Luc gave a single, sharp nod. “We’re good. Get settled.”
“Let me show you your room,” Mia said, already at Sofia’s side. “You’ve been traveling forever. You probably want quiet and a door that locks.”
Sofia let out a shaky breath. “Finally…something that makes sense.”
She followed Mia up the grand staircase, leaving the men—and the silently observant Gabriella—in the cavernous hall. With each step, the heavy, watchful air lifted, replaced by the fragile promise of solitude.
The heavy oakdoor clicked shut behind Mia, and for the first time since the airstrip, Sofia was truly alone.
The room was warm and inviting. Late-afternoon light poured through a bay window onto a four-poster bed piled with cream-colored linens. It felt lived-in and comforting—a quiet corner where every detail, from the plush rug to the soft linens, seemed chosen to soothe. The gentle silence offered her space to breathe, a reprieve from the tension that had clung to her since the airstrip. She walked its perimeter, her fingers trailing over the rich wood of the desk, the intricate pattern of the rug.Every object was placed, every fabric chosen. It was a portrait of stability, and the longer she looked, the more she saw the brushstrokes.
She needed to wash the day away.
In the adjoining bathroom, she turned the shower as hot as she could stand it. Steam fogged the marble and gilt mirrors, clouding her reflection. She stood under the scalding spray, letting the water pound against her skin, rinsing away the grime of travel, the ghost of fear, and the terrifying weight of a decision she still didn't fully understand. The water stung, but it was a clean, simple pain—a feeling that was entirely her own. She stayed there until her skin was raw and the hot water began to fade, until the steam thinned and her reflection sharpened again in the cooling glass.
She stood wrapped in a towel, the damp air clinging to her. The quiet of the room felt different now. It was no longer a reprieve but an arena.
Her mind replayed the earlier interaction on a merciless loop: Luc’s gaze, calculating before sheathing itself in courtesy; Gabriella, a silent sphinx storing secrets behind a calm smile; Mia, the only genuine warmth in a house of calculated gestures; and Tonio. Always Tonio.
The echo of the room, the guards, the estate—all of it pressed against her chest, a
suffocating pressure she couldn’t escape. She crossed to the window, pulling the curtain aside just enough. The grounds were vast and manicured, disappearing into a wall of dark trees. A man patrolled the treeline, his silhouette small and purposeful against the deepening twilight. He was just one of many. A sentry for a kingdom.
The silent truth Wraith had delivered cut sharper in this space, with this view: “They’re mafia, Sofia.”
What did it make her, if she accepted it?
She had told him she was done running. Now, she was starting to understand the true cost of that decision. She wasn’t just facing him; she was facing the world he came from—a world that looked at her and saw a variable, a complication, a threat. She was inside the machine now, and she could feel its gears turning around her, smooth, oiled, and relentless.
The fear was still there, cold and coiling like stone in her gut. But beneath it, something else had started to coil—resolve as hard and sharp as the angles of the house below. She had chosen this. Now she had to learn to live in it. She had to learn its language, its rules, its hidden currents.
She thought of the way he looked at her—like she was his. The way he spoke about his family was not with pride but with a deep, quiet responsibility. This wasn’t just a life he had been born into. It was one he carried, one he refused to walk away from. A duty written in something deeper than blood.
If she stayed, she wouldn’t just be with him. She’d be part of it—his world, his choices, the weight of what he was. There wouldn’t be half-measures, no pretending it didn’t exist when it suited her. She would have to look at the man in the trees and see a colleague. She would have to sit at a table with Luc and know what he was.
Her pulse ticked faster, her chest rising slightly with the weight of the thought. Could she live with that?
She let out a slow breath, her gaze fixed on the distant, disappearing guard.
The knock,when it came hours later, was nothing like the one at the motel. Soft. Unsure. A request, not an expectation.
Sofia lay in bed, lamps off, moonlight painting silver stripes across the floor. She knew it was him.
“It’s open,” she called out.
The door opened, framing him in faint hallway light. A dark t-shirt, sweatpants. He looked younger, stripped of tactical gear and defenses.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he murmured, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.
“Neither could I.” She patted the space on the bed. “Want to join me?”
He crossed the room in a few strides, the mattress dipping under his weight. He sat on the edge, back to her, shoulders bowed under the weight of the unsaid.
Sofia sat up. Without a word, she pressed her palm to his tense muscles. He flinched, then exhaled, leaning into her touch.
That was permission enough. Her hands slid over his shoulders, kneading the hard knots, coaxing the tension free. He groaned, low in his throat, and let his head fall forward. Minutes passed in a shared quiet—the sound of breathing, the shift of fabric. When the tightness finally eased, he turned. His eyes were dark with a hunger that mirrored the tightness coiling low in her own belly.
Her hand slid from his back to the frantic beat of his heart. “Make me feel anything else,” she breathed, her voice breaking. “Just for a little while.”
