Page 39 of Entwined Lies (Entwined #1)

Luca

“Fuck… I love you.”

The words slipped out before I could choke them back—stupid, raw, too fucking honest. Everything stopped. My body, my thoughts—gone, blank, except the rush of release and the roar in my ears.

And then everything went cold.

My words hung in the air like a death sentence.

What the fuck did I just do? This can’t be happening.

My breath caught halfway out, my heart thudding like a warning I was too late to hear.

She froze, like she didn’t know what to do either.

I fucked up. Big time.

I’d just handed her a piece of myself on a silver platter, and for what? A moment of weakness?

I could already hear it. The same dismissive laugh, the same teasing tone. Damn, Luca. Who knew you were such a romantic?

She had no idea how much that cut, how deep it went.

And yet, here I was, making the same fucking mistake again.

Should’ve learned my fucking lesson. I should’ve kept my mouth shut and bitten the words back before they ever had the chance to slip. But I didn’t. I let it out. I fucking said it, right when I was too wrapped up in her to stop myself .

Time dragged. She didn’t say a word. Just stayed there, pinned and breathless, waiting like she expected me to make it make sense.

And for a second, I almost tried.

But I huffed out a laugh instead. Not because this was funny. Because it wasn’t.

It was fucked. I was fucked.

Luca Abruzzo. The man who made others beg. Now standing here like a dumbass, heart exposed, like I hadn’t spent my whole life learning how to bury that shit deep.

I swallowed hard and cleared my throat as I tried to regain control.

“Relax, Siren… I meant I love fucking you.”

Easier to make it a slip than admit I’d bared my soul. Yet the words left a bitter taste behind, like they were never meant to be spoken.

She didn’t say anything. Just stared.

Every second she held that silence, the knot in my gut pulled tighter. I kept waiting—for that smirk, that laugh, that sarcastic jab.

And she did laugh. But it shook at the edges. Like she wasn’t sure how else to fill the space I’d just broken open.

“Right. Of course,” she nodded. “Good to know.”

Hell no, I wasn’t letting her dwell on this.

I wrapped my arms around her and lifted her off the dresser, pressing her against my chest. She belonged there. I wanted her to belong there.

And for just a second—before the world could crash back in—I let myself feel it. Isabelle’s breath on my skin. Her grip on my shirt. Like she didn’t want to be anywhere else. Like maybe she needed this moment to last as much as I did.

And that? That was dangerous. Because I could hold her like this for a lifetime, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

So before the thought could settle, before I could start wanting the things I could never fucking have, I carried her toward the bathroom. Like it was nothing. Like she wasn’t everything .

“You really don’t have to,” she said, aiming for sass, but it fell flat.

“I absolutely do. That was… thorough.” I bumped the bathroom door open.

She rolled her eyes at me, but the way her lips curved—yeah, that smile was real. Barely there. But real.

I set her down gently on the edge of the tub, my hands staying at her waist longer than they should’ve. I turned toward the faucet, twisting it on just to give my hands something else to do. Anything to busy myself and stop replaying that fucking moment again.

Steam curled into the space between us, warm and quiet, like the room had sealed itself off from everything waiting outside that door.

I glanced back at her, catching her watching me, eyes softer now. The earlier tension was replaced with something quieter. Something I wasn’t ready to name.

“Relax,” I muttered, testing the water. “You let me wreck you. Least I can do is take care of you after.”

It was easier to say that than admit I wanted to, more than anything.

She nodded, not saying anything, which was rare for her.

Guess I’d really shaken her up.

I reached out, pushing a loose strand behind her ear. “You’re too quiet, Siren. That usually means trouble. Planning my demise? Daydreaming about trading your husband on paper for a lawyer with a respectable job?”

I needed her to roll her eyes. To groan, to call me an asshole and mean it just enough to make me believe it.

“Jesus, at least blink. You’re making me nervous.”

“Just… wondering if this tub is big enough for both of us.”

I couldn’t help the relieved smile that tugged at my lips .

“Oh, it is,” I said, fingers grazing her arm before I let her go.

I dropped to my knees as the tub filled, soaking a cloth and wringing it out. My cum was still glistening on her skin, trailing down the insides of her thighs—a reminder of what I’d just done to her. What she let me do.

