Snapping Point

11.

My driver and I sat inside the parked car by the airport road, waiting impatiently for over ten minutes until the devil in red dress finally emerged from the shadows, dragging a small box along the asphalt. Spotting my car, distinguished by my name instead of a plate number, she closed the distance.

Just then, the driver took the hint to step out of the car and assist her with loading her luggage. But as for me, sweeping her into my arms, kissing her forehead, and ensuring she was well-packed—those gestures weren't my style. I didn't indulge in such overt displays of affection, and I would never try to learn it.

"I'm so sorry I missed your inauguration, baby," Luciana said, stepping in for a hug that I didn't reciprocate. She was well aware of my reserved nature.

Our relationship was typically straightforward, strained, and devoid of emotion. So it came as no surprise that I didn't hug her back. She had two other sisters to do this job of picking her up, a ton of bodyguards if they were too busy. But I guess I had my father to blame for this unromantic pair.

Forcing a smile that should have signaled her not to worry, she misinterpreted my expression and continued, "It's the damn shipment. It was taking forever, had to go check on it myself."

I couldn't care less about her Costa Rican jewelry imports. And I wasn't stupid to believe that lie. Luciana had left because of the stupid fight we'd had. "Great. Even I wasn't interested in it, so I doubt you missed anything."

"Typical." After muttering to herself, she shot me a pointed look with those blue eyes and tugged her flaxen hair to the side. "What? No, Romano, no. Or is it Capo now?"

Honcho was fine. Capo sounded too nostalgic for my taste, especially considering my uncle had held that title just over a month ago and paid for it with his life. But I said, "I just assumed the position. I don't mind being called anything." It was only partially true; whether it was Honcho, Romano, Rossi, none of it mattered.

Not even Luciana's arrival.

"You're being so modest. Unlike your father, you know."

I remained silent, letting her words hang in the air. She thought I was being modest, but the truth was, she didn't know me at all anymore. All she knew was the facade I presented, the image of myself I allowed her to see. And in her own words, that I knew how to fuck her stupid. Nutcase.

Years ago, when our secret affair first began, Luciana was attentive to my every need, eager to please and eager to understand. But now, it was as if she had forgotten how to truly see me. All she cared about was her own agenda—her forced marriage proposal, her business endeavors—while deliberately ignoring the fact that she was the last person I wanted in my space.

And why had it come to this? Only Luciana and I knew the truth—her dalliance with a man in Rome was our shared secret. She had tried to downplay it, to fool me, insisting it was just a harmless kiss with the man. I would have bought that story if I was still eleven. A week of sharing a room with him, sleeping in the same bed and only giving him her lips—it didn't add up.

Now, that man was long gone, reduced to nothing but dust by my hands. I'd tracked him down and destroyed him to repair the mess, to feel better about her. But the damage was done. Nothing between Luciana and I remained unchanged. I had ended things with her, unable to stand the deception. But you know, fate had a cruel sense of humor. Despite my best efforts to evict her from my world, our paths crossed again, thanks to the tangled web of alliances with the ex-senator and my family.

As the driver slowed down, I glanced out of the car window, frustrated by the sight of the traffic ahead. Stuck in this mess with Luciana by my side—what a tragedy.