When we arrive at my apartment, Alessandro walks me upstairs despite my protests about his injury. Inside, he immediately checks the windows, the locks, and the sight lines, He’s back to the dangerous man I met in my shop, not the one who danced with me in the snow.
“Alessandro.” I catch his hand. “Let me see.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Let. Me. See.”
He sighs but shrugs off his coat. The blood has soaked through his henley at the shoulder, and when he pulls it aside, I see the wound—a deep graze that’s still bleeding sluggishly.
“First aid kit,” I say, my voice surprisingly steady. “Bathroom, under the sink.”
He starts to protest, but I’m already moving. When I return, he’s sitting on my couch, looking tired, dangerous and heartbreakingly human.
“This is going to hurt,” I warn as I clean the wound with antiseptic.
“I’ve had worse.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
I work in silence, cleaning and bandaging with hands that only shake a little. When I’m finished, Alessandro catches my wrist, pulling me down to sit beside him.
“Thank you,” he says quietly.
“For what? You’re the one who got shot protecting me.”
“For not running. For staying. For...” He trails off, then tries again. “For seeing me. Not the monster. Not the boss. Just... me.”
The raw honesty in his voice breaks something open in my chest.
“Alessandro De Luca.” I frame his face with my hands. “You are the most infuriating, complicated, dangerous man I’ve ever met. And I’m completely falling for you.”
His eyes go dark. “Elena—”
“I know. It’s crazy. It’s probably going to end badly. But I don’t care.” I lean my forehead against his. “What do we do now?”
“Now?” His arms come around me, pulling me close. “Now we figure out how to keep you safe while I fall completely for you too.”
“You’re falling for me?”
“Tesoro,” he murmurs, the Italian endearment soft against my ear. “I’ve been falling since the moment you smiled at me in your flower shop.”
And despite everything, the shooting, the blood, the danger, I smile.
Because this terrifying, beautiful, impossible thing between us?
It’s worth fighting for.
Chapter Six
Alessandro
The war room in my downtown office smells like leather, cigar smoke, and violence waiting to happen.
Marco stands at the head of the table, pointing to surveillance photos spread across the polished mahogany. Greco’s men, their movements tracked over the past forty-eight hours. The sniper from the Christmas market, who is dead now, his body dumped in the sound as a message. The underboss who ordered the hit, currently being held in one of our warehouses.
“Three locations,” Marco says, tapping the photos. “Their main drug operation in Georgetown, the gambling house in Belltown, and Greco’s personal residence in Madison Park.”
