Mafia Ties & LA Skies

Chapter 5 - Eliza

As the hired private town-car crawls through the congested Los Angeles traffic, my heart pounds with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. It's been years since I've seen Matteo, and the thought of coming face to face with him at any moment has me on edge. Memories and questions swirl in my mind, leaving me feeling uneasy and unprepared for what's to come.

When I finally arrive at my family's estate, I march straight into the grand entrance without knocking. One of my father's men, dressed in the usual black suit, barely has time to acknowledge me with a nod as I stride through the opulent room. The ceramic mosaic tiles gleam back at me, and my stomach churns as the familiar scent of sterile cleaner hits my nose. Nothing has changed since I was last here. Nothing ever changes in this place. It still reeks of its fake luxurious façade, a mask covering the truths I've worked so hard to escape.

I pass through the rest of the house and reach the back entrance to the terrace, pausing to take a few meditative breaths. I try to rehearse what I'm about to say to my father, but my emotions get the better of me. I don't need a bodyguard, I keep telling myself. Why would I, after all these years? None of this makes sense. I've been perfectly fine living on my own, far removed from my father's world. People know me as Dr. Eliza Reed, not as the daughter of a mob boss. There's no need for this excessive protection.

With a few steady breaths, I finally gather the courage to walk up the familiar path through the lush garden. I stop in my tracks when I see a tall, muscular figure standing beside my father, who's seated at his usual outdoor table, smoking a Cuban cigar. Matteo Russo stands tall and imposing, his chiseled features highlighted by the shadow of a dark beard gracing his strong jawline. His piercing hazel eyes are fixed on me, distant and guarded.

A flood of emotions overwhelms me as I lock eyes with him: anger, hurt, and bitterness intertwine with a flicker of longing buried deep within. Memories, both beautiful and painful, surge forward, forcing me to confront the past I've been trying so hard to bury.

My father turns to face me, oblivious to the storm brewing inside me. "Ah, mia angioletta," he greets in his deep baritone voice, rich with an Italian accent.

Dressed in his usual tailored white suit, meticulously pressed, he approaches me with open arms. His salt-and-pepper hair, slicked back with a hint of silver at the temples, frames a face that speaks of experience and authority. His deep-set eyes pierce through me, and I'm frozen. I know he's expecting a warm welcome, but I stand there, stunned, denying him the traditional Italian greeting of a double-cheeked kiss.

All my anger at my father transforms into anxiety, and I'm at a loss for words. Somehow, I knew this would happen.

My father pauses, glancing between Matteo and me, as if piecing together my reaction. "I see that introductions aren't necessary," he says with a knowing smile.

With every ounce of restraint, I try to control my racing heart, plastering on a facade of composed indifference. But deep down, I know the pounding in my chest isn't just from anger. "Why did you bring him back here?" I finally ask, my voice sharper than intended.

"Bella, you know I worry for you," my father says, stepping closer with what I sense to be a sympathetic look in my periphery, and I hate it.

"I know, papà. But I've told you thousands of times before, I don't need a bodyguard," I say, my tone firm and unyielding. "Especially not him." I continue to stare at Matteo, searching for any sign of emotion, but his face reveals nothing.

"I understand. This isn't how I wanted things to unfold either. But security is in question within my organization, and I needed someone I trust."

"And he's to be trusted?" I say, pointing toward Matteo. "After what he did to me all those years ago?"