But Julietta had walked through that armor like it was smoke.
She made me feel things I'd spent twenty years teaching myself not to feel. Made me want things I'd convinced myself were weaknesses. Made me terrified in ways that had nothing to do with bullets or betrayal and everything to do with the fact that I'd finally found something I couldn't control, couldn't protect, couldn't keep safe through force alone.
Loving her was the most powerless I'd felt since I was eight years old.
And I'd burn this entire city before I let that feeling destroy me—or her.
Two million dollars bought Lorenzo persistence and heat that only intensified until something broke.
I pulled up the surveillance feeds. Julietta in the library at 2:47 a.m., curled in the leather chair with a worn copy ofThe Prince, highlighter in hand. That particular tilt of her head meant she was two moves ahead of everyone.
Including me.
Hiding her wasn't going to work anymore. Not with Lorenzo's resources. The compound was secure, but it was a cage, and I could see the moment it had stopped being enough for her.
There was only one solution.
A shield that would work because everyone understood it. A declaration that would make her untouchable—not hidden behind locked doors but walking through the city on my arm, protected by legitimacy and fear. A fake marriage.
I grabbed my keys.
The library was exactly as quiet as I'd expected. Julietta didn't look up, absorbed in whatever chapter she was dissecting. She had one of my Italian cashmere sweaters wrapped around her shoulders—she'd started stealing them two weeks ago, and I'd stopped caring.
Actually, that was a lie. I cared about everything she did. The way she hummed while showering. The way she took her coffee too black and complained about it. The way she'd started touching me like she'd forgotten to be afraid.
"It's three in the morning," I said.
"So it is." She turned a page. "Insomnia?"
"Security briefing." I moved closer, and she finally glanced up. "We need to talk about your situation."
"The contract on my head."
"Among other things." I forced her to maintain eye contact. "Lorenzo's moving faster than projected. They've narrowed your location. It's becoming unsustainable to keep you invisible here."
"So you're moving me again." Her voice was flat, protecting something underneath. "Another locked room?"
"Marry me."
She blinked. Actually blinked.
"I'm sorry?"
"Tomorrow. Public ceremony. This stops being a vulnerability the moment you stop being a loose piece."
She laughed, bitter and edged. "You're joking."
"I'm not."
"Because that's the fantasy now? Marriage without consent, another way to—"
"It's not real."
Silence bloomed between us.
"What?"
"A fake marriage. Public. Legal. You become Mrs. Dante Taviani, and suddenly you're not a daughter Lorenzo can move across a chessboard. You're a wife. Protected by my name and my network."
