Her hands still for just a moment. “How did you? Never mind.” She sighs and adjusts her mask. “Money, mostly. Surgical residencies require additional years of training, and the stipends barely cover living expenses. I was already drowning in student loans and trying to support—” She stops, her mask moving as she purses her lips.
“Your father,” I finish quietly.
“Yep.” She returns to suturing, her movements perhaps a bit more aggressive than necessary. “His gambling recovery was expensive. Treatment programs, therapy, the debts he’d accumulated.” Her shoulders momentarily slump. “I couldn’t afford to pursue specialization and keep him afloat at the same time.”
The matter-of-fact way she says it bothers me. She sacrificed her dreams to save a man who would later betray everything she valued, who would sell information that led to Marco’s death, who would end up being the excuse I used to destroy her life.
The irony is bitter enough to choke on.
“You gave up what you wanted for him,” I say, watching her tie off another suture.
“That’s what family does.” Her voice is soft. “You sacrifice for the people you love, even when they don’t deserve it. Even when it costs you everything.”
My stomach turns. We both know she’s not just talking about her father anymore.
“There.” Giuliana steps back, surveying her work with a critical eye. The wound is closed, neatly sutured in layers, the bleeding controlled. “Now we wait and hope I didn’t miss any internal damage that’s going to cause complications.”
“He’ll be fine.” I don’t know why I’m so certain, but I am. “You saved him.”
She looks at me then and the expression on her face is complicated. There’s gratitude mixed with confusion, maybe, or the same internal war I’m fighting about what the hell is happening between us.
“Thank you,” she says quietly. “For staying. For—” She gestures vaguely at the sunroom, the equipment, the accommodations I’ve made. “For all of this. I know you didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to.” The words come out before I can stop.
Her eyes widen slightly, and a soft smile crosses her face as she peels off her gloves. It makes my pulse spike in ways that have nothing to do with the usual adrenaline of danger or violence.
“Luca—” she starts, but I’m already moving, closing the distance between us and pulling her against me with perhaps more force than necessary.
“Shh,” I murmur against her hair, breathing in the scent of her shampoo mixed with antiseptic and the faint copper of blood. My lips ghost across her temple, then lower to press against the sensitive spot just below her ear. She shivers in my arms, and I feel it everywhere—the slight tremor running through her body,the way her breath catches. “Don’t make this more complicated than it already is.”
“Pretty sure it’s already as complicated as it gets,” she points out, but her arms wrap around my waist anyway, her hands sliding up my back in a slow exploration that makes my breath hitch. Her fingers trace the muscles there, gentle but deliberate, and it takes everything in me to fight back a moan.
I tighten my hold on her, one hand spanning the small of her back while the other tangles in her messy bun, tilting her head slightly so I can press another kiss to her forehead, her cheek, the corner of her mouth—not quite claiming her lips but close enough I can feel her exhale against my skin.
She makes a soft sound that goes straight through me, and her hands slip under the hem of my shirt, finding bare skin. The touch of her fingers—warm and slightly callused from her work—trailing up my spine makes every muscle tense with want.
We stand like that for longer than is probably wise, surrounded by the soft breathing of a sedated deer, my mouth tracing lazy patterns against her temple while her hands press into my skin. Every point of contact between us feels electric, charged with all the things we’re not saying, all the ways this has spiraled so far beyond what it was supposed to be.
I try not to think about how right this feels. How natural it is to reach for her now, to need her presence in ways that have nothing to do with revenge or strategy or any of the bullshit reasons I told myself she was here.
How her touch is becoming as necessary as breathing.
She’s changed everything. The estate, the staff, me—all of it transformed by her presence in ways I didn’t anticipate and definitely didn’t plan for.
Fresh flowers in every room because she asked Linnea to order them. Injured animals recovering in the sunroom because I couldn’t stand to see her so lost without her work and losing that damn first bird. The household staff smiling genuinely when she passes because she treats them like humans instead of servants, learns their names and asks about their families, and shows the same gentle compassion she extends to wounded creatures.
Even Danny looks at her differently now. I’ve caught him chatting with her in the kitchen, laughing at something she said, looking almost protective in a way that should probably concern me but instead just confirms what I already know.
Giuliana Conti has made my fortress feel like a home.
And I’m falling for her so hard itterrifiesme.
The realization hits so hard it feels like someone just punched me, making my arms tighten around her instinctively. This isn’t just attraction or possession or even the twisted dynamic of captor and captive finding unexpected connection. This is?—
Fuck. This is feelings. Real, complicated, absolutely dangerous feelings that make every plan I ever had crumble into dust.
I’m supposed to be preparing to dispose of her. The alliance with Viktor Torrino is nearly secured. The wedding is fuckingtwoweeks away. Once that’s finalized, her usefulness was supposed to end. Antonio was supposed to watch his daughter die. He was supposed to understand the complete and total destruction of everything he valued, before I ended him too.
