Chapter 4

Emilia woke with the splashes of water to her face, and the words of the cook, her mama

“Come on girl, wake up”, 

Emilia layed on the floor of the grand kitchen of Luca’s sprawling mansion. The air was thick with the aroma of garlic and herbs, blending oddly with the distant, low hum of mafia business conversations drifting through the walls. Her eyes locked onto the woman standing above her—a woman with tired eyes and hands marked by years of hard work. Her mama was much older now but yet still looked the same. The unmistakable warmth of familiarity hit Emilia like a tidal wave.

“Mama?” Emilia’s voice trembled, barely above a whisper.

The woman’s eyes filled slowly with tears, a mixture of shock and disbelief clouding her face. “Isadora?” she echoed, voice cracking with emotion. “Is that really you?”

The world seemed to tilt as memories rushed back—days of waiting, nights of tears, and the cruel absence that had shadowed her entire life. Emilia’s mind spun. How had her mother ended up here, in Luca’s house, cooking meals for the man who ruled the underworld and the man who now had some sort of  vengeance against her sister?

“No mama, Emilia. It’s me Emilia”. Her mother always preferred Isa and Nico to her but she was genuinely happy to see her.

Boots clicked against the floor a moment later. Luca strolled in, shirt half-buttoned, hair tousled in that deliberate, devil-may-care way that never failed to make him look like he'd just stepped out of a portrait painted with mischief. Luca watched from the doorway, his expression unreadable, but his eyes flickered with something Emilia couldn’t quite place. Perhaps surprise, or maybe the faintest hint of glee. He stepped forward, his presence commanding yet restrained.

“Well, well,” Luca murmured, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re not the first to swoon over me, micetta, but I think you might be the first to actually hit the floor.”

The cook huffed. “Not everything’s about you.”

“Oh noona, you know everything in this house, in this town is about me” he walked towards Giuseppina, her mother who is apparently his noona, and planted a kiss on her forehead. This side of Luca is one that she could swear absolutely no one else asides Peppina had experienced and maybe Marco.

“I didn’t know she was your grandmother,” Emilia said, as she steadied herself on the counter in the kitchen.

He leaned in a little, lowering his voice as if sharing a delicious secret. “You are up late, don’t you think? Heard something you weren’t meant to hear? Maybe saw something through a keyhole that wasn’t exactly... meant for public viewing?, perhaps my playtime with Carmela?”

Emilia blinked, her cheeks flushing a deeper crimson, and Luca chuckled—low, wicked, but not unkind.

“Tsk. Fainting over a little intimacy. What would your mother say?”

“Luca!” the noona snapped, scandalized.

He stood, brushing invisible dust from his knees. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep her secret. Provided she stops collapsing in my kitchen.”

Then, with a wink that was far too charming for anyone’s good, he sauntered out of the kitchen like nothing at all had happened, but something had happened, Emilia was more confused than ever.

 “Noona?. Mama?? My mama?”, a tear escaped her eyes but she quickly wiped it off before her mama could see her. She remembered how much her mama hated her crying.

“Mama you really need to expla—“ 

“What are you doing here Emilia? How did you get tangled into Luca’s world?” her mother’s word were calm, filled with concern and worry.

“The real question mama is how you are here!?! you left us with papa all these years, everything that has happened……… is because you left mama”

The woman’s lips trembled. “I didn’t want to bring more pain into your life. Leaving was the hardest choice I ever made.”

Emilia swallowed the lump in her throat. “Then why now? Why here? Why Luca?”

Before her mother could answer, the door creaked open and a shadow stepped inside. Marco’s  voice cut through the silence, cold as usual, Luca wants you eating in the dining area. Now.

One of the serving girls dished out her food and carried it out to the dining area. But before Emilia stepped out with Marco her mother whispered into her ears “you cannot let him know that I am your mother, at least not yet.”

Emilia glanced at Luca who was sitting at the far end of the very long dinner table.

“Your ego must really proud of this table” she said with sarcasm but Luca continued his food without responding.

“So your noona—“

“Taci!, Non ti hanno mai insegnato le buone maniere?” Luca said irritated.

“Like I said earlier, i don’t understand a word you just said”

“Didn’t your family teach you any table manners? your mother? father? no one”

“You have no right to talk about my family Luca, don or not!” her response was stern and angry, but you could also hear how sensitive the topic was for her.

“If you’re going to be in this house, you’re going to have to learn the language micetta” Luca said simply while chewing his carrots.

Luca was back in his office while Emilia gave herself the tour of the house, she had been in the library for two hours now, lost between pages of different books she had picked up, mostly first edition books. She wondered who read all these book certainly not Luca, at least he didn’t seem like someone who reads anything outside of his business contracts. 

The scent of old paper clung to Emilia’s skin like perfume as she stepped into Luca’s home office, her arms cradling a small stack of weathered books. She lingered at the door for a moment, eyes adjusting from the dim amber light of the reading room to the crisp brightness pouring through the tall windows behind Luca’s desk.

He looked up from a scattered spread of papers, his tie loosened, sleeves rolled up. “What are you doing in here?” he said with his face still facing the papers on his desk.

“I found one of Isadora’s favorites. ‘The Secret Garden.’ She always underlined the sad parts.”he raised his head up in confusion to look at her “I was in the library”. 

“and you’ve come to give me a report of all the books you saw???”

“You don’t have to be—“

“I don’t have time for whatever drama you have for now, i already witnessed one in the kitchen earlier, and that’s enough.”

The air in the room thickened, as if even the sunlight paused to listen.

“I haven’t seen her since the winter before she left,” Emilia said quietly, moving to stand by the edge of the desk. “I remember that dinner with our papa, she wore a ridiculous velvet blazer with the gold buttons.”

Luca gave a dry laugh. “So your sister used to have a bad sense of fashion. Such an important information”

Emilia’s expression didn’t shift. 

A silence settled in again, more deliberate this time. Luca leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin.

“I still hear from her,” Emilia added after a beat. “In a way. There’s this birthday card… from a shop in Barcelona. They send one every year, without fail. Same style. Same little note tucked inside. 'Still watching the stars with you.' She paid them in advance. Years ago.”

Luca sat forward slightly, his brow furrowing. “You just thought to share that with me?”

Emilia shrugged, eyes glassy but dry. “What would I say? That she remembered me in some transaction while forgetting how to say goodbye?”

He stood, crossed to her slowly. His hand hovered before he placed it gently on her shoulder. “ I can’t speak for her, but hopefully we are able to find her and then you can ask her all the questions you want in this world.”

“So you won‘t kill her…………?”

The door creaked just then, and both turned as Marco stepped inside. He gave Emilia a nod before shifting his eyes to Luca.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Marco said, voice clipped. “There’s movement. Dimitri Volkov resurfaced—private dock near Split, possibly arming up again.”

Luca’s hand dropped from Emilia’s shoulder. “How credible?”

“Enough. Satellite cross-checked. The Seraphim team’s running the rest.”

Luca’s jaw tightened. “Good. I want eyes on his men. No engagements unless necessary.”

Marco nodded once, then glanced at Emilia. “I didn’t mean to cut in.”

“You didn’t,” Emilia said softly, already backing toward the door, she wondered why Marco was being nice. She left with the same quiet she’d entered with, the whisper of her steps and the lingering scent of aged pages.

When she was back in her room, she couldn’t help but wonder why the name ‘Dimitri Volkov’ sounded so familiar to her.