Chapter 29: Goodbye, Mr. Marcello

HAYLEY

Hayley woke up alone in the huge bed and took deep breaths as she relived last night: the shot that was fired, killing Artem; Luca telling her what an awful person he was and locking her in his room; them sleeping together.

She slipped out of the bed and buttoned up the shirt that she was wearing as she walked to the en suite bathroom.

As she washed up, she thought about how she’d confessed to speaking Russian and how angry Luca had been with the man he thought was a traitor.

She let out a shaky breath as she used a fluffy gray towel to dry her face. She had let him conquer her once again, had allowed herself one more night. But now she had to focus.

When she sat at the dresser in the bedroom and used the comb to try and tame her hair, her eyes fell on her feathered headband from the 1920s party.

She was surprised he still had it.

She had no idea where in this huge house Mr. Marcello might be, so she walked down the huge hallway until she came to the staircase, where she heard a familiar voice speaking Italian.

Frankie was on the phone at the bottom of the stairs.

He smiled up at her as she walked down wearing another of Luca’s shirts, then hung up on the caller before her foot hit the ground floor.

“The boss is in the kitchen,” he said, then put his phone in his pocket, opened the front door, and left the house.

“Hayley?”

Her heart skipped at his voice, and she walked toward the kitchen. She sighed when she entered, openly admiring him. He was wearing one of his shirts, no tie, with the sleeves rolled up and the collar open.

“I hope you’re hungry.” He placed some plates on the kitchen worktop, then looked her up and down, his eyes lingering on her legs.

“You cook?” she asked as she walked over to the kitchen stool.

He turned back to the stove where something delicious-smelling was cooking.

“Not often.” He chuckled. “But I’m talented in more ways than one.”

He put two tall glasses on the worktop in front of Hayley, went to the fridge for the jug of ice water, and poured each of them a glass. He then placed the jug down and watched as she took a drink.

“Siobhan taught me everything I know,” he explained as he went back to the stove. “My mother was an amazing cook, and Siobhan said she would have taught me and Marco how to cook if she’d lived.”

“Marco?” she asked, and when she placed her glass down, she heard him sigh.

“My younger brother.”

She had no idea Luca had a brother; she’d only ever seen him with Nic and Frankie. Surely Marco would be his right-hand man?

“Does Marco help with your…business?”

Luca laughed wryly and shook his head, then started plating what looked and smelled like risotto.

He turned to retrieve a tray from the oven and placed a portion of salmon on each plate before carrying them to the worktop and taking the stool opposite Hayley.

“Marco helps with my legitimate clubs,” he answered before tucking into his food.

Hayley followed suit. The baked salmon and risotto were delicious.

“Is he not part of the…” She struggled to find the right word.

“Family. We are a family,” Luca said firmly.

She blushed and dropped her eyes to the plate in front of her.

“And no, he’s not. But…” Luca sighed again. “He should be. He should be my right-hand man. But he wasn’t cut out for this life. Not that he’s not a hard man—he is. But he likes the money, not the hard work that comes with it.”

Hayley swallowed. Hard work? Did he mean the killing, the burying of bodies that he confessed to doing so easily?

“So my cousin Nic stepped up,” he explained, taking a sip of his water. “I see Nic as a brother. And Frankie has been just as loyal to me.”

“Why do you do it?” she asked suddenly.

LUCA

He looked up from his water and slowly placed the glass on the countertop. His eyes never left hers, and she kept hers on him. He could tell she was nervous.

“Why does anyone do anything? Why do you work as a bar girl in an underground club?” he asked.

Hayley shook her head. “It’s not the same. I have no choice, Luca; I have to work there.”

He chuckled darkly. “I have the same problem, Hayley.” In the silence that followed, he could see she wasn’t convinced. “This life I lead wasn’t a fucking choice,” he added harshly.

Her eyes widened in alarm.

“Not for me. Not for Nic.”

“How? Surely you could have just stopped and walked away.”

He shook his head as she spoke. She had no idea what she was talking about, had no idea how his world worked.

He thought of the burden his father had passed to him. “You can’t just walk away from this life, Hayley. My father, his father—they all started this—and I have to continue it.

“If I walked away, hundreds of men would lose their livelihoods. Places I protect would fall victim to enemies who would kill and destroy. I do this for them.”

Hayley furrowed her brow. “But what about you, Luca?”

“What about me?” This world wasn’t just about him. “Look around you, Hayley.”

He spread his hands, and Hayley did glance around. She’d been in his home. She’d seen his expensive suits, the designer décor. From the outside, he was a very wealthy, very successful man.

“I have everything I need, everything I want.”

“But at what cost?” Her intense blue eyes locked on his. “The deaths, the drugs, the violence? The risk of…what, death? Arrest? Is it really worth all that?”

“Men like me won’t live forever. And I recall you also don’t believe in living forever.”

He smirked as he remembered how she drank from a glass he implied was poisoned, how she held a loaded gun to her temple.

Hayley stood up. “Men like you?” Her words were fierce as she spoke, but he could see deep sadness in her eyes. “Men like you get everything they deserve, Luca.”

He got off his stool, and before she could react, he had his hands on her shoulders. He wanted to kiss her, but he also wanted to violently shake her.

She had no right to question him, to challenge him. Yet, somehow, on some level, he enjoyed it. He enjoyed all types of communication with this woman.

