Chapter 25: Chapter 25

Pacing the floor, Luke's men watched as he brooded over Claudia, taking off to New York just days before the wedding. When he found she maxed his credit card out, he wasn't too happy about it. The fact was his family had been struggling since his father's illness and they had yet to recover. Most mafia families avoided them and the ones who were still in good standing didn't want to risk any deals. The cartels were all that was keeping them going.

The last cargo shipment being raided by the feds was enough to make him want to run away himself and to a far-off land and never be seen again. He could even picture being on some secluded mountain away from the world and living a hermit's life. No drama, no guns, no murder, and no Claudia Ricci.

Waving his men from the room, he flopped down in a chair by the fireplace, rubbing his temples. "Leave me. I need some space. And for gosh sakes, find out where she is!"

"Yes sir," one of his men nodded, giving the others a glance.

Luke knew that look. They were losing faith in his abilities as a leader. Hell, he was too. He wasn't' cut from the same cloth as his father, or worse, Roman.

Pulling a photo from his desk, he looked it over, running his fingers over the image. It was Roman, Beau, Anton, and himself on the day of his college graduation. The last time he really remembered being happy. Beside him in the photo was the loveliest woman in the world, and it wasn't his fiancée.

"Oh, baby. I screwed up. One day, I hope you forgive me. I hope Roman does, too. I never wanted this. It's my fault Beau is dead, and I'll never forgive myself. I'm a failure, and now everyone around me is suffering because I'm in way over my head." Closing his eyes, he prayed, "My God, what have I done?"

Shaken from his thoughts, his cellphone vibrated across the desk. Picking it up, he didn't even bother to check who it was. "Hello?"

"... I told you there's not enough olive oil for the bread. We can't have dinner with no oil," the man on the other end yelled to someone in Italian.

"Papa, stop yelling! You're busting my eardrums. What are you going on about?"

"That damn mother of yours. She keeps insisting we have enough Olive oil from the vineyard back home, but it tastes like the cheap store brand."

"It's not store brand, you crazy old coot! It's the family oils," he heard his mother yell over the phone in the distance.

"I've never heard you and Mom argue."

"We don't. I just don't like that store-bought stuff and she keeps trying to trick me."

Luke chuckled at his stubborn father. He had a point. Their family vineyard in Italy did have a special taste with their olive oils like none other. He remembered as a kid running through the fields and playing hide-and-go-seek with his cousins. Those years were long gone now. The only hide-and-seek games now were with guns and rival gangs.

"Papa, I need to talk with you about Claudia."

"Eh, here we go. Cold feet. I told you not to marry that mean woman. "

"Yeah well, she maxed out another card... My last one."

"What? Cards?..." his father's voice trailed off. "Oh yes, cards. No, I don't think I want to play, Stephan. You wiped me out on that last poker game."

"Father?" Luke asked, not sure what he was talking about.

"Do you remember that pretty lady from the bar? The one with the pretty dark hair? I'm going to marry her."

"You did, Papa. You married Mom, remember? Uncle Stephan introduced you in the 60s while you were in the war."

"She was a lovely dancer. What was her name?" his father asked. "She was a beauty, and we danced all night at the officers club."

"Dad, are you okay?"

"Ah, there she is. My beauty…"

Listening to the line as hard as he could, he could hear his mother talking softly to his father. As the phone rattled from the other end, his mother picked up. "I'm sorry Luke. He's very tired these days. He gets confused."

"Mom, what's going on?"

"Nothing. Just tired. Nothing to worry yourself over. Luke, would it be okay if I took some money to get some things from town? Your father needs his medication."

"You know you don't have to ask for money. What's wrong with Dad?"

With a soft hum, his mother's sad voice echoed through the phone. A sweet song she sang to him as a kid when he wasn't feeling well when she was trying to lull him off to sleep. He knew then she wasn't humming for him. It was for his father.

"He's sick, Momma. Isn't he?"

"Don't worry. It will all be okay in the morning. Get some rest. Tomorrow is a new day."

And then she hung up, leaving Luke with more questions than answers. His father was talking out of his head, and this was bad. He was starting to think the stories of the Amazon illness weren't true now. His father was getting worse, and nothing was adding up.

"He's sick," a voice came from the window just before a statuesque woman stepped through in a leather biker outfit.

"How the fuck did you get in here?" he said, ready to pull his gun, knowing darn well she scaled the walls.

"Relax, lover boy. I just want to talk."

"Remi? What are you doing here? How did you get past the guards?"

She just laughed as she scooted up on his desk, knocking off several papers and ruffling his hair. Her long lean legs crossed in front of him, making Luke gulp down a lump in his throat. How he wished she was there for better reasons, but he knew she was out for blood.

"I always get past them. You have the worst security. They can't protect you for shit. You're lucky I'm not here to kill you."

"Watch your mouth," he scolded, never wanting her to talk that way.

Wrapping her fingers around his tie, she pulled in close. "Oh, Luke. Still trying to control me. You know I can't be tamed."

Pushing her hand away, he growled. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"One question. I want the truth. Did you kill my bother? Whatever you answer, I'll believe you."

Luke stood from his chair, leaning over her as her long legs wrapped around his waist and a devious grin curled on the femme fatales lips. She was like venom to him and just one taste of those lips would set him into a frenzy. Yet he resisted. He knew she was there for one reason, and not the one he wanted.

"I told Roman before, I didn't do it."

"Not what I heard through the window. You said you blame yourself."

"I do."

"Why?"

"Because it's my fault."