Novel Luca Novels & Stories

LUCA "We are here," Luca said as the car rolled to a stop in front of the most beautiful villa I had ever set my eyes on. For someone who had been planning for a long time to go on a trip, I had certainly done a bad job making my own dreams come true. I turned to Luca to see him turn off the engine of the car that had been waiting for us at the airport. He had taken the keys from the driver and told the man to go home. If he weren’t my husband, I would have certainly been scared for my life.

If I wanted answers—real answers—I’d have to get close to Luca. Luca Del Vecchio. His name had been whispered in every corner of this city—the billionaire who threw extravagant charity galas by day and ran the city’s underworld by night. No one said it outright, of course. You didn’t accuse Luca of anything if you wanted to live to see the sunrise.

He was still seated, relaxed, fingers steepled, watching me like I was a curious animal that had wandered into the wrong cage. “This is the underworld,” Luca continued calmly. “My world.” A pause as he slowly put away his cigar. “So nobody leaves until I allow it.” The words settled into my chest like a weight. Slowly, I released my grip on Carla and eased back into the empty chair beside her. The bald man stepped aside but didn’t move far. Carla flopped back into her seat with a pleased hum, completely oblivious. “Good,” Luca said, nodding. “Now we can continue.”

Pulling out a chair by the table, I press on, “Hey, Tilly. I need to talk to you about Ginger.” Luca tugs a book from the shelf closest to him. On the cover is an illustration of an old man with a bushy beard holding what looks like a spear. The book is titled Death to Those Who Sleep. “Brutal,” Luca murmurs, stuffing it back. “Tilly?” I try again. Luca falls down on a seat across from me, snorting. “What sort of stupid name is Tilly? Kind of reminds me of a—” A sturdy, thick, leather-bound book flies from a shelf and hits Luca on the back of the head. He bolts up from the chair he’s been sitting on, spitting out a slew of a colorful choice of words worthy to land him detention. “What the he

Damian said as he shoved a gun towards him, Luca turned his eyes to the gun then back to Damian. “You seem to be confused,” Luca said with a small smile curving his lips “I've been in this world a lot longer than you think.” “Good.” The car came to a halt and the two men at the front stepped out and shut their doors then after a couple seconds there was a knock at Damian's window that signaled for him to come out, He stepped out gracefully and Luca followed, Flinching as the bright light hit his eyes, He covered his eyes for a few seconds, letting them get used to the sudden change in light and when he took his palm away from his eyes he saw that he was in a place he had never seen before.

A sadness he was trying to hide. I tucked that away. I’d ask Matteo about it later. Luca stepped closer, folding his arms with a curious tilt of his head. “So, what are my girls talking about up here?” GreenLee beamed. “Your new daughter is one of my favorite authors.” Luca blinked. “Authors?” “Spicy romance,” Mama added proudly. “The ones we’ve been reading.” Matteo’s head snapped toward me, eyes wide with amusement. “Spicy, huh?” He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. “That explains all your… research.”

the senior partner urges warmly, completely unaware of the shift in the room… or perhaps choosing to ignore it. Luca steps forward in a calm and unhurried way. Like he wasn’t just standing at the edge of a storm. Like he didn’t just walk into a room where every single person is watching him… measuring him… waiting to see how quickly he’ll crumble. My gaze doesn’t leave him, not for a second. “Everyone,” the senior partner continues, straightening slightly, “this is Lucas Santis. Top of his class, the best student in his faculty, and ....”

"Bianca, letting go of Luca doesn't mean I forgive you. You wanted the title of Mrs. Moretti. Now it's yours. Sit in it." She sank onto the floor, tears falling in heavy drops. Before she was dragged out, she said hoarsely, "Luca is being sent to the Detroit docks. The old Don is making him clean up the Voss mess there. It's ugly. He might not come back." I held Mia and felt nothing move inside me. "Then that's his road." After that, Luca disappeared for a long time. Some said he was collecting debts on the Detroit docks for the Morettis. Others said he had taken a few men to seize one of the old Voss warehouses and nearly died in the gunfight, trying to earn back even a scrap of standing.

The room was quiet, smelling faintly of old paper and polish, its tall windows letting in slanted beams of afternoon light. The shelves stretched floor to ceiling, filled with histories, law books, and novels in Italian she was getting to understand little by little. She wasn’t really reading. She turned the same page over and over until the words blurred. She was lost in thought when footsteps broke the silence. She looked up quickly, heart stuttering, hoping against reason it was Dante. But it wasn’t. It was Luca. He strolled in with easy confidence, hands in his pockets, his jacket unbuttoned like he owned the place. “Ah,” he said lightly, “I should have guessed you’d hide in here.”

Luca considered this with the genuine thoughtfulness that lived underneath his easy manner, the part of him that observed carefully and formed accurate assessments and usually kept them to himself unless he had decided to deploy them. "He laughs," he said. "Not often. Not loudly. But it happens and it's real when it does." He looked at me steadily. "It didn't happen before. Not in the last several years." A pause. "And he's home at seven. He hasn't been reliably home at any hour for as long as I can remember. The work used to take everything. He let it." I sat with that. "He also argues about books," Luca added. "Which I have never witnessed in my life. He called me last week to tell me I wa