Sold to Moretti Mafia

Claire

The weekend passes way too quickly. Hope and I spend the entire time locked in my bedroom binge-watching Riverdale and talking about winter formal. I’m not going, not because I don’t have a date or a guy interested in me. It’s because anything with loud music, the dark, or crowds gives me anxiety.

When I arrive at school, I climb the steps and find Hope is waiting for me at my locker. Her blonde hair is like a beacon of light. She smiles when she sees me, and I tighten my hold on my backpack.

“Good morning. I feel like I just saw you.” Hope cocks her head to the side. A second passes, and we both break out into laughter.

“It couldn’t have anything to do with the fact that you literally saw me yesterday?”

“Nah, definitely not that.” She shakes her head.

I slip my backpack off my shoulder and get my books out, putting everything in its perfect spot inside my locker. My first class is English and one that I enjoy a lot, minus the wicked witches in the class.

“I feel like I’m doing something wrong by not coming with you to English. We’ve been connected at the hip all weekend.” Hope pouts as I grab my books and close my locker.

“You’ll survive.” I smile.

Together we walk to class, Hope waves goodbye when we part ways, and I slip into Mr. Daniels’ classroom. As soon as I step inside, I know something is wrong. The usual seats of the three wicked witches are empty. Nervous anxiety twists in my gut.

With hesitant steps, I take my seat, but I’m unable to look away from their desks. It’s not likely that all three of them are sick. No, something else happened. More students trickle into the room, taking their time to reach their seats. Mr. Daniels sits in the room’s corner behind his desk, his face void of emotion as his eyes move over us. After a moment, Mr. Daniels stands and moves from behind his desk.

“Take your seats. Your time to socialize ended the moment you walked through my classroom door.”

A few students shake their heads, but after another minute, everyone’s in their seats and quiet. I open my book to the last chapter we read in class and prepare to take notes.

“As you can see, there are three empty seats in the class today. To save you the trouble of figuring out what happened. I’m going to tell you myself.” There is a long pause, probably added for dramatics, and it makes the ache in my gut more profound. I already know something bad happened. “The girls have transferred to another school.”

Transferred? Ha, no. This is something else. Anger replaces my previous emotions. Lucca had something to do with this. I know it. It isn’t the first time he’s meddled in my life, and I don’t like it. It makes me feel like I can’t fend for myself.

Like I need him to protect me when I don’t.

The rest of the students don’t even blink at what Mr. Daniels said, but I have to wonder if Lucca had them killed or taken somewhere. I’ve heard stories about him, about what he does and who he works for. The mob doesn’t just transfer people. They dispose of them, make them disappear.Content (C) Nôv/elDra/ma.Org.

Would he kill three girls, who, yes, were mean bitches, but just kids? Yes, yes, he would. He killed my father, so he would kill anyone in my eyes. I find it hard to concentrate but force myself to. I can’t let Lucca ruin my day, can’t let him cloud my mind. I’ll never know the answers to the questions I have, so there isn’t any point in dwelling on them.

Lucca will never show himself in my life again, and part of me is grateful for that, while another part of me is curious to see him again.

* * *

Before I know it, lunch is here. Hope gets roped into helping a new student, so I grab my tray of food and head outside. I don’t have many friends, and I’m not going to subject myself to finding a table in this crowded lunchroom.

Instead, I turn to the right and head out the doors that lead outside. There’s a tree a few yards away, and I choose to eat my lunch there. A soft breeze blows through my hair, and I sigh, leaning back against the bark while eating my apple.

My phone buzzes in the pocket of my hoodie, and I half expect it to be Hope calling to yell at me for not being more ambitious and finding a spot in the lunchroom. Color me shocked to see that it isn’t her, but an unknown number.

I stare at the screen, wondering if I should answer it. Something tells me to let it go to voicemail, but curiosity nags on me more. Against my better judgment, I hit the answer key. Holding my breath, I bring the phone to my good ear and listen intently.

“Hello, butterfly.” The air in my lungs stills and my heart skips a beat. His voice is rich, gravely, and deeper. The maturity of it reminds me of how long it’s been since I’ve heard him.

For a few seconds, I’m rendered speechless, and when I find my voice again, anger has replaced my shock about Lucca calling me. How dare he just call me out of the blue after six years.

“Don’t call me that,” I growl, holding the phone a little tighter. I should just hang up. Yeah, hang up and never talk to him again.

He breathes into the phone. “I’m sorry. I know you’re angry with me.”

I snort, but nothing I’m about to say is funny. “Angry? No, I’m not angry. I want you to leave me alone. Don’t you think you’ve done enough? Caused me enough pain?”

“My intentions weren’t to hurt you, and I know I did.” Why is he admitting these things? I toss my apple down onto the tray of half-eaten food.

“Stop admitting your wrongs. Why did you call me? Why now? What do you want?” I hiss through my teeth. My cheeks feel hot, and I hate the way my stomach clenches every time he speaks. It reminds me of who he used to be, how much those moments with him meant to my young self. I should’ve known how dangerous he was then, but I didn’t. I just wanted a friend.

“I’m only calling to check on you.”

“You don’t need to check on me, and you’ve never called before.”

“Don’t be like that, butterfly.”

I grit my teeth to stop myself from lashing out. I hate that he still calls me by the name he called me when I was ten years old. Looking out into the courtyard, I let the silence between us drag on.

“I’m only trying to protect you, Claire.” He shatters the silence.

“How? By killing people? Did you kill those girls? They didn’t transfer, did they?” I accuse.

Lucca chuckles. “I didn’t hurt them. I just made them leave. I’m not that heartless that I would kill three high school kids for bullying, but I made you a promise that day in the hospital, and I’m a man of my word. I’ll always protect you, even from a group of mean girls.”

His words would be heartfelt if I didn’t hate him for ruining my life.

“I don’t want your protection.” I shove a loose strand of bright red hair behind my ear. “Actually, I don’t need it. I’m fine. I want you to leave me alone.”

“You don’t know what you need,” Lucca interjects, annoyance dripping from his voice.

“I’m not a child. My childhood died the day my father did,” I bite out, knowing it’s a jab that will hit him right where it hurts. Plus, it’s a lie. My childhood died long before that day.

When he doesn’t say anything right away, I add, “I’m not asking you to stop following me. I’m telling you.”

“No.”

“No?” I challenge.

“No. I couldn’t stop, not even if I wanted to. Your protection is the most important thing to me. I’m not going anywhere, Claire, and nothing you say or do will change that.”

The possessive tone of his voice makes me shiver, and I know he’s not lying, he’s never going to stop following me or protecting me.