She could’ve grabbed the towel, pushed me away, thrown up those same walls I’d watched her hide behind a hundred times before. But she didn’t.

She sat there, bare, wrecked, and let me have this.

And maybe that made me fucked in the head, but I liked her this way. Loved her this way. Not just bare, not just soft—but here. Letting me take care of her. Letting me love her, even if she didn’t realize that’s what this was.

Something thick and terrifyingly real curled in my chest. She was mine. Maybe not forever, maybe not in any way that mattered outside this room, but in this moment? She was fucking mine .

She shifted slightly, and I forced myself to move. I dragged the cloth over her skin, wiping away the mess I’d made, even though every possessive, fucked-up part of me wanted to leave it there. Wanted her to wake up tomorrow and still feel me on her skin.

She wasn’t telling me to stop. But she should’ve.

Because she didn’t want this. Not really.

Not the way I did. I wasn’t something she reached for.

I was something she let happen. She wanted the way I made her feel.

The way I broke her apart and put her back together again.

She wanted my hands on her, my body against hers, but not me.

She didn’t pull away. But she would. Tomorrow, she’d get up, put her armor back on, and treat this like it was nothing more than sex, just heat, just a mistake we kept making. And I’d play along.

The tub was nearly full. I turned the water off, and silence pressed in like thick fog .

I helped her into the water and just stood there, hands pressed to the edge, pretending I wasn’t dying to climb in and pull her against me.

She leaned back, stretching, eyes teasing. “You just gonna stand there looking pretty?”

“You think I’m pretty?”

“I’m saying you’re an idiot if you think I don’t see you debating this like it’s a life-or-death decision.”

Maybe that was why I hesitated. Because it kind of was. Letting myself get too comfortable meant making it hurt more when it was over.

She settled deeper into the water, pretending my stupid slip-up hadn’t shaken her, pretending everything was normal.

And me? I was right there, pretending too. Because that’s what we do. Pretend.

A second passed. Maybe two.

I dragged my shirt off and dropped it without thinking.

My fingers hesitated at the waistband of my pants, but the rest of me had already made the decision.

I pushed them down, kicked them aside, and against my better judgment, stepped into the tub.

The water rose as I slid in behind her—exactly where I shouldn’t be.

The diamond on her finger caught the light, flashing like it had something to say.

She twisted it once. Twice. Then pulled it free.

“Don’t.” My voice came out harder than I meant it. “Keep it on.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s yours. It stays on your finger.”

It was a stupid answer. But I didn’t want to explain that seeing the ring off her hand felt like losing something I never got to hold.

“It’s not like it means anything,” she said, half under her breath, but pushed it back onto her finger anyway .

I said nothing. Just pulled her closer under the water and closed my eyes. We stayed like that, the silence stretching between us.

“Can I ask you something?” she finally broke the quiet.

“Yeah,” I answered, but everything in me tensed. I knew where this was going, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to go there.

“When I moved in, you said you were the only thing standing between me and a bullet. What does that really mean?”

Thank god for not going down the ‘Do you love me?’ road.

“So you do remember.”

“Drunk or not… you’re not exactly forgettable.”

I dragged a hand down my face. There were a thousand ways I could’ve said this. A thousand ways to soften the blow. But that wasn’t me.

“You should’ve been taken out. And I thought… if it had to happen, I should be the one to handle it. Fast and painless.”

Her body stiffened. “And why didn’t you?”

She turned to me, her eyes searching mine.

“I didn’t want your son burying his mother because of me.”

“No offense, but you’re not exactly the type to second-guess killing someone. I mean, you’re the head of the mafia, for God’s sake, and let’s just say, you’ve got a reputation.”

“Acting boss. There’s a big difference. I still have to follow my father’s orders.”

“So what? You just decided to disobey this time?” she pushed, refusing to back down, and I almost admired her for it. Almost. Even as something in my chest tightened at the thought of how close I’d come to burying her along with all the others.

“No, I negotiated.”

“You negotiated my life? With who? Your father? How does that even work?”

“After you told Johny to fuck off, it wasn’t easy.

