She barely even let him touch her. Luca was a physical guy. Keeping his hands to himself was wicked hard work.
It had been fucking hot, though, in fact. Letting her have her way, holding himself back like that. A first for him, not taking any kind of control. But watching her move on him, feeling her loosen and begin to trust him a little—damn. Just damn.
And then she’d wrapped his arms around her and relaxed in his hold, her arms and hands over his, as if she had been holding herself with his body. It had been nothing more than a hug. Cuddling, which he fucking hated. And all he’d been able to think about was how good she felt, at ease with him, even in this little way.
And he ragged on Carlo for always wanting to be a hero. In the middle of the Apostle’s Creed, he chuckled. John, standing next to him, gave him a look, and he momentarily focused on the liturgy.
He wanted to see her again. He wanted her to let him hold her. He wanted her to want him to hold her. He wanted her to trust him enough to want his comfort.
Was it just the challenge? Was he that much of an asshole? If he was, he needed to figure that out and get gone, because it was obvious that he could really fuck her up if he kept up with her only for a win.
It felt like something else, though. It felt like it was her he wanted. She was brave and fierce, and something deep inside him responded hard to that.
What the holy fuck.
oOo
After Mass, as the family was standing on the walk outside of the church, mingling with parishioners and doing their face time with Father Michael, Uncle Lorrie came over and put his hand on Luca’s back.
“Come talk to us a minute, Luca.”
Luca’s spine tightened, but he nodded. With a quick glance at Carlo, who was watching, he followed Uncle Lorrie across the grounds to where Uncle Ben, Cousin Nick, and Fred Naldi stood. Their women were clustered at a distance, speaking with some of the other church ladies.
During Mass, the Uncles sat with their immediate families across the aisle from Carlo Sr.’s family. There was a separation between the branches of the family that was, in many ways, stark. But there was little separation in familial affection. Beniamino and Lorenzo Pagano, Luca’s father’s older brothers, had taken over their father’s business. Pagano Shipping became Pagano Brothers Shipping. And then they had added a new dimension to the business. The kind of dimension that didn’t end up in IRS filings.
Luca’s father had wanted no part of it, and he’d been allowed to branch off on his own, building Pagano & Sons Construction into a strong, successful, and respected legitimate business. He’d done well to keep the taint of the Uncles from his side of the pews. For the most part. But most of New England heard the name Pagano and made some judgments about any person carrying the name.
And there was some occasional crossover. Joey had dallied briefly as a runner for the Uncles before he’d been shot. Carlo had asked the Uncles for help a couple of times. And Carlo and Luca had gotten inadvertently tangled up with them when they’d tried to help Joey out of a fix. Now, because they had crossed into the Uncles’ business, they each owed a debt.
And it seemed that Luca’s marker was being called.
Uncle Ben and Uncle Lorrie were dapper, old-fashioned men, of average build or a bit smaller, both with thick, white hair and full mustaches, and always dressed impeccably. Probably four inches taller and eighty or more pounds heavier, Luca felt like an oaf standing next to them.
Nick, Lorrie’s son, was the oldest male cousin. He was six feet but not as bulky as Luca. He looked like a badass mofo, though, no mistake. He had a way of staring at you, his eyes piercing like blades, that made your balls crawl up into your belly. Nick had embraced the Pagano Brothers’ world, and he had risen through the ranks to become one of their most fearsome capos. Luca was a little worried about what was in store for him, if Nick was involved.
Fred Naldi was a typical old, round Italian guy, who’d had way too much cappicola in his life. As consigliere, his presence and Nick’s at this little confab suggested that whatever was going to be demanded of Luca would be more than a simple drop.
Uncle Ben extended his hand. “Luca. You look well. But you don’t own a tie?”
He was wearing dark boots, good jeans and a black button-down shirt. Church clothes, as far as he was concerned. “Sorry, Uncle. Not really much of a tie guy.”
“We show respect by the way we dress, nephew.” He shook his head. “But that’s your father’s problem.”
Actually, Luca thought, he was a grown fucking man and would wear what the fuck he wanted. As he had that thought, the helmet under his arm felt especially heavy.