Page 53 of Luca

I am falling for him, despite everything. Despite knowing that when the truth comes out - and it will come out - it will probably destroy us both.

"Care about me?" His eyes search my face. "Is that what this is?"

"What else could it be?"

Instead of answering, he kisses me. Hard, desperate, like he's trying to find truth in the contact between us. I kiss him back just as fiercely, pouring all my confusion and fear and growing feelings into the connection.

When we break apart, we're both breathing hard.

"I think," he says against my mouth, "that we both have questions that need answers."

"Then maybe we should stop asking questions for tonight."

"And do what instead?"

I smile, slow and dangerous, and start working on the buttons of his shirt.

"Maybe we should focus on the things we know for sure."

"What would that be?"

"We know we're married. We know we want each other. We know that whatever's happening between us is real, even if everything else is complicated."

He catches my hands, stopping me from undressing him. "Is it real? What's happening between us?"

The way he asks it, like he genuinely doesn't know, breaks something in my heart.

"Yes," I whisper. "It's the most real thing I’ve ever felt."

Chapter 19: Luca

I still hear the echoes of last night. Raised voices muffled by the thick walls of the restaurant, sharp enough to cut through the clatter of silverware.

Not the words—those I couldn’t make out—but the tone of the conversation between Sofia and her father. Desperate, angry, threaded with something neither of them wanted anyone else to hear.

When I stepped onto that terrace, Sofia and her father froze like they’d been caught in the middle of a crime. Whatever battle they’d waged on that terrace wasn’t over.

My phone buzzes. Detective Alberti, right on schedule.

"Romano."

"It's Alberti. I have that report you wanted on Mrs. Romano."

"And?"

"Clean as a whistle. No unusual financial activity, no suspicious travel, no questionable associates. The past six months show exactly what you'd expect from a wealthy art dealer's daughter. Shopping at familiar boutiques, family dinners, wedding preparations."

I lean back in my chair. "Nothing at all?"

"Nothing that would raise red flags. She made a few large purchases, her wedding dress, jewelry to go with it, that kind of thing. Had lunch with friends, attended gallery events with her father. She spends most of her time alone at home. A very predictable pattern."

Too predictable.

The woman who hustled professional gamblers in Milan and picked the lock to my study doesn't live a predictable life.

"How far back did you go?"

"A full year. You want me to dig deeper?"