Chapter 50 Shadows of Care

Chapter 48 Speakeasies and Bullets
EVEET -

The night air clung to Eveet like a sweaty palm as she and Luca stepped out of the Packard and onto Bourbon Street. Only an hour had passed since the incident with Louis.

The speakeasy's hidden door, tucked behind a false storefront, creaked open with a nod from the Matranga lookout.

Her boots echoed on the worn wood steps descending into the den, the jazz thumping up like a heartbeat from below.

Maison Noire's blood still stained her thoughts. The image of Louis's throat being slit, Carmela's screams, and Luca's knife twisting. She needed this place to wash it away, a Matranga joint where the hooch flowed free and the shadows hid the rot.

She shivered at the memory.

Luca walked close, his presence a wall against the world, his linen shirt rumpled from the drive. The speakeasy opened up, smoky haze thick as fog. Velvet curtains draped the walls, chandeliers casting a golden glow over card tables buzzing with laughter and clinking glasses. Flappers in fringe twirled on the dance floor, their feathers catching the light, while enforcers in sharp suits leaned against the bar.

Eveet slid into a booth in the corner, the leather cool against her skin. Luca sat across, signaling for two glasses of the good stuff. Most likely smuggled rum. Something to help take the edge off the way the night had gone.

The drinks arrived, amber liquid swirling in heavy tumblers. She took a sip, the burn steadying her nerves. Luca’s eyes met hers, dark and unreadable, but she caught the flicker. The same one from the alley after the summit, when his hand had lingered on her arm.

“Luca,” she started, her voice tentative, barely above the jazz horn’s wail. “About Louis… why’d you kill him like that? We could’ve squeezed more out of him. Info on the crew at the warehouse, the Provenzanos. Something.”

He leaned back, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass, the blood from earlier scrubbed clean, but the stain lingering in his posture. The speakeasy’s hum wrapped around them, a buffer from the chaos outside.

“You heard him, Signora.” He said, voice low, rough as gravel. “He was scheming to grease you. He'd taken payment for your head. I… I lost it. Saw red. He was a traitor, and in that moment, all I could think was that he’d hurt you.”

Eveet’s heart stuttered, the rum warming her chest. Those eyes, dark brown, like the bayou depths, held something raw, a fire he kept banked. “You didn’t have to slice him like that,” she pressed, her voice softening. “The gun would’ve done it and probably a lot cleaner. You saw the boys when they came in to start cleaning.”

They'd looked at the scene and then back at her like it was her who had sliced Louis up.

Luca’s jaw tightened, his olive skin taut under the chandelier light. “Cleaner ain’t always better. He deserved the knife. For what he planned for you.” He paused, his gaze dropping to her lips, then back up. “I’ve killed for the family before, but this… it was personal. You’re not just the Don’s daughter to me, Eveet. Not anymore.”

What does that mean? And he'd used her name. Smoothly. Like it wasn't taboo to do so.

The words hung there, heavy as the smoke curling from a nearby flapper’s cigarette. Eveet felt a flush creep up her neck, her lips tingling under his stare. The jazz swelled, a saxophone wailing like a warning, but she leaned in, her voice a whisper. “Luca, I-”

A crash shattered the moment, and the front door splintered under a ram. Shouts erupted, “Provenzanos! This is payback!”

Flappers screamed, feathers scattering as they bolted for the exits. Tommy guns roared, bullets ripping through the velvet curtains, glass shattering in a hail of shards. Eveet’s tumbler exploded on the table, rum splashing her suit.

Luca was on his feet before she could react, yanking her down behind the booth, his body shielding hers.

The speakeasy descended into hell. Card tables flipping, chips flying like confetti, enforcers drawing guns and firing back.

A Provenzano thug, face twisted in rage, sprayed the bar, bottles exploding in a rain of glass and liquor. “For Billy's finger! You think you can do that and kill Louis without a fight, you Matranga bastards!?” he bellowed.

Eveet’s blood ran cold as she connected the dots. The broken finger from the interrogation earlier, with Luca and Louis’s death at Maison Noire. The Provenzanos were hitting back hard. They were probably scheming something anyway after Billy came back with a broken finger, but with their informant’s death, it blew their tops.

Luca’s Colt barked, dropping a charging goon mid-stride, blood blooming on the thug’s shirt. “Stay low, Eveet!” he shouted over the din, his arm around her waist, pulling her toward the back.

Flappers fled in a frenzy, their heels clicking frantically on the wood, one tripping in a pool of spilled hooch. The air stank of gunpowder and fear, the jazz horn silenced mid-note. Eveet’s heart hammered, her revolver in hand, but Luca’s grip kept her moving, his body a barrier against the chaos.

A Provenzano rounded the booth, Tommy gun swinging. Luca fired first, the shot echoing as the man crumpled. “They’re after you.” He growled, eyes fierce.

Eveet nodded, firing her own shot at a shadow lunging from the smoke, the recoil jolting her arm. The thug dropped, clutching his knee.

They burst through the back door into the alley, the raid’s roar fading behind brick walls. Luca’s breath came ragged, his shirt torn, and blood smeared across his olive skin. Those dark brown eyes locked on hers, the fire in them burning brighter. “You alright?” he asked, his hand lingering on her arm, that touch sending sparks through her.

She nodded, the adrenaline crashing. “Yeah. But Luca, back there, you said…” The words died as she saw the vulnerability in his stare. His desire for her looked back even though he’d told her it wasn't there. The night wrapped around them, the city’s distant hum calling, but the bond between them felt unbreakable, forged in blood and fire.

The speakeasy’s chaos spilled into the street, Provenzanos retreating under Matranga counterfire. Eveet leaned against the alley wall, her blouse damp with rum and sweat, the revolver heavy in her hand.

Luca stood close, his presence a shield, and she realized that his desire for her was real. His protection was more than just a job, like he had tried to suggest.

She looked up at the night sky as it stretched out before her, full of shadows and enemies.

"What I said..." He paused, and she pulled her gaze from the stars and met his eyes before he continued. "I won't take back. There are things you need to-"

The back door burst open, and a Provenzano Capo burst through, his gun already swinging towards them. All she saw was Luca's chest when the bang of his gun exploded through the alley.

A moment later, a second shot rang out from behind her, and she heard the thump of a body as it hit the ground.