CHAPTER 157: FREEDOM, WITH CONDITIONS

The low hum of voices slipped through Luca’s half-sleep, pulling him awake.

He rolled over, blinking at the sunlight spilling through the curtains, then stilled—one of the voices was his father’s, deep and familiar, but the other...softer, edged with a laugh he hadn’t heard in weeks—teasing, familiar.

"Uncle Jeff?" he whispered to himself, already sitting up.

Padding across the room, he splashed water on his face and ruffled his hair into some semblance of order before tiptoeing downstairs.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee and toasted bread met him halfway.

From the kitchen doorway, he spotted them—his dad at the counter, coffee mug in hand, and beside him, Jeff, dressed sharp as always, tie a little crooked, glasses glinting in the morning light.

"Look who finally decided to wake up," Jeff teased, spotting him first. "Morning, champ."

Luca broke into a grin. "Uncle Jeff! You didn’t even warn me you were coming."

Jeff spread his arms wide, and Luca crossed the room for a hug."Surprises are the only way to drag you out of your cave."

His father chuckled, stirring his coffee. "You’ve just missed their reunion ritual. He barged in here like he owned the place."

"And don’t I?" Jeff shot back, pulling out a chair and motioning for Luca to sit. "Besides, it’s been too long. You forget how much I keep this old man organized."

"Secretary is a generous word," his dad muttered, though his eyes softened in amusement.

Luca laughed, sinking into the chair. "You mean babysitter."

Jeff gave a mock bow. "Finally, someone tells the truth around here."

The kitchen filled with easy laughter, the kind that rolled over years of familiarity.

Luca leaned back, soaking in the moment.

Mornings like this—warm, unexpected, filled with voices he loved—felt rare, and he wanted to hold onto it a little longer.

Luca slid into his chair, still rubbing the last bit of sleep from his eyes.

His father pushed a plate of toast toward him with a small smile, while Jeff poured an extra splash of milk into Luca’s mug without asking—just as he always had.

"Still half-asleep, huh?" Jeff murmured, nudging the mug closer.

"I was dragged out of bed by voices I didn’t expect to hear," Luca said, smirking faintly as he lifted the coffee.

His father raised a brow over his newspaper. "Dragged? I thought my voice was a pleasant alarm."

Jeff chuckled low. "Depends who you ask."

They ate with the familiar rhythm of people who had shared countless mornings together.

Luca’s father skimmed headlines aloud, occasionally shaking his head, while Jeff leaned close, slipping in a comment under his breath that made Luca stifle a laugh.

"Careful," Luca muttered, keeping his voice low so his father couldn’t catch. "If he notices, he’ll know we’re up to something."

Jeff hid his grin behind his mug, eyes gleaming with the kind of mischief that made Luca feel ten again.

His father glanced up, suspicious. "What conspiracy am I missing?"

"Nothing," both answered at once, their tones too quick, too alike.

The old man narrowed his eyes, but after a beat, he shook his head and went back to his paper.

Luca bit into his toast, shoulders easing, while Jeff gave him a sly wink as though sealing some unspoken pact.

The plates were cleared, coffee cups nearly empty, and the quiet hum of the morning settled over the dining room.

Luca leaned closer to Jeff, his voice barely above a breath.

"You tell him for me," he murmured, fingers drumming lightly against the rim of his cup.

Jeff gave him a sidelong look, one brow arched. "You’re his son, Luca. He’ll listen to you. More than he ever would to me."

Luca sighed, eyes dropping to the half-moon stain of coffee at the bottom of his cup. "That’s the problem. He listens too much. Or maybe... not enough."

Jeff chuckled softly, shaking his head, but his eyes softened. "Stop stalling. You’ll be fine."

Across the room, his father had settled into the couch, a newspaper open in his hands, glasses sliding slightly down his nose.

He looked so at ease, almost content.

That made Luca’s chest tighten.

They lingered by the table, their whispers weaving like secrets, until his father finally lowered the paper.

His eyes flicked between them, sharp with curiosity.

"You two," he said, tapping the folded edge of the paper with one finger, "are plotting something. I can hear it in the way you’re whispering."

Luca froze mid-breath, caught like a child sneaking sweets.

Jeff smothered a grin behind his hand.

His father leaned back, gaze narrowing. "Well? Are you going to let me in on it, or keep looking guilty over there?"

Luca cleared his throat, shoulders stiff as he shuffled a step closer.

His father didn’t bother looking up, the newspaper spread open like a shield between them.

