“No, it’s not.” Rolling onto my side mirrors her position, facing her across the pillow barrier between us. “But it’s the truth. When you grow up in this life, you learn early that showing fear gets you killed. You learn to bury it. To function despite it.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
Her hand reaches out, tentative, and settles on the pillow between us. Not touching, but close enough that moving an inch would bridge the gap. “Do you ever get tired of it? The constant vigilance? The violence?”
Every single day. “Sometimes.”
“What would you do? If you could just walk away?”
The question catches me off guard. No one has ever asked what Alessandro De Luca would do if he wasn’t The Shadow. What dreams died when my father’s blood soaked into marble floors and a sixteen-year-old boy had to become a man overnight.
“I don’t know,” the admission comes slowly. “Maybe something quiet. Normal. Something that doesn’t require checking for exits in every room or sleeping with a gun under my pillow.”
Her eyes flick to the nightstand where the weapon rests. “Is that why you couldn’t sleep? Because you were on guard?”
“Partly. Also because you’re under this roof, which means ensuring nothing happens to you.”
“Alessandro, you can’t stay awake all night protecting me.”
“Watch me.”
She studies my face for a long moment, then makes a decision. The space between us closes as she moves across the invisible barrier, tucking herself against my chest with a boldness that steals my breath.
“What are you doing?” The question comes out strained.
“If you’re going to stay awake guarding me anyway, I might as well be comfortable.” Her head rests on my shoulder, one arm draping across my stomach. “This okay?”
Okay doesn’t begin to cover it. She’s warm, soft and fits against me like she was designed for this exact purpose. Every nerve ending is suddenly hyperaware, her breath on my neck, her leg brushing against mine, the weight of her body pressed to my side.
“Elena—”
“Please don’t push me away. Not tonight.” Her voice is small, vulnerable. “I just need to know I’m safe. Ee’re safe. Even if it’s an illusion.”
Arms wrap around her before conscious thought intervenes, one hand settling on her hip, the other threading through her hair. “You’re safe. I promise.”
She sighs, tension melting from her frame. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being you. Dangerous and protective and completely contradictory.” Her fingers trace absent patterns on my chest through the thin fabric of my sleep shirt. “Marco’s right, you know. You should probably send me away. Put me on a plane to somewhere safe until this is over.”
“Marco worries too much.”
“Does he? Or does he see something you’re too close to see?”
The question deserves honesty. “He sees that caring about you makes me vulnerable. Love is a weakness in our world.”
Her hand stills on my chest. “Love?”
The word slipped out without permission, but there’s no taking it back now. “Love. Affection. Whatever term makes it less terrifying.”
“None of them make it less terrifying.” She tilts her head back to look at me, and the vulnerability in her eyes mirrors what’sprobably showing in mine. “But I don’t think I’d change it even if I could.”
“You should want to change it. Run far away from me and this whole mess.”
“Probably. But I’ve never been good at doing what I should.” Her hand resumes its pattern-tracing, now moving up to my collarbone, my neck. “Tell me something true. Something you’ve never told anyone else.”
