Chapter 163: Inner Voice
- RORY -
I don’t know why, but I felt like Luciano was going to show up today. It was one of those irrational knowings. It’s part of the reason why I sat out by the pool. I needed to put distance between myself and the door in case I was right. I didn’t want to see him when he walked in. I didn’t want to be inside. Outside feels less claustrophobic.
When I turned and saw him standing there by me, it was with a sense of deep relief that these things I sometimes feel still happen. I can still count on my intuition. It hasn’t failed me. Well, maybe it did before I walked into that bathroom at the country club, but no one would have seen that coming.
It’s taken me a long time to find a way to trust that inner voice. It took a long time to even hear it, and then once its gentle, compassionate nudgings became apparent, trusting that I wasn’t just crazy was the next step. Luciano being here today is proof that I’m not just crazy.
’Luciano is not a bad guy.’
That’s the next thing my intuition tells me while I’m searching for plates in the kitchen, and this one has me frowning to myself at how little sense it makes. How can someone in organized crime not be a bad guy?
’He was born into it.’
Well... I scoff internally at my own inner voice. That’s not an excuse. Is it? Then again... how can someone be blamed for something they’re born into? It’s likely all he’s ever known.
’He rescued you that day. You felt safe with him.’
Those thoughts have my ears and cheeks starting to burn and small tears pricking my eyes. Now I’m gritting my teeth, angry at the emotions that are trying to rise. I’m not going to cry today. I haven’t cried yet and I’m not going to—especially not when Angelini’s is waiting for me.
I have only ever eaten there once, and it was for an article I wrote. Angelini’s is among the best food I’ve ever eaten in this city. I truly cannot believe Luciano showed up here with that today. It’s like he came with an unexpected secret key to unlocking the first set of protective doors I’ve built up around myself.
But that’s okay. He can come that close. It’s not like he’s getting through the rest of them.
"You okay?" Raya asks, coming to my side.
She’s one of few people who have keys to every single one of my doors and can walk right through my barriers and touch my soul. I’m honestly not even sure who else would qualify. Nana. But she’s gone.
Not even Westin got that close. Maybe that’s why he left. Or maybe I didn’t let him that close because I knew that it wasn’t forever and eventually he would leave. Either way, his leaving doesn’t hurt as bad as it could have had I allowed him to reach that centermost part of me. That’s why that inner protection exists. Self-preservation.
"Yeah." I clear my throat to answer Raya’s question but don’t even bother trying to smile a reassurance. It takes too much energy. "Just getting some plates and silverware. Are you going to join us?" My eyes flit her way briefly.
"No. I ate. Thank you," she says with a soft smile.
I know damn well she has not eaten yet, but I don’t say anything.
"He must have brought something pretty good for you to not be kicking him out yet," she muses.
Again, I don’t bother with a reply. It’s true, but I don’t want to talk about it. And Raya lets me stay comfortably in my silence. I’m inwardly preparing for the energy that’s going to be required to make it through this meal with someone I barely know, so anything extra right now is not tolerable.
When I return outside with the plates, Luciano jumps up to help me. I’m torn between being annoyed and touched. At least he didn’t demand that I sit still while he went in and got everything himself. I’m sure he knows his way around the kitchen. This is his cousin’s childhood home after all. His late aunt and uncle lived here.
Luciano’s gaze doesn’t linger too long on me, and for that I’m thankful. He also puts the plates down on either side of the table so that there will be that barrier between us while we eat—exactly like I would have done. It surprises me, because he was so intense before. He seemed like the kind of guy to push barriers rather than anticipate them and respect them.
’But you’ve been through something traumatic, Rory,’ my inner voice whispers. ’He knows that. He recognizes it. He may not have been there the first time to protect you, but he was there the most recent time.’
A deeper voice tries to come forth, and I feel it nudging me in a place I don’t want to go. Its whispers are even more subtle and more disturbing, because it wants to say that this man will continue to be there from now on. Nothing will happen to me in the future if Luciano can help it. If I allow him, he will keep me safe. No more monsters will torment me. Maybe even past ones can be slayed.
But that’s stupid. I’m not giving myself over to the kind of faith all of that would require. Not only would it require faith, it would require handing over lots of keys to those locked doors inside. And that’s non-negotiable. It’s not happening.
I swallow back the emotion that tries to come forth again and sit down, scooting my chair closer to the table. Let’s just keep this simple. Let’s focus on the food. That’s why we’re here.
I’m curious to see what Luciano ordered. I doubt there is anything at Angelini’s that I wouldn’t like. Some dishes might be better than others, but nothing can possibly be bad if Gino Angelini made it.
While Luciano opens the cartons, I’m struck by how much more thoughtful he is than I would have imagined. I mean, the flowers are thoughtful but in a different way... in a lazy way. They require money but nothing else. Now I’m seeing Luciano’s humanity. I’m seeing how his mind works. He’s not just a brat who flirts and teases me and expects my panties to drop because of it.
"I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got a few antipasti," he says, gesturing toward the cartons containing bite-sized first course options. "Arancini, meatballs, and vitello tonnato."
I swear my stomach rolls over on itself. Has Luciano always had this sexy of a voice? Or is it just because he’s speaking my language now?
When I wet my lips, his eyes dart up and catch it. They are dark and intense, and they linger for a moment just shy of the time required to make my cheeks heat. It’s like he knows what would make me uncomfortable and is avoiding it. Damn him.
Can’t he just be the obnoxious, flirty pest he was before? That man was easy to tell not to contact me again even if he did rescue me from a psychopath.
"And then there is the lemon cream sauce Angelini’s is known for in the taglioni limone. I also got lasagna verde and pumpkin tortelli. Do you have any allergies?" He asks, glancing up with a little concerned pinch between his perfect dark eyebrows.
"No," I say quietly, shaking my head and dropping my gaze. Because now I do feel my cheeks heating, and I don’t know why. All he did was ask very kindly if I had allergies. God, why is this happening?
I can feel Luciano’s eyes remain on me as he pauses to tell me the rest, so I take a napkin and unfold it on my lap to give myself an excuse not to look at him. I still have the blanket wrapped around me, which is a ridiculous way to eat this incredibly beautiful meal. But I’m not going to dwell on it. It’s not like he announced his arrival... even if I did somehow know he was coming.
"And then there is tiramisu, carrot cake, and gluten free chocolate caprese for dessert," he says softly.
"Wow," I smile into my lap, overwhelmed. He chose dishes that were inclusive since he was not aware if I had allergies.
Now I kind of wish I would have told him to leave. I wasn’t expecting to feel things. I just wanted to eat some good food.
"What would you like to start with, dolcezza?" He asks, but with the tone he uses it sounds like a different question. It sounds like he’s asking me if I’m okay.
My eyes lift to find his dark ones much softer than I expect, and the memory of him holding me gently, protectively—offering me safety in the moments after I thought for sure I was about to die—flashes through my mind. Something convulses in my chest. I did not give any organs of mine permission to skip or flutter or ache or whatever the hell they’re doing, but it seems that’s not something I have control over.
Luciano waits quietly for my answer. I have to pick a dish if I want to convey that I’m okay—that he doesn’t have to worry about me. Then we can have this meal and he can leave without wondering what became of me after that day he lifted me from the earth and told me that he was going to fix it. After he swore on his life he would protect me. He can go away from here and not wonder anymore, and I won’t get any more flowers or expected/unexpected visits.
’This man killed someone for you,’ that inner voice reminds me, and tears prick my eyes.
"I don’t know," I say, clearing my throat for the second time since he’s arrived. "It all looks beautiful. Maybe you can choose for me."