"I want to move out, Dad."

The paper didn’t even rustle at first. Then, with the faintest pause, his father folded it down and glanced over the rim of his glasses.

Luca’s stomach lurched, but he pushed through. "I want to be... independent."

(Independent. The word sat heavy on his tongue, though he wasn’t even sure what it meant beyond sounding brave.)

From across the room, Jeff groaned softly, dragging a hand down his face. "This isn’t how you say it," he muttered under his breath.

Luca’s father set the paper aside with deliberate calm, eyes fixed on his son. "You want to be independent... fine."

Luca blinked. "Wait... really?"

"Yes," his father replied, extending his hand across the table.

Luca frowned, hesitating. "What?"

"Hand me your cards."

The words landed like a slap. Luca froze. "Dad—" His eyes darted to Jeff, silently pleading for rescue.

His father didn’t flinch. "You want independence? Then you earn your own money. Pay your bills. Work hard. That’s how it’s done."

Luca’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again.

Finally, he backed away, returning to Jeff with his head lowered like a schoolboy caught in the act.

He whispered, "Is... is that what independent means?"

Jeff gave him a dry nod. "Mm-hm. And who told you to say that in the first place?"

"That’s why I wanted you to tell him," Luca muttered, sulking.

His father leaned back against the couch, crossing one leg over the other, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"So... independent, hm?" he said slowly, as though tasting the word. His eyes glinted with mischief. "Tell me, son, do you even know how to cook rice without burning the pot?"

Luca’s mouth opened, then shut. He shifted his weight awkwardly, glancing at Jeff for backup.

"Uh... I can try?"

"Mm-hmm," his father chuckled, shaking his head. "Independent boy doesn’t survive on ’trying.’ He survives on eating noodles for weeks until payday."

Jeff stifled a laugh from the corner.

"Dad, I’m serious," Luca protested, though his ears reddened.

"Oh, I know you’re serious. That’s why I’m asking—will you also be independent enough to iron your own shirts? or will the neighbors hear you wailing over a wrinkled collar?" His father tilted his head, clearly enjoying every flicker of panic across his son’s face.

Luca groaned. "You’re making fun of me."

"No, I’m training you," his father said smoothly, his lips twitching. "Step one: learn the difference between wanting freedom and earning it. Step two..." His eyes slid toward Jeff with a knowing glance. "...stop letting your friend here feed you lines."

Jeff, caught mid-smirk, raised both hands in surrender. "Hey, don’t look at me. I already told him to handle it himself."

Luca lingered by the arm of the chair, fingers flexing at his sides before he forced them still.

His throat tightened, but he steadied himself, planting his feet as though that alone could make his words firmer.

"I’m serious, Dad," he said, tone low but deliberate. "I want to move out because I need to focus on the internship. I don’t want to coast anymore—I want to start thinking about my future from now on."

His father tilted his head slightly, studying him with that unreadable calm that had always unnerved Luca more than any lecture.

The silence stretched before his father’s lips curved, the faintest shadow of a knowing smile.

"Your future, hm?" His father set his glasses down on the newspaper and leaned back, hands folded across his chest. "Tell me, Luca—does this sudden urgency have anything to do with a certain someone?"

The words landed like a stone dropped into still water.

Luca blinked, caught off guard, and swung his gaze toward Jeff as if searching for cover.

"You—" he hissed under his breath. "You told him, didn’t you?"

Jeff threw up his hands from across the room. "Don’t look at me, kid. He doesn’t need me to tell him anything—your dad knows you better than you think."

A flush crept across Luca’s neck, but his father only raised a brow, amusement glinting in his eyes. "I’ve watched you long enough, son. You think I don’t notice when something—or someone—changes the way you carry yourself?"

Luca’s jaw tightened, caught between embarrassment and determination.

He shifted his weight, forcing himself not to back down. "Fine. Maybe Noel made me realize I’ve been coasting. But the internship is still mine to fight for, and I want to stand on my own two feet."

For a long moment, his father said nothing.

Then, with the weight of finality, he nodded once. "Alright. You want to move out? I’ll allow it."

Luca’s eyes widened. "Really?"

"Yes," his father replied, voice steady but edged with steel. "But listen carefully, Luca—if you fail that internship, if you waste this chance... forget about your future. I won’t step in to save you."

The room held its breath.

Luca’s chest tightened at the warning, but for once, he didn’t flinch. Instead, he gave a small, firm nod. "Then I’ll prove I won’t fail."