Page 57 of Entwined Lies (Entwined #1)

Isabelle

Glass of Macallan in hand, I sat at the kitchen island, watching the window without really thinking.

Outside, Jake jumped and hit the pool with a splash. He popped up grinning, yelling for my mom like nothing in the world had ever gone wrong. Their laughter was some distant echo of a normal life, completely out of sync with everything going on inside me.

I took another sip, wincing. The burn of Luca’s favorite whiskey wasn’t doing me any favors. I hated the taste. Always had. But here I was, drinking it anyway. Why? Maybe because it was his drink, not mine, and it made me feel like he wasn’t so far away.

My phone sat on the counter, mocking me with its silence.

Still no updates from his lawyer.

Nothing.

I lifted the glass, halfway to my mouth, when Luca’s voice stopped me cold.

“Careful with that drink.”

I spun around, heart skipping a beat the second I saw him—smirking like he hadn’t just stolen all the air from the room. I didn’t think, just bolted to him, arms around his neck, mouth on his.

He grabbed me by the waist and lifted me—my legs circling his hips as he sat me on the counter .

We pulled back, resting against each other as if the world had narrowed to just this.

“So, are you gonna tell me why you warned me off that whiskey?”

He grinned, hands firm on my hips. “You made yourself at home, drank my whiskey like it was yours, and left me with nothing but a memory. This time, Siren, you drink it, you stay.”

I swallowed hard, my voice shaky. “After everything… You still want me? Want us?”

“Want you? I don’t just want you. I want every part of you. Every damn morning, I want to wake up with you right next to me, and drag you back to bed when you try to leave because I’m not done with you yet.”

Luca’s expression softened, his hands firm as he pulled me closer. “You and Jake… you’re it . You’re the only part of this world that feels real. I didn’t know I needed any of this until you handed it to me. And now I can’t—won’t—walk away. I want all of it.”

My hand found his jaw, thumb resting under his cheekbone as my eyes filled. “I love you. And yeah… I wouldn’t mind being pulled back into bed.”

“I love you so fucking much,” he said and his lips crashed into mine again.

His kiss was all heat and control—like he needed to own the taste of me. His hand tangled in my hair, while the other skimmed under my skirt and pushed aside my thong like it was never meant to be there.

“Fuck, look at you. Already soaked and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

“Luca,” I gasped. “We can’t—”

A loud splash cut through the air—followed by the gentle lap of water and the one word that froze me: “Mom!”

Shit .

I pushed Luca off me like the room was on fire, the heat between us turning to static panic in a blink.

“What’s wrong?”

I shook my head and nodded toward the backyard.

“Jake’s here.”

Luca froze for a beat.

“Fuck me,” he hissed it under his breath, already stepping back.

His eyes darted around the room before he grabbed the first thing in reach—an apron hanging off a hook. He yanked it in front of his pants, barely managing to cover the very obvious problem tenting his zipper.

And of course, that’s when Jake exploded through the kitchen door, soaked and beaming like it was Christmas morning.

“Luca! You’re back!” he yelled. “What are you doing?”

Luca cleared his throat and shifted the apron.

“Surviving,” he muttered, barely audible. Then louder, “Just you know… making pancakes.”

Jake’s eyes lit up. “Pancakes? Can I help?”

Luca’s mouth opened slightly, as though trying to process the sudden turn this had taken. He gave a hesitant nod. “Uh, sure, you’re in. But first, maybe dry off a little. ”

I bit down on the inside of my cheek, doing everything I could not to laugh as Jake ran off, dripping pool water through the house.

Luca leaned over the counter, arms locked, face unreadable—except for the flick of his eyes toward mine and the single, raised eyebrow that screamed “are you fucking serious?”

“Pancakes?” he mouthed, like he couldn’t believe those words had even passed his lips today.

I raised my hands, grinning. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m just the innocent bystander. You’re the one with a hard-on and an apron.”

Jake came bouncing back in, a towel hanging off one shoulder .

“Ready!” he announced, marching straight to the counter like a little chef on a mission.

Luca lined up each item on the counter. Jake cracked the eggs with easy confidence and passed him the bowl without a word. Luca measured out the rest, took the whisk, and mixed with ease.

I stopped halfway to opening the bag of chocolate chips and just watched.

Luca, standing there next to Jake, both of them so normal in that moment it almost hurt. He didn’t look like a man out of place. He looked like someone who belonged.

Luca caught me watching.

“Sunday mornings.” He shrugged. “When I was a kid… Haven’t done it in like 25 years, but it’s not something you forget.”

“Why’d you stop?” Jake asked.

“My mom used to make pancakes every Sunday. She’d get me, Nico, and Enzo to help out. We’d all fight over who got to flip the pancakes, but she made sure we each got a turn.”

Luca stirred the batter slowly, his eyes fixed on it.

