Chapter 20: Stolen Words (Luca Moretti POV)

Chapter 20: Stolen Words (Luca Moretti POV)

My hands are shaking, digging through the duffel like it’s gonna spit out the poem if I just keep tearing into it. Shirts hit the concrete floor, a sock, a half-empty pack of gum, nothing. The poem’s gone, those lines I scribbled for Nico, words I poured my heart into, snatched from his jacket. My chest’s tight, like someone’s got their boot on it, and I shove the bag away, its zipper catching on my sleeve.  
“Luca, slow down,” Nico says, crouching beside me, his voice low but firm. He grabs my wrist, stopping my hands from clawing at the pile of clothes. His thumb brushes my skin, warm, steady, but it’s not enough to pull me back from the edge.  
“It’s gone,” I say, yanking my wrist free and standing, my sneakers scuffing the floor. I tuck a curl behind my ear, the motion automatic, but my fingers won’t stop twitching. “Someone took it, Nico. They were in our stuff. They’ve got us.”  
He stands too, grabbing his jacket from the chair and shaking it out, like the poem might magically fall from a hidden pocket. “We don’t know that,” he says, but his jaw’s tight, and his hand’s in his pocket, rubbing that cross keychain, a sure sign he’s as rattled as I am. “Could’ve fallen out at the motel, or in the truck.”  
I spin toward him, my voice sharper than I mean it to be. “Fallen out? With that note on the windshield? You really believe that?”  
He stops, the jacket dangling from his hand, and his eyes meet mine, dark and steady. “No,” he says, tossing the jacket onto the cot. “But freaking out won’t find it. Sit. We’ll figure this out.”  
I don’t sit. I pace instead, my steps echoing in the bare room, the drip from that damn pipe ticking like a clock running down. The poem wasn’t just words, it was me and Nico, everything we’ve been hiding, everything we’re fighting for. If the O’Connors have it, or Gia, or worse, Antonio… I stop, grabbing the table’s edge, my knuckles white. “If they read it,” I say, my voice cracking, “they’ll know. About us.”  
Nico steps closer, pulling me into a hug, his arms tight around my shoulders. I bury my face in his chest, breathing in leather and the faint cedar from his soap, and for a second, I can almost pretend we’re safe. “I’ll find it,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my hair. “I swear, Luca. No one’s using it against us.”  
I nod against him, my hands fisting his shirt, but my stomach’s still churning. I pull back, tucking another curl behind my ear, and grab my notebook from the cot, flipping it open. “We need to retrace our steps,” I say, clicking a pen and jotting down motel, truck, here. “When’s the last time you saw it?”  
Nico leans over the table, grabbing a slice of the bread we cut earlier and tearing off a piece. “When you gave it to me,” he says, chewing. “At the motel, before the car showed up. I put it in my jacket pocket. Didn’t check after that.”  
I scribble jacket pocket, motel, my hand shaking so bad the words are barely legible. “Okay,” I say, tapping the pen on the table. “So either it fell out when we were packing, or someone got to the jacket before we left.”  
“Or in the truck,” Nico says, grabbing his phone from the table and swiping to a contact. “I’m calling Marco. He was watching the lot after we split. Maybe he saw something.”  
He hits dial, putting it on speaker, and the line rings twice before Marco picks up, his voice gravelly, like he’s been chain-smoking. “You at the river spot?” he asks, a car horn blaring in the background.  
“Yeah,” Nico says, leaning on the table. “We got a problem. Someone left a note on my truck at the motel, ‘Time’s running out.’ And Luca’s… something’s missing from my jacket. You see anyone near our stuff?”  
Marco curses, low and sharp. “Didn’t see nobody, but I wasn’t there long. Had to tail Raf after he left the bar. He met an O’Connor runner again, Nico. Handed over another envelope.”  
I grip the pen tighter, the plastic creaking. “What was in it?” I ask, leaning toward the phone.  
“Dunno,” Marco says. “Couldn’t get close without blowing my cover. But Raf’s jumpy, checking his shoulder every five seconds. He knows someone’s onto him.”  
Nico’s hand closes around his cross, his thumb working it hard. “Keep on him,” he says. “And check the motel lot if you’re near it. Look for a folded paper, couple pages, handwritten.”  
“Poetry ain’t my thing, but I’ll look,” Marco says, a smirk in his voice. “Stay put. I’ll call if I find it.”  
The line goes dead, and Nico pockets the phone, grabbing another piece of bread and handing me one. “Eat,” he says, his voice softer now. “You’re no good to me if you crash.”  
I take it, nibbling the edge, but my stomach’s too knotted to care. I set the bread down and grab the grocery bag, unpacking the rest, cans, a bag of apples, the salsa jar, to keep my hands busy. “What if it’s Gia?” I say, stacking the cans on the table. “She’s been calling Sean O’Connor. She could’ve sent someone to the motel.”  
Nico grabs an apple, tossing it hand to hand. “If it’s her, I’ll deal with it,” he says, his voice hard. “Tomorrow, I’m meeting her. No more dodging.”  
I nod, but my mind’s racing, picturing Gia’s cold smile, her burner phone, the way she looked at Nico like he was already dead. A sharp chirp cuts through my thoughts, a bird outside, its call piercing the quiet, like a warning. I glance at the window, the boarded-up glass, and my pulse spikes. “You hear that?” I ask, stepping toward the window.  
Nico’s already there, peering through a crack in the boards. “Just a bird,” he says, but his hand’s on his gun, tucked in his waistband. “Probably a sparrow. They’re loud this time of night.”  
I force a breath, tucking a curl behind my ear again, and go back to the table, grabbing my knife and flipping it open, closed, open. The motion steadies me, but not enough. “We need a plan,” I say, setting the knife down. “If Antonio finds out about us, or if Gia’s already told him, ”  
“She hasn’t,” Nico says, cutting me off. He grabs a chair, sitting backward, his arms draped over the back. “If she had, we’d be dead already. But we’re not sitting here waiting for her to make a move. Tomorrow, we hit Raf’s meet with the O’Connors. Marco’s getting the details.”  
I nod, grabbing my notebook again and flipping to a blank page. “Okay,” I say, jotting Raf, O’Connor meet, tomorrow. “What do we do until then?”  
“We rest,” he says, standing and grabbing the duffel, pulling out a blanket. “You take the cot. I’ll keep watch.”  
I shake my head, grabbing the blanket from him. “We both sleep,” I say, spreading it on the cot. “You’re no good to me if you crash.”  
He smirks, a real one, and pulls me into another hug, his hands warm on my back. “Deal,” he says, kissing my forehead. “But I’m checking the doors first.”  
He moves to the back door, testing the bolts, while I grab the water bottle and take a sip, the cold grounding me. I sit on the cot, pulling my knees up, and try to hum that ballad, but it catches in my throat. The bird chirps again, sharper, and I flinch, my eyes darting to the window. Nico’s back now, locking the front door, his gun still tucked in place.  
“Get some sleep,” he says, sitting beside me, his shoulder brushing mine.  
I lean into him, my head on his chest, and close my eyes, but my mind’s still on the poem, those stolen words floating out there, ready to betray us. I’m almost drifting off when a heavy bang on the door jolts me upright, my heart slamming in my chest. Nico’s on his feet, gun drawn, motioning me to stay back.  
“Open up!” a voice bellows, Marco’s, rough and urgent. “Antonio wants you both. Now.”