Chapter 2

Luca’s POV

I stroll through Bohemian Galleries, hands tucked casually into the pockets of my tailored suit. The scent of varnish and aged wood lingers in the air. To the ordinary eye, this place is art, culture, prestige. To me, it’s a vault a facade for laundering billions.

My gaze lingers on a pair of paintings. One bathes the sea in molten gold as the sun dips beyond the horizon; the other cloaks the waves beneath a rising moon. Both alive. Both by the same hand.

Yasmine Fernandez.

The name curls on my tongue, soft, dangerous, intriguing. I already own several of her pieces. Looks like I’ll be adding more.

Despite leading the Rossi Family, the Cosa Nostra’s most powerful syndicate I’ve always loved art. Maybe it’s because beauty, unlike people, never betrays.

But beauty can also be a weapon.

“Boss.” My bodyguard approaches, eyes grim.

I sigh, irritated. They know not to disturb me here. “What is it?”

“A reporter was snooping around the casino. We caught him.”

A muscle ticks in my jaw. Reporters are pests. Loud pests. Dangerous pests.

“Where is he?”

“At the warehouse. Do we silence him?”

“No.” I glance back at the paintings, at the signature: Yasmine. “Killing him stirs up attention I don’t need. Teach him a lesson. Break enough bones to remind him he’s fragile. Then let him crawl away. And double security at the casino.”

“Yes, sir.” He bows out.

I study the painting again, the moonlit waves reflecting something familiar restless, endless, untamed.

Yasmine Fernandez. I whisper it again. The name feels like a promise. Or a threat.

*******

Yasmine’s POV

The taxi hums beneath me as New York blurs by, but I can’t stop hearing Nathan’s voice. His excuses. His betrayal.

I grip my tote tighter. Don’t cry, Yas. Not now.

“Matt, please,” I murmur into the phone. “Can I crash at your place tonight? Nathan… he’s been cheating.”

“What the fuck!” Matt’s outrage cuts through the line. Then his voice softens. “Of course, babe. You’re always welcome. Are you on your way?”

“Yes,” I sigh, my heart aching.

“Good. Just so you know, Mark’s here too. Hope that’s okay.”

“Of course. Thank you, Matt.”

When the cab pulls up to his building, I force myself out, legs shaky. The warmth of the lobby greets me, a contrast to the cold weight pressing on my chest.

Upstairs, laughter drifts from his apartment. For a second, I hesitate afraid to face anyone, afraid to break down. But I knock.

The door swings open instantly. Matt’s bright smile is there, the kind of smile that makes the world pause. “Yas! Get in here.”

The apartment smells of garlic and basil. Mark raises his beer from the couch. “Sorry about Nathan. But hey, you can stay here as long as you want.”

“Thanks,” I whisper, forcing a smile.

Matt gestures toward the kitchen. “I was making pasta. Come help. It’ll keep your hands busy.”

Grateful, I follow him. We fall into a rhythm chopping, stirring, tasting. It’s simple, grounding. His presence is steady, his words gentle.

“You deserve better, Yas,” he says finally, leaning against the counter. His blue eyes pin me with quiet sincerity.

I stir the sauce, voice low. “What if I never find better? What if I just… end up alone?”

He steps closer, his hand warm on my shoulder. “You will. The right person comes when you least expect it. For now, focus on yourself. Remember who you are outside of Nathan.”

I breathe in, shaky but steadier than before. “Thank you, Matt.”

He smiles. “Every ending is a new beginning. Trust me, something better is coming.”

I look at him, wanting to believe it.

And somewhere in the city, a man named Luca Rossi whispers my name.