Valerio clears his throat again, louder. “Boss. Let’s move.”
I’ll kill you,I don’t say, but my thoughts must be loud enough for my consigliere to hear. He puts up his arms in mock-defeat and heads downstairs first.
Savannah steps back a fraction, like she’s trying to give me space. “You should go,” she says softly. “I’ll be fine.”
“I know,” I answer, and brush my knuckles along her hand. Slow, soft, enough to make her inhale sharply. “I’ll be back tonight.”
Her eyes soften. “Okay.”
I follow Valerio down to the hall, but before I reach the door, I look back one more time.
She’s still standing by the railing. Still watching me.
Her eyes tells me everything I need to know.She’s already halfway mine.
7
SAVANNAH
The second Riccardo leaves, I feel like someone pulled the warmth out of the room with him.
It’s stupid. It’s irrational. But I feel it anyway.
I walk back into the room and sit on the edge of the bed for a moment, trying to collect myself. Trying to understand the mess in my chest. My fingers twist in the hem of the shirt I’m wearing—his shirt—and that doesn’t help anything.
Everything about today feels unreal. The nurse he sent to Mom. The breakfast tray he had delivered with every single thing I’ve ever loved to eat. The doctor. The softness in his voice when he said he’d be back.
No man has ever taken care of me like this. No man has everwantedto.
I press my palms to my face. I should be terrified at how quickly this is happening. Or at least suspicious. But every time I try to go down that path, my mind goes right back to last night: that alley, the cold wall at my back, Gerard’s hands, the threat in his voice, the panic squeezing my ribs.
And then Riccardo, stepping into the dark and tearing my world off its axis.
If he hadn’t been there…
I exhale shakily. I don’t want to imagine it. I don’t think I’ll ever stop being grateful that I don’t have to.
But now I’m left with another problem. A quieter one. A Riccardo-shaped one.
What do I do with all of this?
I’ve never been good at relationships. I never had time. Between Mom’s health, work, bills, and trying to hold our lives together with tape, romance wasn’t just low on the list—it didn’t exist. I’d built a wall around me, my heart and my life.
And now? The one person who’s managed to tear down that wall is a billionaire mafia Don. I exhale, resting my back on the bed.
I’m wearing his shirt, eating his food, being protected by his men, and trying not to think about the way he almost kissed me in the hallway.
I’m not prepared for this. At all.
A thought crosses my mind. He’ll be back later today. I can’t just sit here like a clueless idiot. I want to do something. Anything. Just to say thank you. To show him I’m not some damsel curled up in his bed waiting to be rescued.
And there’s one thing Icando. Better than anything else.
Cook.
He loves my food. I’ve seen the way he eats it. Quiet, focused, the kind of attention chefs pray for. It’s the one thing I know he genuinely enjoys, not because it impresses people or looks good on a plate, but because it makes him soften. Even if only a little.
It surprises me that I know these things about him. He’s a regular, sure, but I’m not out there on the floor that much. I shouldn’t notice the way he enjoys my food.
