Her smile could light the entire city. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me now.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a promise.”
And standing there in my sterile penthouse kitchen with morning light streaming through bulletproof glass and a woman who shouldn’t want anything to do with me smiling like I’m worth loving, for the first time in fifteen years, hope feels like something more than a liability.
It feels like possibility.
Even if that possibility comes wrapped in danger, blood, and the certainty that the coming days will test everything we think we know about love, loyalty, and how far someone will go to protect what’s theirs.
But that’s a problem for later.
Right now, Elena is in my kitchen, looking at me like I’m worth the risk.
Chapter Nine
Elena
Three days of living in Alessandro’s penthouse feels like three years.
Not because it’s unpleasant, it’s the opposite, really. The space is beautiful, the bed comfortable, the view spectacular. Alessandro’s chef delivers meals that should probably be illegal. The security team is invisible but ever-present.
But Alessandro himself? He’s become a ghost.
He leaves early for “business.” Returns late smelling like danger and exhaustion. Sits across from me at dinner making polite conversation as though we’re strangers instead of two people who’ve kissed like the world is ending. Stays carefully, deliberately distant in a way that’s starting to drive me insane.
The self-defense training is the only time he touches me, and even then it’s clinical. Professional. His hands correcting my stance, adjusting my grip on the gun, demonstrating how to break free from various holds, all of it done with the detached efficiency of someone teaching a skill set, not someone who had me straddling him in bed three mornings ago.
It’s maddening.
“Again.” Alessandro’s voice cuts through my frustration. We’re in the building’s private gym, all mirrors, equipment and mats that smell like rubber and sweat. “Someone grabs you from behind. What do you do?”
“Step back, disrupt their balance, elbow to the ribs, heel to instep, turn and strike.” The movements are executed as taught, mechanical and precise.
“Better. But you’re telegraphing the elbow. The element of surprise is crucial.” He demonstrates, moving behind me to show the proper form. His chest presses against my back, hisarms coming around to position mine correctly. “See? Smooth, no warning. Then—” He guides the motion, slow and controlled. “Impact here causes maximum pain with minimum effort.”
His breath is warm on my neck. Solid presence surrounds me completely. This close, his cologne mingles with something uniquely him and soap and it makes my brain short-circuit.
“Elena.” His voice is rough. “Are you paying attention?”
“Yes.” The lie comes out breathy. “Totally paying attention. Elbows. Ribs. Got it.”
He steps back abruptly, putting distance between us. “Take five. You’re distracted.”
Distracted is putting it mildly. Sexually frustrated is more accurate. Slowly going insane from want might be the most honest description.
I grab the water bottle with more force than necessary. “When do we work on shooting again?”
“Tomorrow, maybe. Depends on my schedule.”
“Your mysterious, important schedule that you can’t tell me about.”
“Yes.”
“Because you’re off doing dangerous mob things.”
“Yes.”
