Rosa appears a moment later with a steaming mug. “Cream? Sugar?”
“Both,” I say automatically, because it gives me something to do.
Mr. Conti enters as she sets the mug down. He’s fully dressed now in dark slacks, black vest, and that same white shirt I saw him pulling on upstairs. The memory flashes hot behind my eyes and I look down quickly, pretending to stir my coffee.
“Sleep well?” he asks, voice smooth as the espresso he’s pouring for himself.
“Yeah,” I lie. “Thank you. For everything.”
His gaze lingers on me just long enough to make my stomach tighten. “You’re welcome.”
Sienna, oblivious to the weight in the room, pipes up. “Dad said he’s going into the office later, but we can go shopping this afternoon! I told him you need a coat. Maybe some boots.”
Office? I wasn’t aware that Dons had offices…
Mr. Conti nods without looking at Sienna. “One of my men will take you.”
I glance between them. “That’s not necessary. I won’t be?—”
“It is,” he cuts in gently but firmly. “Chicago winters are unforgiving, and I’d rather you not freeze to death because you underestimated the weather.”
Sienna snorts into her orange juice. I don’t.
The silence that follows stretches thin until Rosa breaks it, setting a plate of fresh croissants on the table. I murmur a quiet thanks, but my hands still shake when I reach for one.
Mr. Conti sits at the head of the table, unfolding the morning paper. His presence fills the room even when he doesn’t speak, and the sound of every rustling page feels amplified. Sienna talks about how much she’s missed Chicago. I sip my coffee and nodin all the right places, but my mind keeps drifting back to the weight of his gaze.
When he finally looks up from the paper, his eyes meet mine. “You’re safe here, Miss Miller. No one can touch you under this roof.”
“Don’t worry about her, Dad. Birdie’s always stressed about something.” Sienna pushes her plate away with a groan. “Okay, I’m going to go change before we go to the shops.”
Mr. Conti nods. “Take your time.”
She kisses his cheek, then grins at me. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“Not planning to,” I say, forcing a smile.
Once she disappears up the stairs, the silence that settles over the room feels heavier than before. The air hums with it. Mr. Conti folds the newspaper neatly, sets it aside, and turns his attention fully on me.
For a second, I just stare at the steam curling from my mug, trying to think of the right words.
Finally, I take a breath. “I need to go home, Mr. Conti.”
He doesn’t react right away. Just leans back in his chair, watching me like he’s giving me space to dig my own grave.
“Home?” he says finally, voice even. “You mean the apartment where my daughter was almost taken, where several people were killed, and where the police are still swarming the building?”
I swallow hard but don’t look away. “It’s my home. My things are there. My life is there.”
He shakes his head slowly, almost pitying. “Your life, Miss Miller, no longer exists in that apartment.”
Something in the way he says it makes my skin prickle. “You can’t keep me here,” I say softly.
His lips twitch into the faintest hint of a smile. “I’m not keeping you anywhere. I’m protecting you. There’s a difference.”
“Feels the same to me.”
He exhales, like he’s trying not to lose patience.