Stupid move, by the way. But I’ll give you this—badass.

” I huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking my head.

“Convincing my father you were worth more alive took groundwork. And putting myself in a fucked-up position. That’s why I married you.

It forced him to consider keeping you alive. ”

I paused and took a slow, heavy breath.

“But it could’ve gone wrong. And if it had, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Her brows pulled together, recognition flickering in her eyes.

Good. Let her realize.

“Would you hurt me?” Her voice was barely a whisper, fragile, trembling.

“Depends, are you planning on giving me a reason to?” The answer rolled off my tongue with all the certainty I was supposed to feel.

The fear in her eyes was real. Like she finally thought I’d go down that path.

Something twisted in my chest.

Maybe that was just normal for someone who’d never had to lie awake wondering if the person next to them might put a bullet in their skull. Or maybe she was finally seeing me for who I really was. The blood. The bones. The truth.

And for one long, brutal moment, I thought she’d pull away.

But she didn’t. She just swallowed, glanced down, and laced her fingers through mine.

“Promise me something. Whatever happens between us, you never hurt Jake.”

I locked eyes with her, trying to find the real question behind the one she’d asked.

“Why the hell would I ever hurt him?”

But the second I asked it, the doubt was there.

Was she scared of me? Thinking that hiding the truth from me was something I wouldn’t forgive?

Or maybe this was more than just a mother’s concern.

What if this wasn’t just about protecting Jake?

What if there was more—something she was keeping from me, something I should’ve already figured out?

I pushed it down. Isabelle might be hiding things, but she wasn’t disloyal. Not to Jake, anyway.

“Jake’s just a kid. Whatever happens, I won’t hurt him.”

The words came out even, steady. Final. And I meant it. More than I’d ever meant anything in my life. Because Jake? He was my blood. And that changed everything.

I never wanted a kid. Never wanted the responsibility. Because men like me? We weren’t meant to be fathers. We were meant to be feared. To take. To break. To destroy. Not to protect. Not to love.

And yet, here I was, making promises I’d rather put a bullet in my own head than break.

Because I knew what it was like to be a son with no one to protect him from his own father. I could still see it, clear as the scar on my face. Faded now. Barely visible. But I still remembered how it got there.

Seventeen, too cocky, too fucking proud for my own good, standing up to him, thinking I had what it took to challenge him.

I hadn’t.

My father didn’t hesitate. Didn’t warn me. Just backhanded me so hard I hit the floor, his ring splitting my skin open, my blood warm as it dripped down my face.

I should’ve stayed down. But I didn’t. I pushed myself up.

And that was when his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around my throat, tight, crushing, cutting off everything—air, thought, reason.

Then I felt it. The cold press of steel against my skull.

He leaned in, his grip tightening on the handle.

“Strength isn’t about how much you can take.

It’s about how much you’re willing to give up.

” His voice dropped lower, his finger steady on the trigger.

“Letting someone disrespect you is the first step to losing everything. Don’t ever have any doubts about what happens when you turn against me. ”

And he was right. Fear worked. Pain worked.

I’d seen it. Used it. Built my reputation on it.

Maybe to get this far, to sit where I sat, I had to become exactly the monster he always wanted me to be.

But this was where I drew the line. Jake would never feel my gun to his head.

Would never flinch at the sound of my voice.

And if he was ever going to look up to me—if he ever knew the truth—then I sure as hell wasn’t going to let him see the monster staring back.

Because strength wasn’t about how much you’re willing to give up. It was about what you refused to.

But I couldn’t tell Isabelle that I knew. Not yet. That was her truth to give. So I waited. And every day she didn’t tell me, it burned like a fucking knife to the gut.

I leaned in, cupping her face. “I’d never touch a hair on Jake’s head. You have my word.”

Her shoulders relaxed a fraction, but the doubt was still flickering in her eyes, the wariness that wouldn’t let her fully believe me. And maybe that was fair. I’d seen too much, done too much, for trust to come easily.

“You don’t have to trust me,” I muttered, jaw clenching tight. “But when it comes to Jake? You never have to doubt where I stand. He’s the one line I’ll never cross.”

And I meant every damn word.