Chapter 1 - The Manhattan Rain
The double glass doors of Duca Tower slid open to reveal a city drowning in a cold, relentless October downpour. Yellow cabs crawled down Lexington Avenue like sluggish neon beetles through sheets of gray spray, their horns muted by the storm.
Clare pulled her cream-colored trench coat tighter around her shoulders, shivering slightly as the damp wind swept across the marble portico. The diamond engagement ring sat heavy and cold inside her pocket, wrapped tightly in a tissue like something toxic she couldn't bear to touch anymore.
Luca stood beside her, his tall, tailored frame blocking the wind with the effortless stillness of a monument. He didn't offer her his umbrella—he knew she would refuse it out of stubborn pride—instead, he simply raised two fingers toward the street.
Within three seconds, a black Lincoln Navigator materialized from the line of crawling traffic, idling smoothly against the curb. The rear door clicked open, and Dante, Luca’s head of security and driver, leaned across the leather seat with an expectant look.
“You don't have to do this, Luca,” Clare said, her voice strained as she stared at the flashing screen of her phone, which was vibrating against her thigh once more. Evan. The name felt like an anchor dragging her down into deep, dark water.
“I’m not doing anything,” Luca replied, his dark, unreadable eyes fixed on the rain-streaked pavement. “A car is idling. You are standing in the freezing rain looking like a ghost. Basic human decency dictates that I offer you shelter. The Duca family name has nothing to do with it.”
Clare let out a sharp, humorless breath. “Right. Basic human decency. The phrase sounds strange coming from a man whose portrait is currently framed in half the financial crime blogs in the tri-state area.”
“The blogs exaggerate,” Luca said calmly, though a faint, ghost-like shadow of a smile touched the corner of his lips. “Get in the car, Clare. Your phone has rung twelve times in the last ten minutes. If you get into a yellow cab right now, you will spend the entire thirty-block ride staring at a screen you don't have the energy to answer. Let Dante drive.”
She looked at him, really looked at him—at the sharp lines of his jaw, the cool intelligence in his dark eyes, and the absolute, terrifying stillness that defined him. For four years, she had managed his chaotic professional life, coordinating billion-dollar real estate acquisitions and scheduling meetings with men who made ordinary executives tremble. She knew every side of Luca Duca except the one standing right here in the rain, watching her with a level of focused attention that made her skin tingle.
Without another word, Clare ducked her head and slid into the warm leather interior of the Lincoln.
Luca didn't get in. He closed the door gently behind her, leaned down to look through the tinted window, and tapped twice on the glass.
May you like
Dante shifted the car into drive. As they pulled away from the curb, Clare looked back through the rear window. Luca was still standing under the glass canopy, watching her car disappear into the Manhattan traffic, hands buried deep in the pockets of his charcoal wool coat, a solitary silhouette against the storm.
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