“You didn’t have a problem with me last night, Hayley,” he reminded her, and she tried to wriggle from his grasp, to no avail.

“I gave you last night, but never again,” she hissed back. “You killed a man and locked me in a room. You told me how evil you are, how fucked up.”

He could see tears well in her eyes as she spoke. “It’s my turn to walk away from you, Luca Marcello. From us.”

“There was never an us,” he countered, and she violently ripped herself from his grasp.

“You’re right,” she said, breathing hard. “I’m not yours. Remember?”

She wheeled around and marched out of the kitchen.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. He had an urge to chase her, apologize, beg her to stay. But the dark part of him wanted to tie her to a chair in his lockup and make her apologize to ~him~.

“Boss,” Nic said as he walked into the kitchen, shutting the door.

“This better be fucking important,” Luca growled.

Nic walked to the counter and placed a small box on it. Luca followed him.

“This is important.”

When Nic opened the box, Luca recognized the item inside immediately. His eyes flew to his cousin, who was watching him.

The bullet was from an old-school revolver. Luca picked it up and noticed it had an engraving on the side. He was furious—no, he was ~beyond~ furious—when he read the name.

~HAYLEY~

Nic held out a piece of paper. “It came with a note.”

Luca took it with his free hand. He recognized the handwriting.

~Dearest Luca,~

~Your friend left her bullet behind from our little game; shame we never finished. I’m sure we’ll get another opportunity.~

~Lorenzo Borroni~

This was a threat—a threat Luca couldn’t tolerate. He put the bullet in the box and handed it back to Nic along with the note.

“She is never to find out,” he said firmly, and Nic nodded.

He had no clue where to go with this. “I have to figure this out. Make sure she gets home safely.”

As he went to the front hallway, he heard crashing noises coming from upstairs. He rolled his eyes, praying he’d have a home to come back to, then walked out the door.

HAYLEY

Luca Marcello was such an arsehole! She was furious, she was hurt, and she was ready to kill him.

Yes, she’d allowed herself one more night in his arms, but she never expected to feel this way. He was a murderer, a criminal—and yet she wanted him more than ever.

She wanted to be like the girls in those romance novels, the ones who tamed the bad boy, got him to change. But Luca would never change, and why should he? She was nothing special.

She sat amidst the ruins of the room she’d turned upside down in her anger. The decanter was smashed, along with the tumblers. The bedding and pillows were scattered everywhere.

She was better than this. But he made her lose herself completely—which was yet another reason to be angry at him.

She sighed and forced herself off the floor, wiping away the tears that had fallen, then changed into the red corset she’d been wearing last night, along with her shorts and stockings.

As she slipped on her shoes, she glanced at herself in the full-length mirror, then paused. What had she become? This was not the woman she wanted to be.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she heard Nic call her name. He was peering out a window.

She walked closer and followed his gaze. An old banger of a car was pulling up to the estate.

“I called Ben to pick me up,” she explained, trying to hold back tears. “Tell Luca to stay away from me.”

She opened the heavy door and walked down the steps to her friend.

***

Hours later, Hayley was back behind her bar, dressed in a royal-blue corset and acting like she hadn’t a care in the world.

She acted like it didn’t bother her that Arianna was on Luca’s lap. She pretended that it didn’t hurt that she couldn’t have the one person in New York she wanted.

So when she went down to the cellar of the club, the last thing she expected was for him to follow her.

“I saw the mess you created in my bedroom,” she heard him say behind her as she was moving a barrel.

She glared at him over her shoulder.

“I have a mind to charge you for damages, Hayley.”

She just shrugged. She had to act tough, like her heart didn’t miss a beat every time he spoke, like her skin didn’t shiver at his touch, like his presence didn’t give her butterflies in her stomach.

“Go right ahead, Luca. But you know full well I couldn’t even afford the whiskey that was in the decanter—let alone the decanter, the tumblers, or the carpet I destroyed.”

She turned from him and bent over, hoping he was enjoying the view of her arse—since he was never getting his hands on it again. “I was angry. But I’m not apologizing.”

“I haven’t come here for an apology.”

She straightened up and shrugged indifferently. “Why are you here then? I’m trying to get on with my work.”

He inhaled slightly, his nostrils flaring, and she could tell he was annoyed.

“Two reasons,” he said firmly, clearly reminding her who was in charge. “Firstly, Artem.”

“What about him?” she asked, flinching at the memory of the Russian-speaking man who Luca had killed.

“You never spoke to him, you don’t know an Artem, and you were never in that meeting room. Is that clear?” His voice was laced with threat, but she looked him dead in the eyes.

“Crystal.”

“Secondly, last night never happened. You are not a feather girl, Hayley, but I am not your lover, either. I have one-night stands. I can’t be what you need, and you will never be what I need.”

It felt like he’d stabbed her in the chest. She took a deep breath, fighting back the tears she wanted to let fall, and nodded.

“Of course. Last night never happened.” The words tasted bitter in her mouth.

Luca nodded and turned on his heel to leave.

“By the way, Mr. Marcello.”

He stopped and turned to face her.

“I’d best say goodbye now then. I’ll be leaving for France, as far away from you as humanly possible. And thank you so much for reminding me why men are arseholes.”

She turned and continued changing the barrels, thankful he couldn’t see her tears.

He left without another word, and she knew this was it—that whatever it had been with Luca Marcello was over.