“I’m trying not to,” he says.
“Try harder,” I say.
His eyes warm a fraction, almost amused. “Noted.”
He doesn’t waste time on needless apologies. No, that’s not the kind of man he is. I appreciate it, but it throws me off. I’m used to people on the stand or across an interrogation room lying, apologizing, pleading, scheming.
Not the plain, simple truth.
“I know you’ve had me followed. For weeks now,” I say. It wasn’t what I intended on bringing up first, but it’s an itch under my skin I can’t ignore.
“I don’t want shadows. I don’t want to look over my shoulder and see one of your brothers or sons or… whoever… cataloging what I eat for lunch. I don’t want anyone keeping track of me.”
“That’s not to keep track of you. It’s to keep you safe.”
“Ikeep me safe,” I insist. “I always have. I’ve spent my career doing exactly that.”
“This isn’t about your career. It’s not about putting criminals in jail. I have rivals, Elena.” The way he says my name sends shivers down my spine. “Rivals who would do anything to get to me, use anything andanyone. Whatever you decide, you’re carrying someone very valuable to me.”
“You can’t promise safe,” I say. “It’s just not possible.”
“I can increase the chances. Remove dangers.”
I watch him for a beat, unsure how to respond to that. He doesn’t give me a chance.
“You said I don’t get to turn your life into a chessboard. I hear you. I won’t move you like a piece. But I need you to understand something about me, Elena.” His voice goes quieter. “I am not a different man than the one you’ve read about in your reports.”
My throat works. I take a drink to have something to do. The water is very cold and very clean and not helpful at all.
“I know you have something planned,” I say, and my voice surprises me by not shaking. “If you do whatever you plan to do, go down whatever road you’re headed toward, you won’t come near me or this baby. Ever. And there’s not a single damn thing that you or any of your people can do to change it. I promise you.”
There. The thing I didn’t mean to say yet is out, wedging itself between us.
He pulls in a slow breath. A muscle ticks in his jaw, then eases. “I won’t bring blood into your house,” he says. “Not now. Not later.” His eyes don’t leave mine. “You have my word.”
“Your word,” I repeat, searching his face for the catch.
“It’s what I have,” he says, turning his hands palm-up for a beat.
“Blood into my house,” I repeat quietly. “That’s not enough. It’s vague, at best.”
He exhales on a smile. “Damn lawyers.”
I clear my throat, but my voice still comes out breathless. “What do you want, Luca?”
His name leaves a taste on my tongue. I realize the last time I said it out loud, he was inside me. Demanding, controlling, ruthless. Making me feel things I’ve never felt before.
He seriously considers the question before he answers, making me appreciate his candor even more. “To be responsible for what I’ve helped make. To keep you safe. To make your life easier. To be present if you’ll let me.”
“That’s four things,” I say, because it’s easier to acknowledge than my feelings.
His mouth curves. “I’ve always been greedy.”
“I’m not your responsibility,” I say.
“If only it were that easy,” he says simply.
I swallow and feel everything I’ve been holding in claw back up my throat. “I’m not here because I want to be taken care of,” I say. “I’m here because you get to state your opinion, and I will take it into consideration.”
