She was lost in this fragile sense of accomplishment when the door opened. A man stepped inside. Her eyes flicked up. The resemblance was uncanny, impossible to miss. His features were angular, commanding—almost as if he had opened his mouth and spat out Luca.
There was the same intensity in his eyes, the same movements, the same predatory grace. He was Don Genovese, the patriarch, the one who had shaped the world Luca now moved through with both ease and peril.
"Hospital meals have always been yuck. I thought it was only in Vienna; seems the same applies here too," Don said.
"Hello," Veronica said cautiously.
"I'm guessing you know who I am," he said, his gaze sweeping over her assessing.
"It's hard not to if you know Luciano Genovese," she replied, lifting her chin slightly.
"And yet you look at me like you would want to aim a gun at me," Don said, a small tilt to his lips, amusement threading his deep, commanding voice.
