The Don and His Angel

Chapter 9

The ten hour flight felt like a lifetime. While Luca's men stretched out around the jet, he remained at my side. They tried to discuss business with him, to pull his attention away.

But he simply told them, "my priority right now is her."

The long ride gives me time to think. If Luca wanted to hurt me or even see me dead, he would not have pulled me from the house. He would not ignore his men. He would not sit here and hold my hand for hours, in a last ditch attempt to find comfort, whether it be for me or him.

I don't think he wants to hurt me.

Maybe that's what he wants me to think. Maybe he's trying to offer a false sense of security.

But what if he's not playing a game? What if he really is just trying to keep me safe like he said?

Maybe I should give him a sliver of trust. Maybe I can see beyond the monster and instead see the man.

The jet lands and all of the men, except Gio and Antonio, file out. The duo wait for Luca to put his hand on the small of my back and escort me off the jet before following behind us.

A caravan of SUVs awaits us on the private air strip. His men break apart in the many cars. One of the men holds open the back door to one of the vehicles and Luca ushers me inside.

Once again he takes my hand in his once he's settled into his seat. His thumb rubs absentminded circles on the back of my hand.

"Where are we going?" I ask as the scenery outside the car transforms from a city center to a more remote town.

"My home," he tells me, "il Castello di Manfredonico."

"You live in a castle?" I ask him, utterly confused.

"I grew up there," he corrects, "my brother lives there now."

"I didn't know you had a brother," I reply.

"I have two. You know my one brother Antonio, that fottuto idiota," he says, "and my youngest brother is named Enzo."
(Fucking idiot)

"Are you close?" I question. I don't know why but I'm curious. In this twisted setting, Luca seems so human.

"Antonio is only alive because he's my brother," he says curtly.

"And Enzo?" I push.

"I trust him more than anyone in the world. That's why he's here," he tells me, "he keeps watch of the business here when I am in New York."

"Will I meet him?" I ask.

A smirk forms on Luca's lips, "is one DiSilva not enough for you, angelo?"

I roll my eyes before I turn away to face the window.

"Yes, you will meet him," he sighs. He tugs at my hand to pull my attention to him. When I do look back at him, he smiles brightly.

"Saremo lì tra qualche minuto," the man driving speaks for the first time.
(We will be there in a few minutes)

"Grazie," Luca says before he turns back to me.
(Thank you)

"Most of my men here don't speak English," he explains.

"Which is why you're speaking to me so freely right now," I reply.

"Yes," he says.

Like the driver said, we wind the narrow roads of Mussomeli until the castle grows in size.

Just like in New York, dozens of men with guns patrol the perimeter of the castle. The rest of the caravan joins us on the long, winding driveway.

On the front steps of the castle stands a small, young family. The man bears a striking resemblance to Luca. The same chiseled features and perfectly styled hair. But his eyes are a chocolate brown, instead of icy blue. Next to him is a petite brunette holding a baby on her hip. She cowers slightly behind the man I can only assume to be her husband.