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5
ALEX
Luca wasn’t alwaysa shit human being. A few times, I saw a man with a heart and soul untainted by violence and corruption. I craved those brief moments with him, attempting to savor them long afterward.
Too bad they never lasted.
On the night of my first art exhibition, I wore a sleek black camisole dress. It had a slit up my left thigh and stopped an inch above my knee. Paired with black Valentino pumps, I almost reached Aiden’s shoulder.
He was a foot taller than me at six feet three inches—the same as Luca. We were fraternal twins and bore many similarities, though height was not one of them. We had the same nearly white blonde hair, high cheekbones, and blue eyes.
Aiden stood at my side, dressed in a suit and wingtips, armed with a wicked smile. He hooked his arm through mine and led me around the gallery, wiping my sweaty palms down the front of his suit jacket to still my nerves.
“You deserve this, Lexie.” Aiden patted my trembling arm. “Just you wait and see. I bet you’ll sell out.”
“That would be amazing. But first, I have to sell one.”
Of course, my parents could not make the trip to New York for the occasion. God forbid they traveled to Manhattan to support their daughter on the biggest night of her life.
“Only a few more hours,” Aiden said to assure me. “You can do this. I’m here. I won’t leave your side. Nothing bad will happen.”
“What if everyone hates my paintings and I don’t sell any?”
He swept out his arm at the massive crowd. “Look around you, Lexie. How many artists garner a fanbase like this on their first showing?”
“That’s because Luca posted a picture of my paintings on Instagram, telling his two million followers that they better come to my show if they’re anywhere near New York.”
He shook his head. “His number of followers amazes me. He’s not even famous.”
“Might as well be. Billionaire playboy who looks like a model and runs one of the largest corporations in the world? Every woman with eyes wants a piece of him. You should see the comments he gets on his posts. Women eat up those shirtless pics of him.”
“Every woman except for you,” a deep masculine voice boomed behind me.
Oh god.
My cheeks flushed with heat.
I spun around, my heart hammering in my chest. Luca oozed money and sex appeal by the truckload. Marcello, Damian, Bastian, and Arlo were at his sides, dressed like they had stepped off a damn runway.
“Luca,” I bit out. “We were just?—”
“Talking about me.” He gave me a cocky grin. “I heard every word.”
“Thank you all for coming,” I said, focused on Arlo. “My grandfather is around here somewhere. I can find him if you’d?—”
“No need, Alexandrea.” Arlo leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. “We’re here for you.”
I bit my lip. “Um… thank you.”
“My late wife was the same age as you when she had her first exhibit.”
I swallowed the lump forming at the back of my throat. “Yes, I read that inThe New Yorker. They surprised me with the side-by-side review of our paintings. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.”
Arlo flexed his jaw. I bet he crushed as many hearts as skulls when he was younger. His sons inherited his good looks, that same deep, sexy voice, and killer charm.
Arlo shoved his hands into his pockets and studied me. “They did a wonderful job with your interview, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” I choked out, trying to steady my shaky voice. “WhenThe New Yorkercalled me for an interview, I thought someone was prank calling me and hung up on them three times.”