Chapter 40 I'M NOT GOING
••Luciana••
As twilight began to seep through the windows, I found myself completely absorbed in Netflix, each episode blending seamlessly into the next as I watched with unwavering focus. There's something so captivating about diving into a compelling series when the world outside feels like it can wait.
It wasn't until my stomach let out a loud growl that I reluctantly hit pause, accompanied by a frustrated sigh—I had completely skipped lunch. My beloved chocolate milk had only served as a temporary distraction, and the empty carton from Sicily lay next to my bed, a silent reminder of my neglect.
Reluctantly, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up, making my way to the closet in search of something comfy to wear. Just as my fingers were rummaging through my clothes, my phone buzzed.
A notification popped up, and I picked it up casually, not expecting to see the name that flashed on the screen.
Antonio.
My heart raced for a moment; thoughts darted through my mind. Was there a situation at the house, or was he simply checking in on me? I opened the message, and to my surprise, it was an invitation to a wedding. Beneath it, a brief note awaited my attention.
"Father is set to marry soon and he wants you to join him for dinner so you can meet his new partner. You know to bring him, right?"
What a loaded question! If I'm attending a formal event, of course he'll accompany me. And by 'him,' I mean Roman, my husband.
As the implications of his words settled in, my shoulders drooped. It was real. Father was really marrying someone else.
I gradually sank onto the edge of the bed, phone still clutched in my hand, my appetite vanishing in an instant. For him, it was all about power, alliances, and strategy—the usual game. Love had never been a factor in his decisions.
I found myself staring blankly at the screen, a weight pressing against my chest. It didn’t feel like jealousy or anger; rather, it was a profound ache, a realization that I had been swapped out without ceremony or hesitation.
I didn’t respond to the message. I just lingered in silence, the room feeling unnaturally still.
••Roman••
By the time I returned home, my head throbbed with discomfort. A relentless migraine throbbed behind my eyes, and I could only think about pouring myself a glass of wine—a little relief was all I wanted.
As I stepped inside, I loosened my collar, already anticipating the moment I could pour myself a glass. Earlier today, I had received a call from Don Vittorio Moretti—Luciana’s father. With formal politeness, he invited me to dinner the next evening, as if it were just another routine gathering. But it was far from ordinary; he was set to introduce his new wife. From what I understood, she was the eldest daughter of the Serbian mafia—a woman without any suitors to claim her hand. So, Vittorio decided to step in, marrying her when she was due for wedlock, and her father simply obliged.
A union of power consolidating power.
I figured Luciana must have been informed, but this wasn’t something I could take for granted. It felt important for her to hear it from me first.
As I entered the room, I found her lounging on the couch, absorbed in her phone. A carton of chocolate milk lay abandoned on the floor—chocolate milk again. The contrast always struck me. With her fierce tongue, piercing gaze, and unwavering strength, this small habit made her seem so childish.
We hadn’t really talked in days.
Our routine is a very strange one. Some days we spoke like nothing was wrong. Other days, we existed in parallel lines, close but untouched. I let her be. Work had piled up for me, this least I want to add to my plate is some woman trouble.
I walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the water hit my head longer than necessary. The heat helped ease the tension, even if only slightly.
When I came out with a towel wrapped around my waist, she was still in the same position I’d left her in.
“Did you get the invite?” I asked, breaking the silence.
“What invite?” she replied, eyes still locked on her phone.
I felt a smile tug at my lips briefly. She was already aware of it. If there's one skill I've mastered, it's deciphering people's emotions through their expressions. Her voice carried a certain calmness, yet her posture remained rigid. Luciana struggled with concealing her true feelings whenever she truly cares; that was a lesson I had learned well.
“Your father invited you to dinner,” I stated in a steady tone.
“Okay.”
Such a simple response. I stood before her, examining her features intently. “Okay?” I questioned. “What does that imply?”
“You can attend,” she finally replied, raising her eyes to connect with mine. “I’m not going.”
“You're choosing not to visit your father's house?”
She remained silent.
I waited in anticipation.
Still, no response.
“It won't cost me anything to skip it,” I said after a beat. “I'll just inform him his daughter isn’t interested in coming.”
I observed her intently, hoping to elicit some sort of response.
“Go ahead,” she replied softly.
That softness unsettled me more than fury would have. She harbored resentment towards her family, particularly her father, for this marriage arrangement.
I crossed the room to the other side of the bed, reaching for a shirt. Just at that moment, her voice drifted towards me.
“Can you please get some shorts to wear,” she said, not looking up. “And don’t blind me.”
I chuckled. “I’m not naked. You’re the one staring too hard.”
She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her lips twitched.