Page 31 of Luciano

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The next morningwhen I woke up, I felt at peace for the first time in over three years. I checked my phone to see if Grace or Ella had reached out to anyone. Nothing, not a single email or text went out. I logged into the security system and accessed the cameras in her son’s room. By the time I was done with meetings and handling all the business I had missed over the last few days, Grace had already gone to bed, along with her son.

The room I designated for Matteo came up on my phone screen, and I found Grace’s sleeping form. Her brown colored hair spread across the pillow, making her skin appear even paler than it really was. I fucking hated that hair color. She still looked beautiful, but something about those ginger red curls matched her personality to a tee.

It took me a few seconds to realize something wasn’t right. Where was Matteo? I checked different angles of the room to ensure I covered the entire room. He wasn’t there. Abruptly, I jolted out of the bed, put my pants on and rushed out of the room shirtless.

That’s when I heard it. The soft giggle of a child.

I followed the sound and found Matteo in the kitchen, sitting in a highchair. My father fed him brioche con gelato. A sweet roll filled with ice cream, a summer Sicilian breakfast. Neither one of them noticed me, and I listened to my father speak to Matteo in Sicilian dialect about things they would do today. Matteo grinned, which told me he understood him perfectly. This boy already captured my father’s heart.

“Come in and sit with us, Luciano,” my father said without lifting his head. “Have breakfast.”

I sat down next to the boy, his beaming smile contagious. “You like that breakfast, huh?”

He nodded his head eagerly. “Sì. Più, per favore.” More, please. There was a smudge of ice cream on his cheek.

I chuckled. “I think one brioche is quite enough,” I told him, smiling. “Your mother won’t be happy about feeding you gelato for breakfast.”

He took my hand and held it as he finished the last bite of his breakfast. My eyes lowered to his small, chubby hand in my large, rough palm. His hand barely covered a quarter of mine. Fuck, my chest hurt again. At this rate, I’d get a heart attack soon.

He cooed some more unrecognizable words and I smiled. “I guess so, buddy. I didn’t pick up on that.”

“Spiaggia,” he babbled.

“He is quite adamant about going to the beach,” my father spoke softly, a smile I haven’t seen on his face in a long time playing around his lips.

“Ah, Luciano.” Our cook strode into the kitchen. “Coffee?”

“Sure, thank you,” I told her. “And can I have one of those brioche, please?”

Surprise flashed across her face, but she quickly recovered and brought me a plate.

Massimo strolled in at that moment. “I want one too, please.”

He sat down next to my father. “Buon giorno.”

“Buon giorno, Massimo.” My cousin was the closest thing I ever had to a brother. His mother was my father’s sister, and he practically grew up with my sister and I.

Maria placed brioche in front of Massimo. “Make sure you eat it all, boys.” She loved feeding us.

“Aren’t you too old for brioche?” I joked, poking at Massimo.

“You can never be too old for that,” he murmured, biting into his breakfast. “Besides, aren’t you?

“No, I’m not,” I answered him.

“Damn, I forgot how good they are. Right, Matteo?” Massimo looked at the little boy and the latter nodded in agreement.

I smiled, shaking my head at him. Strangely this moment felt almost like the old days, before life became a clusterfuck. Before my mother and sister were killed by the Romano, changing all our lives forever.

“How about we share this one, Matteo?” I asked the little guy next to me who watched us all with wonder in his eyes. At the offer his big eyes sparkled like I just offered him the world. I let him take a bite and returned my gaze to my father.

“Should I take him to the beach?” My father asked.

“Grace said he can’t swim yet. Probably better if you don’t go down there alone.”

He nodded. “He seems to love the beach.”