

Lana covers my hand with hers, lacing our fingers together. ”She”s going to have one hell of a story about how she came into this world,” she says with a wry chuckle.

I can”t help but laugh as well, imagining the wide-eyed looks on people”s faces if we ever dared tell the full, unvarnished truth. ”That”s putting it mildly. Can you picture us at a PTA meeting?”

”Oh god, no,” Lana groans, shaking her head vehemently. ”That poor teacher would need intensive therapy after hearing about our ”career paths” and ”family dynamics”.”

”Thanks for... you know, calming me down without that drink I thought I needed,” Lana says, her voice holding a new lightness.

”Oh, it was nothing. I just employed my usual charm and wit. Works every time.”

She nudges me slightly on the arm, a gesture light as a feather yet laden with unspoken gratitude. I don”t budge, just look down at her with a smile, feeling a rare contentment in this quiet moment between us.

”Roman will eventually come around. His anger is like a summer storm—intense but quick to pass,” I mention, trying to reassure her.

”Yeah, he will.” Lana sighs, her mind already shifting to the next challenge on her endless list. ”I need to go and get ready for the expensive meal with the other mob leaders.” She grimaces slightly, the ordeal of dressing up, especially now that she”s visibly pregnant, weighing on her.

”Jules was nagging the whole time to wear this ridiculous dress,” she continues, her disdain for the situation clear.

I can”t help but smile, imagining Lana battling against Julia”s well-meaning but often overzealous fashion advice. ”You know, you look beautiful in everything you wear,” I say, the words slipping out more sincere than I intend. It”s the truth, though. Lana has a way of wearing her strength, her determination, and yes, even vulnerability, with more grace than any designer dress could ever lend.

She looks up at me. It”s a look that reminds me, yet again, of the complex woman she is—fierce leader, caring friend, and expectant mother all wrapped into one indomitable package.

”Thanks, Luca. That”s... really nice to hear, especially now,” she says, a genuine smile touching her lips.

The moment lingers, a rare respite from the demands of our lives, before Lana”s resolve sets back in. ”But I”d better go tackle that dress before Jules sends out a search party.”

I nod, understanding the unspoken leave-taking for what it is—a return to our roles, to the responsibilities that never quite let us rest. ”Go on, then. Show that dress who”s boss.”

As she leaves, a part of me wishes we could hold onto this peace a little longer. But our world waits for no one, and Lana, as always, faces it head-on. And me? I”ll keep standing by her, through storms and calm alike, because that”s what you do for the ones you... well, for the ones you care about, no matter what label you put on it.

I finally turn my attention to my phone, sifting through the notifications I”d been ignoring. One alert catches my eye, standing out amongst the mundane updates and reminders.

It”s an alert about a transaction in Roman”s bank account. The kind of transaction that doesn”t belong.

What the fuck is Roman up to?