Chapter Five: Luca

She smelled like wildflowers and war.

I watched her walk away, every step a silent rebellion, every sway of her hips a reminder that some ghosts don’t stay buried. Sofia Mancini wasn’t supposed to be here. Not in my town. Not in my vineyard. Not in my memory. And yet, here she was—beautiful, bitter, and breathing fire like she always had.

I leaned against the crumbling stone of the chapel and closed my eyes.

She asked me why I cared.

As if I could stop.

She doesn’t know what she walked into, I thought. And I don’t know how to get her out without bleeding all over both of us.

The truth? I hadn’t meant to see her. I’d tried to forget her. But when you grow up with someone—when you lose your first fight and win your first kiss with them—you don’t just erase that. Especially not when that person ends up caught in a storm you helped build.

The Volpe name had resurfaced two months ago. Rumors turned into patterns. Patterns into names. And one of those names was hers. Sofia hadn’t just stumbled back into my life. Someone wanted her here.

And I had a feeling I knew why.

But I wasn’t ready to tell her that. Not yet.

Not until I figured out whether protecting her meant bringing her closer—or pushing her away for good.

Back at the estate, the vines were alive with late summer heat. The workers nodded as I passed, and I kept my expression unreadable, cold. That was the version of me they needed: steady, brutal, untouchable.

Not the man who still remembered the shape of a girl’s laugh from seventeen years ago.

I headed straight for the lower cellar—my favorite hiding place—and grabbed the thick folder I’d hidden beneath a stack of invoices. Inside were photos, maps, and records. A list of Volpe’s known operations. A scribbled note in the bottom corner: “Florence. Shipment intercepted. Suspect collaboration from an internal family source.”

My jaw clenched.

The Morettis didn’t leak.

At least, we weren’t supposed to.

The thought that someone inside the family might be feeding Volpe information made my stomach twist. And worse? If Volpe had already marked Sofia, he either believed she was useful—or disposable.

Neither sat well with me.

My phone buzzed.

It was Matteo, my youngest brother.

Matteo: She back?

I stared at the screen.

Me: She is.

Matteo: You okay?

I didn’t answer.

Because no, I wasn’t okay.

I hadn't been okay since the night her father died and her name was erased from every piece of paper connecting the Mancinis to our world.

And I’d had to lie to her face today.

Because the truth?