He gave a half-smile—crooked, a little bitter. “Then, you know… life happened.”

I knew exactly what he meant. He grew up.

But it wasn’t just about getting older; it was about the weight of choices and responsibilities piling up, forcing him to become someone else.

The boy who once argued over pancake duty with his brothers was buried somewhere beneath the man who learned to navigate in a world that didn’t forgive signs of weakness and where letting your guard down was never an option.

“We usually have pancakes on Sundays too,” Jake said, breaking the quiet. “Mom and I make them for breakfast. You could join us sometime.”

Luca’s hand froze mid-stir. His gaze flicked up, locking with mine—and something in it shifted. Just a fraction. Just enough to feel it.

He turned back to Jake and smiled. “How about this—we could make it a thing here. Pancakes at my place.”

“Really?”

The way Jake’s voice carried that hint of excitement said it all. To him, Luca wasn’t just a man—he was the hero who walked in, right when everything was falling apart, and made it okay again.

Luca shot me a look—that little tilt of the head that meant, “You ready?”

I took a deep breath.

“Jake… I need to tell you something important. Luca and I… we’ve started seeing each other. So he might be around more.”

Jake looked at me, then at Luca. For a heartbeat, his face was unreadable—but then he grinned. “Wait. Does that mean Sunday pancakes are official?”

Luca laughed under his breath. “Yeah. I’m in.”

Mom stepped into the room from the back patio, holding her wine. Her eyes landed on Luca.

“Thank you,” she said. “For everything.”

Luca looked up at her, and for a beat, something in his posture shifted. Barely. But I saw it.

“You don’t need to thank me. I did what had to be done.”

“I know.” Mom took a sip of her wine. “But you did it anyway.”

He didn’t answer, but the look he gave her? It was the closest thing to respect I’d ever seen from him outside of blood.

The four of us had settled into something easy. Easier than it should’ve been. Luca hadn’t said much, but his presence filled the room. Not heavy. Just there. Like this space had already started shifting around him to make room for us.

By the time the last pancake hit the plate, the sun had started its slow descent, painting the kitchen in that deep amber light that makes everything look softer than it really is.

Jake was still in full chatter mode, happily narrating the pros and cons of adding chocolate chips to the batter.

Syrup on his cheek, grinning as if the last few days hadn’t happened.

As if gunfire and blood on the floor were something from someone else’s life. Not his.

And Luca… he was listening. Actually listening, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded, giving Jake his full attention.

After that, the evening just… unfolded. Easy. Natural. Like it had been waiting for us to claim it.

Jake dragged Luca into two rounds of Mario Kart—grinning when he beat him, cursing softly when Luca played dirty.

The whole scene was surreal. The man who had people killed with a nod, letting a sugar-high eleven-year-old smack-talk him over a racing game. My mother, sipping her wine, and I, standing in the middle of it, wondering how the hell we’d gotten this far without falling apart.

By half past ten, Jake had exhausted every excuse. Grabbed his phone, dragged his feet, and mumbled something about bedtime being “literally the worst.”

When I followed, he was already in bed.

“You good?” I asked, sitting on the edge of the mattress.

He nodded. “Luca’s not bad at games.”

“That’s high praise coming from you.”

Jake smirked. “You love him.”

“Excuse me?”

“You do. It’s okay.”

I leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Goodnight.”

“Night. Tell him I said goodnight—but don’t make it sound weird. ”

“Me? Never.”

I was still smiling when I stepped out into the hall.

Luca was waiting. His back against the opposite wall, arms folded. He pulled me to our bedroom and closed the door like we were about to discuss national security. I barely had time to roll my eyes before he spun around, dead serious.

“What the fuck am I supposed to say when he asks what I do for a living?”

“You lie,” I said. “Don’t say anything to Jake you wouldn’t say to a priest.”

“I’ve never said anything to a priest.”

“Perfect. Keep that energy.”

He grinned. “Fine. I’ll just say I work in solutions.”

“Solutions?”

“Permanent ones.”

“Luca—”

“I was joking. I won’t say anything incriminating.”

He pulled me close, and I let my head rest against his chest, my fingers curling lightly in his shirt.

I sighed. “You owe me about fifteen apologies and a new career.”

He kissed the top of my head. “The way you got me out of this whole thing… you’re terrifying. We’re updating your title, by the way.”

“Oh god.”

“Full-time mob wife.”

“Does it come with dental?”

“Better. Access to offshore accounts and a man who will burn down small countries for you.”

“Do I have to kill anyone?”

“Only if you feel like contributing. But it’s more of a ‘choose your own adventure’ role. ”

He kissed me—slow, smug, and entirely too pleased with himself. Then pulled back just enough to flash that cocky, devastating grin.

“Welcome to the rest of your life, Mrs. Abruzzo.”