Chapter 18: Hiding in Plain Sight (Luca Moretti POV)
Chapter 18: Hiding in Plain Sight (Luca Moretti POV)
I’m sitting on the edge of a lumpy motel bed, unpacking a duffel bag, folding my shirts into neat stacks to keep my hands busy. The room’s small, with a flickering neon sign outside casting red light through the curtains. Nico’s at the door, checking the locks for the third time, sliding the deadbolt and testing the chain. I hum a soft tune, some old ballad my mom loved, a comfort habit that steadies my nerves. Antonio’s men at the bar, muttering “Nico’s secret’s out,” have me on edge, and I know Nico’s feeling it too.
“You good over there?” I ask, setting a folded shirt on the bed and grabbing a pair of socks from the bag.
Nico glances back, rubbing his keychain cross, his cap pulled low. “Yeah,” he says, but his voice is tight. “Just making sure.” He moves to the window, peeking through the curtains, then drops them, the fabric swaying.
I stand, grabbing a bottle of water from a plastic bag on the dresser and tossing it to him. “Drink something,” I say, catching his smirk as he catches it. “You’re pacing like a caged dog.”
He twists the cap off, taking a sip, and leans on the dresser. “Antonio knows,” he says, setting the bottle down. “About us. That’s why we’re here.”
I nod, tucking a curl behind my ear, and grab another shirt, folding it slower. “Think he’ll come after us?” I ask, keeping my voice steady.
Nico steps closer, grabbing my wrist gently to stop my folding. “Not if I can help it,” he says, his thumb brushing my skin. “This place is off the radar. Marco set it up. We lay low, figure out our next move.”
I pull my hand free, grabbing a notebook from the bag and flipping it open. “Okay,” I say, jotting down a quick list, food, clothes, cash, to feel in control. “But we can’t hide forever, Nico.”
“I know,” he says, grabbing a bag of groceries from the floor and unloading cans of soup onto a small counter by the sink. “I’m meeting Marco tomorrow. Get answers about Gia, Raf, the money.”
I nod, setting the notebook down and grabbing a pen, doodling swirls on the corner of a page. “What about Antonio?” I ask, my pen pausing. “If he knows, he’s not gonna just let it go.”
Nico slams a can of beans onto the counter, the sound sharp. “He’ll have to go through me first,” he says, his jaw tight. He softens, stepping over and sitting beside me on the bed. “We’ll figure it out, Luca. Together.”
I smile, small but real, and lean against him, my head on his shoulder. He wraps an arm around me, and we sit there, the bed creaking under us. I grab a scrap of paper from my pocket, a poem I scribbled earlier, lines about shadows and safe places, and slip it into Nico’s jacket pocket, my fingers lingering on the fabric. “Read it later,” I say, my voice soft.
He smirks, patting the pocket. “You’re full of surprises,” he says, kissing my forehead. I hum again, the tune quieter now, and grab his hand, tracing a scar on his knuckle with my thumb.
“Let’s eat,” I say, standing and pulling him to the counter. We open a bag of chips and a jar of salsa, dipping straight from the jar, crumbs falling on the counter. I laugh when Nico drops a chip on his shirt, brushing it off for him. “You’re hopeless,” I say, stealing a scoop of salsa.
“Look who’s talking,” he shoots back, flicking a crumb at me. We finish the chips, wiping our hands on a napkin, and I grab a broom from the corner, sweeping up the mess. Nico helps, grabbing a rag to wipe the counter, our movements syncing like we’ve done this a hundred times.
“Think this place is safe?” I ask, leaning the broom against the wall and checking the clock, 8:19 p.m.
“Safe as it gets,” Nico says, tossing the rag into the sink. He grabs a deck of cards from the dresser, shuffling them with a snap. “Wanna play? Keep our minds off this?”
I grin, pulling two chairs to a small table. “You’re on,” I say, grabbing the cards he deals. We play gin rummy, slapping cards down, laughing when I catch him hiding an ace. “Cheater,” I say, tossing a card at him.
“You’re just bad,” he teases, collecting the deck. A moth flutters against the window, its wings tapping the glass, and I stand, cracking the window to shoo it out. The night air’s cool, carrying the faint smell of motor oil, and I close it quick, locking it tight.
We finish the game, and I grab a notebook, jotting down more supplies we’ll need, batteries, a flashlight. Nico watches, flipping his cross in his hand, and reaches over, adding coffee to the list. “Priorities,” he says, smirking.
I laugh, tucking the notebook into my bag. “You’re impossible,” I say, grabbing a water bottle and taking a sip. Nico stands, checking the locks again, his boots scuffing the floor. I grab a mop, tackling a sticky spot by the sink, humming to fill the quiet.
“Let’s check the back door,” Nico says, heading to a small exit by the bathroom. I follow, testing the bolt, and we jam a chair under the knob for extra security. “Good enough,” I say, wiping my hands on my jeans.
Nico nods, grabbing a blanket from the bed and tossing it over the couch. “Try to sleep soon,” he says, sitting and pulling me down beside him. I curl up, my head on his chest, his heartbeat steady under my ear. He flips his cross again, the metal clicking, and I trace the seam of his jacket, my fingers brushing the poem in his pocket.
“You gonna read that?” I ask, nudging him.
“Later,” he says, kissing my hair. “When I need it.”
I smile, humming softly, and we sit there, the moth still tapping the window. I’m about to grab another water when Nico’s phone buzzes on the table. He checks it, a text from Marco: Lie low. Antonio’s men asking questions. He pockets it, his jaw tightening, and I grab his hand, squeezing.
“We’ll be okay,” I say, more to myself than him. I stand, grabbing a rag to wipe down the table, needing to move. Nico helps, stacking the cards and tossing empty chip bags into a trash can by the door. We’re almost done when I hear a low rumble outside, a car’s engine, growing louder as it pulls into the motel lot. I freeze, the rag in my hand, and glance at Nico, who’s already at the window, peeking through the curtains. The car parks right outside our room, its headlights cutting through the neon glow.