Chapter 5

LUCA'S POV

WOMEN DIDN'T INTRIGUE ME ANYMORE.

But she did.

I knew from the moment I laid eyes on her that she wasn’t like the others.

There was something about the way her eyes were fixed—like she was always on guard like she had a purpose. The kind of woman who knew how to disappear when the wrong eyes found her. That intrigued me. She broke the curse.

That’s why I couldn't look away when she sat beside me, why I allowed myself to flirt with her like I had all the time in the world, even though my night was supposed to be about business, not pleasure.

She looked at me like she saw right through the charm, the façade, straight into the parts of me no one was supposed to see. And still, she didn’t pull away.

She leaned in.

That was my first mistake.

I should’ve walked away, let her slip back into the crowd like smoke through my fingers. But I didn’t. I took her hand, I let her into my car, I let her into my home—and for one night, I let her into my goddamn head.

And now I can’t get her out.

The night replayed in my mind, each kiss, each breathless sound she made, each time her body arched into mine like she couldn’t get close enough. It was hunger—desperate, unrestrained hunger—and it wasn’t just hers. It was mine too.

I’ve had my share of women. Too many to count, names I never bothered to remember, faces that all blurred together, but Elena—she was already burned into my memory, so vivid it was almost painful.

And all it took was one night.

But now she’s gone.

I woke to an empty bed, the sheets were cold beside me. For a minute, I thought maybe I’d dreamt her, that she was just some figment my mind conjured up after too many sleepless nights.

But the imprint of her body on the pillow was real. The faint scent of her skin still lingered in the air—floral, with a trace of something darker beneath, something that reminded me of rain-soaked streets and secrets whispered in the dark.

I pulled on my slacks, pacing the room with a cigarette between my fingers. I don’t usually smoke in my own place, but today, the silence was too loud.

I wanted answers.

“Matteo!” I barked, and within seconds, my right-hand man appeared in the doorway, already knowing better than to question the tone in my voice.

“She’s gone,” I said, as if that explained everything.

Matteo blinked, confused. “The girl from last night?”

I nodded, taking a slow drag before exhaling through my nose. “Find out who she is. Everything. Name, address, where she works, who she knows.” My jaw clenched. “I want to know what she was doing in that club.”

He didn’t ask why. Matteo knew me well enough to understand—when I fixate, it’s for a reason.

“Consider it done,” he said, disappearing down the hall.

I should’ve let it go. I should’ve written her off as a one-night distraction, a beautiful mistake, but something about her had burrowed under my skin, and the longer I stood there, the more it festered.

An hour later, Matteo returned, a folder tucked under his arm. The look on his face told me I wasn’t going to like what he found.

“She’s… nobody,” he said, flipping open the file and tossing it onto the counter. “Elena Russo, works as a waitress at that little Italian place on 5th, no criminal record, no known affiliations, just an ordinary girl.”

Ordinary?

Bullshit.

There was nothing ordinary about the way she carried herself, the sharpness in her eyes, the way her smile never quite reached her mouth. Ordinary girls don’t vanish before sunrise without leaving a trace.

“She working tonight?” I asked.

Matteo glanced at his phone. “Should be. Want me to—”

“No,” I cut him off. “I’ll handle this myself.”

---

The restaurant was a dead end.

Futile effort.

I sat in the corner, nursing an espresso I didn’t even want, waiting for her to appear, but she never did. One of the older waitresses—Maria, I think her name was—kept eyeing me like she knew exactly who I was and exactly why I was there.

But she didn’t say a word.

When it became clear Elena wasn’t coming in, I left a fat tip on the table and stepped out onto the sidewalk, the cold air slicing through me despite the rising sun. My mood was shot, my patience thin, and I was halfway through deciding whether to have Matteo drag her to me when fate intervened.

I spotted her through the window of a tiny corner coffee shop, the last place I expected her to be, tucked into a booth with her hair pulled into a loose bun, wearing a worn leather jacket, and sipping something too fancy for my taste.

For a second, I just stood there, watching her.

She looked different in the daylight—softer, less like the siren who dragged me under last night, and more like someone I could almost convince myself I knew.

Almost.

I pushed open the door, the bell above it chiming. She didn’t look up right away, too lost in whatever thoughts were eating her alive. When she finally noticed me, her fingers tightened around her cup, but her face stayed unreadable.

“Elena,” I said, voice low, but in the quiet shop, it carried.

She set her cup down carefully like she was afraid it might shatter if she moved too fast. “Luca.”

Hearing my name from her mouth did something to me, something I liked, but didn't like either.

“What a beautiful coincidence it is." She said, taking another sip.

I raised my brows at her. “Oh! Is it now?"

“Do you always track down your one-night stands?” she asked instead of answering my question, her voice was cool and calm.

“Only the ones who leave without saying goodbye.” I leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes locked on hers. “Do you mind?”

“Do I?” She tilted her head, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “What if I do?”

I smirked. “Too bad,” I said. “I’m not done with you yet.”

And judging by the way her breath caught in her throat, neither was she.