Chapter 59: Pool day
Lucia’s POV
If someone had told me a year ago that one day I would wake up in a mafia estate and be instructed by my husband to attend something called pool day, I think I would have laughed in their face.
Not politely. The kind of laugh people give before deciding someone has finally lost their mind. Unfortunately for me, nobody had warned me.
I’m halfway through putting earrings on when my bedroom door opens without a knock.
I don’t look up immediately.
“You know,” I say, eyes still fixed on the mirror in front of me, “most people knock before entering rooms.”
“You’re still getting ready?”
I finally glance at him through the mirror.
He’s dressed casually for once, which somehow makes him look more dangerous. Dark trousers. Black shirt with the sleeves folded to his forearms. Watch on his wrist. The usual expression that suggests he tolerates the world rather than lives in it.
My brows pull together.
“You told me to be downstairs in twenty minutes.”
His eyes lower briefly to my outfit before returning to my face.
“It has been thirty.”
I stare. Then glance at the clock. Then back at him.
“That feels personal.” His expression doesn’t change.
“It’s eleven.” I blink once. Twice.
Eleven?
I turn fully. “Why am I being rushed exactly?”
He looks at me for a second as though deciding whether explaining is worth it.
“Pool day.”
I wait for him to expand on that but nothing follows.
My confusion deepens. “…What does that mean?”
His hand pauses near the door handle. The corner of his mouth moves almost imperceptibly.
“Exactly what it sounds like.”
And then he leaves. Just leaves.
I stare at the closed door for several seconds. Because surely not. Surely men involved in organised crime do not schedule recreational swimming.
I learn very quickly that apparently they do.
The moment I step outside, heat settles against my skin immediately. The Afternoon sun reflects off the water hard enough to make me squint for a second.
Music plays somewhere near the far end of the garden.
Staff move around carrying drinks and food while conversations overlap in different corners. Someone is arguing near the grill. Alex’s voice carries over everybody else’s because apparently volume is his strongest personality trait.
I stop near the entrance.
Actually stop.
Because The scene before me feels strangely normal.
Disturbingly normal. Men I’ve watched discuss murder over dinner are arguing about card games.
Enzo is laughing. Laughing.
Rita is shouting at someone for touching food before it’s ready.
Antonio has sunglasses on despite standing in the shade. And for one uncomfortable second—
The thought slips in quietly:
This would look beautiful with children.
The image arrives before permission. Small feet running. Noise. Someone with Dante’s eyes.
My stomach drops immediately. I physically shake my head.
Once. Hard.
Absolutely not. No.
The thought disappears as quickly as it came and I pretend it never existed.
“Lucia!”
I turn.
Alessia stands near a table full of drinks holding two glasses and looking offended by something.
Her hair is tied in a messy bun. One of her earings are missing. And she is totally unfazed. Or totally unaware.Everything about her suggests chaos. The good kind
“What happened?” I ask immediately.
Her face twists.
“These people are alcoholics.”
I blink. “What?”
She thrusts one drink toward me.
“I have been standing here for five minutes trying to find juice. Why is everything champagne? Why do rich people refuse hydration?”
I laugh despite myself.
Actual laughter. The kind that slips out before I remember myself.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“No, I’m concerned.”
She lowers her voice dramatically.
“If I disappear one day, tell authorities I died of dehydration in this house.”
I take the drink.
Juice. Thankfully.
Then my attention shifts beyond her. Toward the pool.
Giovanni.
My brows pull together almost immediately. Because he isn’t doing anything unusual.
Not obviously.
He’s standing beside Antonio listening to something Enzo says.
Expression blank. Arms folded. Entirely himself.
Except— His gaze moves briefly. Toward Alessia. Only for a second. Then back.
I freeze slightly.
Because that isn’t the look of irritation or annoyance or murder.
Recognition settles slowly. Followed immediately by disbelief.
Oh. Oh God!
That idiot. I stare harder.
Alessia notices immediately. “What?” I don’t answer.
Still watching. Because suddenly months of complaints replay:
He looks at me strangely. I think he hates me. One day he’ll kill me.
No.
No—
I think with sudden horror—
She misunderstood. Entirely.
My eyes widen slightly.
Alessia frowns. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
I look back at her. Then toward Giovanni. Then back.
My mouth opens— And someone catches my wrist.
Not harsh. Firm.
Recognition arrives before I even turn.
Nico.
I pull slightly. More from surprise than resistance.
My brows lift immediately. “What are you doing here?”
His expression remains unchanged. Always unreadable now.
Darker than memory. Older. Black shirt. Sleeves folded.
The faint scar near his jaw I don’t remember from years ago catches briefly beneath sunlight.
“Good afternoon to you too, princess.”
My face hardens instantly. “Don’t call me that.”
One brow lifts. “No?”
“No.”
His mouth shifts faintly into that sickening, and infuriating smirk out of habit.
“Your husband invited me.”
I stare. Actually stare.
Because that sentence—That sentence should not exist.
“What?” His eyes move toward Dante standing near the far end speaking with Antonio.
Then back. “He invited me.”
The disbelief leaves before thought.
“That still sounds ridiculous.”
For the first time something near amusement crosses his face. Gone as quickly as it came.
“You’re staring.”
“I’m concerned.”
“You’ve said worse things to me.”
My brows narrow.
“Yes, and I intend to continue.”
The answer comes too fast. Too naturally.
His gaze lingers for one second too long. Then shifts away first.
Always first now. Strange.
Because years ago—
No.
I stop the thought immediately.
“Lucia.”
Alessia appears beside me suddenly. Eyes moving between us.
Suspicious. Her brows rise slowly. I know that look. It's the one she has right before she bombards you with questions.
Before she can speak—
Nico says calmly, “I’m here for business.”
Her eyes narrow further. Worse.
Because now curiosity exists. Dangerous woman. I intervene immediately.
“You should go.”
His gaze returns. “To Dante?”
“Yes.”
A pause.
Then quietly, “You still order people around.”
I fold my arms. “You still ignore instructions.”
Something unreadable flickers across his expression.
Then it's gone quickly.
Then, “Some things survive.”
The words land strangely. Before I can answer he walks away.
Leaving heat. Memory. Annoyance.
I hate that all three feel similar.
“…Why do you fight with him like divorced parents?” Alessia asks immediately.
I nearly choke on my drink.
“What?”
Her eyes widen innocently.
“You heard me.” I stare at her.
Then laugh despite myself.
Because honestly, that might be the worst description anyone has given.
And somehow, the most accurate.