Page 22 of Luca
What else don’t I know about her?
I drain the whiskey and head upstairs. She’s still asleep, sprawled across most of the bed like she owns it. Yesterday morning she was careful, controlled. Now she's taking up space like someone who's used to sleeping alone in places where you need to be ready to move fast.
Interesting.
I shower and dress quietly, watching her in the mirror. Even asleep, she doesn't look peaceful. She looks alert. Like she's listening for something.
Downstairs, I find Rosa in the kitchen, already prepping breakfast. She's been with our family for twenty years. Knows everything that happens in this house.
"Morning, Rosa," I say, pouring coffee. "How's the new lady of the house settling in?"
Rosa glances up from the stove. "Good, I hope. She's... different than I expected, Mr. Luca."
"Different how?"
"Yesterday she came down here while you were on that conference call. Started talking to me like we were old friends." Rosa shakes her head. "Asked about my family, my grandson's school. Most wives, they give orders or they ignore the staff completely."
"Anything else?"
"She speaks differently when you're not around. More casual. Uses her hands when she talks." Rosa turns back to the stove. "And she asked about the security cameras."
That stops me cold. "What about them?"
"Where they were located. How the system worked. Said she wanted to feel safer, but..." Rosa shrugs. "Seemed like an odd thing for a new bride to worry about."
Security cameras. Of course, she'd want to know where they are. The question is why.
"Thanks, Rosa. Don't mention this conversation to anyone."
"Of course not, Mr. Luca."
I take my coffee to the terrace and think. Sofia asking about security could be innocent. Could also be suspicious as hell.
In my world, you learn to pay attention to patterns.
My phone buzzes with a text from Paolo: "Tony's guy is available to start bodyguard detail for Mrs. Romano today. Want me to set it up?"
I text back: "Not yet. I want to watch her first."
Because if Sofia's gathering information about my family's operations, I need to know what she's looking for. And why.
Twenty minutes later, she appears on the terrace wearing a sundress and sandals, hair still damp from the shower. She looks like any other wealthy young wife enjoying her morning coffee.
Except for the way her eyes automatically scan the garden perimeter before she sits down.
"Morning," she says, kissing my cheek. "Did you sleep okay?"
"Fine. You?"
"Like a rock." She settles into the chair across from me and reaches for the coffee pot. "What's the plan for today?"
"I've got some business to handle. Thought you might want to explore the house. Get familiar with everything."
Her face lights up. "Really? I'd love that."
"Rosa can show you around. Help you get oriented."
"That's perfect."
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