L'amore: The Luminara Series (81 page)

I am confused.

I am empty.

I am vulnerable.

I am angry.

I am shocked.

I am exhausted.

I am hurt.

I am sick.

I am anxious.

And I am nervous.

Nervous of the unknown. Nervous of what tomorrow brings. Nervous my new found happiness will be taken from me. Nervous to become a mother. Nervous I might get hurt. Nervous Lucca might get hurt. Nervous of losing Lucca. Nervous of losing the baby. Nervous I get dragged back to Hell and becoming black.

Nervous of losing my light. Forever.

With that being said, I turn a page and write how I want to feel, how I imagine my happily ever after will be and will myself to believe I’m deserving of everything Lucca promises me.

I write about the lust, love, and light I feel for Lucca. I scribble meaningful words from deep within my heart and know this is how I want to feel. Always.

L’amore
.

The love is Lucca’s Love
.

It’s Lucca’s love that’s going to see me through the next chapter of my life and keep me in his light. His Luminoso.

I don’t know what my future holds, but I know this—I don’t intend to live my life in the dark. I need light. Our baby needs light. We need light.

I am loved.

I am in love.

I am loving.

I am confident.

I am carefree.

I am happy.

I am blessed.

I am positive.

I am bright.

I am grateful.

I am desirable.

I am secure.

I am strong.

I am safe.

I am protected.

I am complete.

When I read over the words I’ve scrawled, I realise Casey’s intentions by asking me to do this.

I am all these things with Lucca.

He has me.

He makes me feel.

Closing my journal, I turn around to see Mum back in her seat and writing in her own journal.

I place the pen down and watch her. No … I admire her. I’m so proud of her in this moment that she’s utilising the journal I bought her and hope it brings her the some comfort as it has done for me.

She’s an inspiration, and I’m glad to have her here with me. I don’t want her to suffer anymore. Alone.

We will get through this together with love.

Our love.

The love.

L’amore.

The End…

For Now

Michael Parks

Inferno Burning

After Michael arrived in Glasgow last week, he drove to the safety deposit box in the town centre to pick up his supplies left for him by his reliable source. He drove up north towards the Scottish Highlands on the warm Monday afternoon then swapped his hire car in Perth for a burgundy coloured estate car.

His reservation for the small room in Newtonmore was under the name of Uuka Benadi, the false South African Immigrant and whose name he would be using.
It’s far enough away from the church but still close enough for driving,
Michael thought, pleased with his location.

Michael unpacked his trolley case and holdall, stripping out of his stuffy, smart tailored clothes. He dressed in jeans and a casual tee. The owner of the guest house had offered him hot food, but he declined. Instead, he chose to eat sandwiches which he bought from the same shop where he picked up the hired vehicle. He did not want to get close to anyone while here. After all, this was a mission and he would do well to maintain privacy. Discretion was essential.

Michael brought up the blueprints of the church on his smart phone. The desolate forgotten crypt underneath the ancient church would be the perfect dungeon for torturing Alexis Roberston. He wanted to be prepared for meeting Cathy and desperately needed this position, so he studied the church’s undercroft and grounds. Michael knew it was a clever decision to use the church as a base, and it would be the making of his devious plan.

“Uprising,” he muttered, hissing through his teeth focusing on the diagrams.

It was not by coincidence that this church would be his target. The contacts that Damien Thomson assigned to scout out the area researched the inconspicuous location and discovered the crypt under the chancel.

Somewhere out of prying eyes, somewhere underground, and somewhere sacred.

Symbolic.

The next morning Cathy offered him the position of groundsman and caretaker until the Church of Scotland sent a replacement. She gave him the tour, rambling on about the history of the church, the local area, and even about his retired predecessor. Michael remained impassive and quiet. He kept to himself and went about landscaping the lawns and gravesides. Cathy gave him a key to the church, and he spent the next week staying until late into the night.

He set up an area in one of the cavern like rooms within the crypt with all his tools, and sourced an old mattress and other supplies. He would eat and occasionally sleep in the dungeon undercroft.

Cathy’s manse was off limits for now—she had cleaners and church elders frequenting and various visits from members of her congregation. He didn’t want to raise suspicion, so he deliberately stayed out of Cathy’s way. She was of no use in this mission.

Until his first Sunday …

Michael’s source had discovered Grace Robertson’s address on some private acres uphill just outside the village. He drove to the property to assess. He watched patiently. He was looking for patterns and routines. His plan was to enter the property when everyone had left then he would search out information on the evil little bastard whore Alexis.

He was forced to leave when he noticed security of some sort standing on the front porch behind two black SUVs. He realised then that the family must have protection, which would mean that they were aware he was in the country. This complicated matters and made things more challenging. He would need to stay underground in the crypt and perhaps seek assistance from his contact.

