Chapter 12
1066 Words
Luca's POV
The lounge of La Via Grata was as opulent as ever, with crystal chandeliers casting soft light on polished marble floors. It was the kind of place that screamed exclusivity—something she relished in. Bianca sat across from me, her delicate hands gesturing wildly as she launched into yet another monologue about the wedding.
“Oh, Luca, you simply must see the sketches I approved for the invitations. They’re embossed with gold leaf, of course, because silver would be just so passé, don’t you think?” Her tinkling laugh followed, and without waiting for a reply, she barreled on. “And the guest list! Oh, you wouldn’t believe how many of my friends are dying to come. I mean, who wouldn’t want to attend the wedding of the century? Of course, I had to tell Selina she couldn’t bring her plus-one. So awkward, but really, her boyfriend is just a bore.”
I nodded absently, giving a noncommittal “Hmm.” My mind was elsewhere—specifically back at the house, thinking about Christine. Was she eating? Resting? My fingers itched to grab my phone and text Mario, but Bianca’s eyes caught the movement as I reached for it.
“Luca!” she exclaimed, her perfectly manicured nails tapping sharply against the table. “Are you seriously thinking about work right now? During our date?”
“It might be important,” I replied evenly, though I didn’t miss the way her eyes widened in feigned shock.
“More important than me? Than us?” she whined, clasping her hands dramatically over her chest. “You know how fragile I’ve been lately! Honestly, if you don’t start focusing on me, my doctor says the stress might actually kill me.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “And do you know what my father would do if anything happened to me because of you?”
I sighed, placing my phone back on the table. “Of course, Bianca. I’m listening.”
"Good boy," she purred.
“You know, darling,” Bianca said, her tone dropping to something almost serious. “Father’s been talking about expanding into Switzerland. Wouldn’t it be a shame if... complications arose? He does love me so much, after all.” She gave a small, saccharine smile, but her eyes gleamed with something sharper.
She never failed to pass her threats across which was why I chose her in the first place, it had made her appear confident and difficult to intimidate, but I wasnt so sure she would be able to deal with pressure when it did matter.
Her pout quickly transformed into a radiant smile. “Oh, good. Where was I? Oh, yes! The centerpieces. I’m thinking orchids imported from Singapore. White, of course. It has to match my gown. Which reminds me, I need to schedule my third fitting soon.”
A waiter approached with the first course—some extravagantly plated seafood dish I couldn’t be bothered to remember. Bianca barely glanced at it, taking a delicate bite before waving it away. “Ugh, I’ve lost my appetite,” she declared, pushing the plate aside. “Luca, do you think I should switch caterers? The chef clearly doesn’t understand my palate.”
I didn’t respond, knowing she didn’t expect me to. Her endless chatter filled the silence, her voice rising and falling like a symphony she composed only for herself. She spoke of her dress, her bridesmaids, the exclusive VIP guest list that included artists, designers, and influencers whose names I neither knew nor cared to know.
Lunch came and went, course after course of the most expensive items on the menu—none of which Bianca ate more than a nibble of. By the time dessert arrived, her tiramisu untouched, she sighed dramatically, checking her watch.
“Oh, look at the time! The girls are waiting for me at Armani Privé. We’re shopping for bridesmaid dresses. Such a nightmare coordinating their tastes, you know. Anyway, I simply must run. Ciao, darling!” She leaned in, brushing her lips against my cheek before flouncing off, her heels clicking against the marble floor.
I leaned back in my chair, exhaling slowly as I watched her retreating figure. Mario slid into the seat she’d vacated, his expression dark as he took in the untouched plates and the receipt the waiter discreetly placed before us.
“She’s insufferable,” Mario muttered, glaring at the check as though it personally offended him. “It’s a miracle you haven’t strangled her yet.”
I let out a low chuckle, running a hand through my hair. “It’s not about her, Mario. It never was.”
“No, it’s about this.” Mario gestured broadly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “The image. The perfect life. The charming hotelier, engaged to the country’s most pampered princess. All a smokescreen for what you really do.”
“She serves her purpose,” I said evenly, though my fingers tightened around the glass of scotch the waiter had just poured. “Bianca’s father owns the top designer hotel chain in the country. Her family’s influence keeps prying eyes off my operations. And if keeping her happy means enduring her chatter, then so be it.”
Mario snorted, leaning back in his chair. “You’re a better man than me, boss. I’d have snapped the moment she called herself fragile.”
I smirked, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. “You think this is hard? Wait until you see what’s next on today’s agenda. Some traitors decided to get clever.”
Mario’s expression hardened instantly. “Who?”
“Some low-level grunts. They thought I wouldn’t notice their side deals. They’ll learn soon enough that I notice everything.” I set the glass down, standing with a sharp nod.
Mario’s voice dropped as he followed me out. “So, what happens to these grunts?”
I gave him a cold smile. “They learn what it means to betray me. And this time, I won’t stop at a warning.”
“Let’s go.”
Mario chuckled and followed without question, his expression mirroring my own.
Blood thirsty and ready to remind those f8ckers where they belonged
Together, we left the lounge, stepping into the world where appearances no longer mattered, and loyalty was the only currency that counted.
- Writer
