"I need to call my security team," Sandro said. "Make sure we're locked down for the night. Will you be okay for a few minutes?"
"I'm not going to fall apart because I'm alone for five minutes."
"I know. But I need to hear you say it anyway." He was watching me with that intensity that made my breath catch.
"I'll be fine. Make your calls."
He left me alone with the view. I heard him in another room, voice low and authoritative, giving orders that people would follow without question. Mobilizing whatever resources he had to protect me from threats I still wasn't entirely sure were real.
The Costellos wanted to scare me. They'd succeeded in making Sandro act, which was probably their secondary goal. Create chaos. Disrupt his operations. Force him to divert resources to protection instead of business.
I was a liability. A weakness they could exploit.
The thought should have bothered me more than it did.
Sandro returned after ten minutes. Jacket gone, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that I'd spent entirely too much time thinking about recently.
"Everything secure?" I asked.
"As secure as I can make it. I've got men watching the building, the club, your apartment. If the Costellos make another move, we'll know." He poured himself a drink from the bar. "Want one?"
"No. I want to know what happens next."
"Next you sleep. Tomorrow we strategize." He came to stand beside me at the windows. Close enough that I could feel his body heat. "You're safe here, Emilio. I promise you that."
"How can you promise something like that? They threatened me. They know where I live. What's to stop them from—"
He spun me around and kissed me. Hard and claiming and absolutely effective at shutting down my spiral into anxiety.
When he pulled back, I was breathing hard and gripping his shirt for balance.
"What was that for?" I managed.
"You were panicking. I don't like seeing you panic." His thumb brushed my jaw. "And I needed to remind both of us why you're here."
"I thought I was here for protection."
"You're here because you're mine and I take care of what's mine." He kissed me again, softer this time. "Come to bed. We'll deal with everything else in the morning."
I should argue. Should demand answers about security protocols and threat assessments and what the hell our plan was for the trial.
Instead I let him lead me to the bedroom. Let him undress me slowly, carefully, like I was something precious instead of a complication. Let him pull me into bed and hold me against his chest while exhaustion finally won.
"Thank you," I whispered into the darkness.
"For what?"
"For coming to get me. For caring enough to watch over my apartment. For..." I trailed off. For making me feel like I mattered. For protecting me even though it complicated his operations. For being terrified enough of losing me to show real fear.
"You don't need to thank me for protecting you," he said quietly. "That's not optional. That's not something you owe me gratitude for. That's just what I do."
I believed him. That was the terrifying part.
I fell asleep in Sandro Vitale's bed, in his private apartment above his nightclub, surrounded by his security and his possessive care, and felt safer than I had in my own home.
Which probably said more about how far I'd fallen than I wanted to admit.
But as his breathing evened out and his arms tightened around me, I couldn't bring myself to regret it.