While Cathy performed her Sunday service, Michael exited the vestibule and sat on a bench around the back of the church. After smoking three Marlboro cigarettes, contemplating what his next step would be, he closed his eyes, until the heavens opened up and unleashed an almighty torrential downpour.

He entered the vestibule and lifted his long black coat and golf umbrella. Exiting the church to cross the graveyard, something caught his eye. Through the lashing, wet rain he stared in disbelief, gritting his teeth together and clenching his fists until his knuckles were white. He bite so damn hard on his lip that he drew blood.

Blood … sweet blood!

He couldn’t be positive but instinct told him the vision of beauty staring at him could be Alexis, the whore from his past. He never thought of her as his half-sister; the thought made him sick. She wasn’t worthy of that title because she had taken his father’s life, her own father’s life. He thought of her as a piece of fucking scum who should never have been born and who deserved to pay and suffer for her sins.

The brunette beauty turned around and stared at Michael. Those timid chocolate eyes made her look like deer caught in the headlights, as if she instinctively sensed his presence. There was no mistaking those eyes. Fear.

It was her.
It had to be
, Michael thought.

This was his only chance, so he had to follow her to confirm his suspicions. The tall, bulky, dark haired man holding his blazer jacket above her head was not the brother because he kissed her on the lips. He had to be her partner.

Well shit!

“Inter-fuckin-fering son of a bitch,” Michael cursed, then he noticed the same black SUV that was outside Grace’s house this morning. “Fuckin’ entourage.” He hissed.

He would need to follow the vehicle to be sure. Not wanting to lose his chance, he turned on his heels and headed for his own hidden car parked on the side of the church out of view. He followed the ridiculous fucking sports car and black SUV into a gas station.

“Rich bastard,” he spat, watching the motherfucker driving an Aston Martin. He was sure the girl caught a glimpse of him, so he used the opportunity to drive off before she realised it was him.

He spent the next two days following the girl. He couldn’t get too close because of the rich bastard and the arsehole pricks protecting her. Each time he thought of her at the stables, his cock was instantly hard. The image of the whore with those little denim shorts on hugging her tight little ass and those long dark legs and her hair in a braid imprinted into his mind. He visualised yanking coarsely at that very braid while he brutally took her from behind and tore her apart.

He reached the climax of his masturbation, spitting her name as rage fuelled his whole body imagining her incoherent screams. He slumped on the mattress in the inhospitable crypt and devised a new approach.

It was time for a new tactic. Michael took advantage when the minister disappeared. He trashed the manse, ensuring it looked like a breaking and entering, searching for information about the rich bastard. He would need to study this fucker in order to get to the girl. Find his strengths and weaknesses and every detail right down to his national insurance number.

Nothing …

He couldn’t find anything of importance and assumed the rich bastard wasn’t from here. He was about to give up when something piqued his interest, finding crumpled wrapping paper in the trash can. He studied the brown paper and found an address on the back, a church in Uddingston, South Lanarkshire.

He copied the address then placed the paper back in the bin. He called his contact and gave him the registration number of the flashy fucking sports car the bastard had been driving around in to see what came up. He waited patiently back at the room in the guesthouse.

He opened a bottle of vodka and slugged it down just as his phone alerted him of mail. Scrolling through, he found all the details he needed.

The empire—Osurac Industries flagged.

Property … Health … Fitness … Club di Energia … Construction … Property … Italian … Hospitality … Entertainment … Restaurants … Events …

The next paragraph detailed a chain of clubs linked to Lucca Caruso.

Luminara …

Bingo!

He finished the rest of the vodka, allowing the poison to burn through his veins while he formed his plan with vengeance. Michael knew he wouldn’t get close to Alexis here with her protectors around her, so he needed to lure her to him, all in good time, and the rich bastard’s empire was somewhere to start. He would find something or someone to use as leverage. In the meantime, he would taunt, intimidate, and emotionally scar her. If she were vulnerable and pathetically weak, she would be easier to break before he shattered her.

Deleting the information, he threw his belongings into a bag and looked for another fake identity and credit card. Before heading to Glasgow for his new mission, he had some business he would take care of first.

He cast his mind back to the stables, his cock straining against his jeans.

The inferno burning.

Heat flaring.

Flames scorching.

Fire blazing.

The stables.

He would leave her a message that she would not forget.

“Fucking Bitch. Fucking rich, useless bastard and her meddling, godforsaken family,” he spat after he wiped his release from his lower abdomen then fisted the wall in rage.

Patience. He would wait.

He’d hurt the ones closest to her and lure her to him. He’d torture her and keep her in misery until her time was up and she begged for life to be taken from her. Dark black was the colour of her life … and is the colour of her
afterlife.