"And you had someone come clean it up like it never happened."
"Yes."
"This is your life."
"This is my life." He tightens his hold on me. "And now it's yours too."
I should argue. I should push back. I should do something other than curl into him like he's safety instead of danger. But I'm so tired. And he's so warm. And for the first time since this started, I feel like I can breathe.
"Anyone touches you, they're dead." His voice is flat. Final. Not a promise. A fact.
I believe him.
I fall asleep with his arm locked around me, his breath on my neck.
When I wake, it's the middle of the night. Luca is still holding me. His breathing is deep and even.
I slip out of bed carefully. I grab his t-shirt from where it's draped over a chair and pull it on. I pad barefoot to the door. I open it a crack.
The hallway is quiet. The penthouse is silent.
I walk to the living room.
Everything is spotless. The floor gleams. The rug where I spilled wine is gone, replaced with a different one. There's no blood. There's no body. There's no evidence that anything happened here at all.
I stand there staring at the place where a man died. A man who wanted to kill Luca. Who would have killed me. And now he's just... gone. He's erased.
I should be horrified. I should be planning my escape while Luca sleeps. Instead, I feel safe. The wrongness of that settles in my chest. I go back to bed.
Luca doesn't wake when I take off the t-shirt and slide in beside him. He just automatically pulls me close again. His arm is heavy across my waist. His face is buried in my hair.
I press my back to his chest. What kind of person does this make me? I don't want to know. I close my eyes.
13
LUCA
Iwake to her weight against mine and light seeping through the windows.
For the first time in years, I actually slept. No waking every two hours to check the perimeter. No hypervigilance pulling me from half-formed dreams. Just deep, unbroken sleep with her warm and soft in my arms. More hours than I can remember. I can't remember the last time that happened.
She's curled into me with one leg thrown over mine and her face buried against my chest. Her breathing is slow and even. Peaceful. She trusts me enough to sleep like this, completely vulnerable with her guard down.
The thought settles like lead.
She's not just my obsession anymore. She's become something worse. Something I can't afford. A weakness.
I watch her sleep and catalog all the ways she's made me sloppy. The Orlov hit, rushed and messy because I was thinking about getting back to her. The guy who tried to follow me home. The Bratva soldier last night who got past my security because I was distracted, watching her instead of monitoring the elevator like I should have been. Every decision I've made since I met herhas been compromised by the need to possess her, protect her, keep her close.
Anyone who knows about her can use her against me.
The Bratva already tried. That soldier didn't come here just for me. He came to send a message, and part of that message was showing me they know where I live, what matters to me, how to hurt me. They failed last night, but they proved they could reach her. They proved she's vulnerable.
Don Marco will have heard about the hit on my penthouse by now. He'll know a Bratva soldier breached my security, and he'll connect it back to her immediately. My uncle didn't build an empire by being stupid or missing details. The cleanup crew I called would have reported everything—every detail, every mistake, exactly where the body fell. Don Marco already knows about Francesca. Has known since I started keeping her. Now he'll know the Bratva knows too.
Every family in this city will eventually learn that L'Ombra has a woman. They'll file that information away and wait for the moment when they need leverage. She's a target now, painted bright red just by being in my bed.
There's only one way to fix this. Only one way to make her untouchable enough that the other families think twice. And even then, it might not be enough.
