Sofia sounded savage, and she didn’t bother to tame the darkness rising inside her.
“Look at me.”
She lifted her chin and held his gaze.
For a long moment, he just looked at her, and she saw a war raging behind his eyes. It was more than hesitation; it was a profound, gut-wrenching conflict.
“What is it, Tonio? Why do you look like that?”
“I’m wondering if I should help you.”
Sofia flinched, stunned. Of all the things she expected, this was not one of them. She held her breath, her entire world hanging in the balance of a decision she didn’t fully understand.“I…” She wanted to refuse, to say it was too dangerous for him—but he wouldn’t have offered if he feared danger. And she couldn’t forget how many times she’d sensed the predator beneath his skin.
“I will help you,” he said at last.
The words were rough, dragged from someplace deep and conflicted, as if he’d torn them out of himself to give them to her.
Guilt and doubt still pressed against her chest. “You could get hurt, and I—”
“I have the background necessary to keep myself safe. To keep you safe.”
“What background?” she asked, tension knotting her belly. “Military?”
“Yes. I did a tour as a Navy SEAL when I was eighteen.”
“Oh.”
Sofia’s breath caught. She remembered reading that SEAL selection was one of the most brutal training programs in the world, with only a tiny percentage making it through. They were trained for counterterrorism, hostage rescue, covert infiltration by sea, air, and land, reconnaissance, and even sniper operations.
And Tonio… had been one of them.
Sofia hadn’t realized she’d been staring at him until he shifted in his seat and reached for the top button of his shirt.
“What are you—Tonio, we’re in public,” she whispered, eyes widening.
He didn’t answer. He unbuttoned two more, then slid the fabric aside to reveal the thick, corded muscle of his shoulder and biceps. Ink curved over his skin—clean, sharp lines etched into muscle built for violence.
Her breath hitched.
On his upper arm, a coiled serpent wrapped around a trident. Beneath it, a series of numbers—coordinates, she realized—followed by a single black band circling his bicep.
“This one,” he murmured, tapping the trident, “was my first. You only earn it if you graduate BUD/S.”
Her lips parted. “It’s beautiful.”
He huffed a low laugh, the sound dark. “I wouldn’t use that word, sweetheart.”
His fingers drifted to the black band. “Team leader,” he said quietly. “That mark is for the brothers I commanded. The numbers above it… missions no one talks about.”
She swallowed, unable to look anywhere but at his exposed skin. “And the serpent?”
“That one’s mine. Sniper designation.” He leaned back, his eyes holding hers with that steady, unnerving intensity. “Elite. Long-range. High precision.”
Her heart pounded, hard enough to make her palms sweat. She felt dizzy with this new image of him—danger made flesh, power inked into his body, secrets written in symbols only killers understood.
“And you’re telling me this because…?” she whispered.
“Because,” he said softly, rebuttoning his shirt one slow click at a time, “when I tell you I can keep you alive, I want you to understand that it isn’t a boast.”
