Luca is quiet for a moment. "You're in too deep, aren't you? With her. You're in so deep you can't see straight anymore."
My jaw tightens. "I don't care, Luca. I don't care what Dante thinks. I don't care about the family politics or the Beauregard connection or any of it. All I care about is keeping her safe, making sure she's happy, and being there when she finally realizes she deserves better than Whitmore."
"And what if she never realizes that? What if she chooses him?"
I feel my teeth grit together. "She won't."
"But what if she does?"
I'm silent at that. I don't have an answer. But the thought of Savannah choosing Whitmore, of losing her forever?—
It's unbearable.
"She won't," I say again, sharper this time.
"I hope you're right," Luca says quietly. "Because if you're wrong—if you've risked everything for someone who's going to choose someone else?—"
“She won’t.” I sound like a broken fucking record, and I’m sick of it. I hang up, driving into the garage, and I sit in my car for a long few minutes after killing the engine. I think about Savannah. About the way she looked at me in the library, the conflict in her eyes. She's close to breaking, to admitting what we both know is true—that she doesn't love Whitmore, that she doesn't want the life he's offering, that she wants something different.
That she wants me.
I just need to be patient. To give her time. To keep showing her that I can be what she needs.
And in the meantime, I'll make sure Whitmore doesn't hurt her. I'll have him followed, documented, watched. I'll build a case against him so thorough that when the time comes—when Savannah is ready to leave him—she'll have all the ammunition she needs. I'll protect her, even if she doesn't know she needs protecting.
Because for the first time in my life, I've found something worth fighting for—something worth being better for. And I'm not giving that up. Not for Dante. Not for the family. Not for anyone.
Savannah Beauregard is mine, whether she knows it yet or not.
9
SAVANNAH
I'm falling for him.
The realization hits me as I'm getting ready for class, and I have to sit down on the edge of my bed because my legs won't hold me.
I'm falling for Romeo Ciresa, and I don't know how to stop it.
I haven’t seen him in person, other than in class, since that last conversation in the library. He hasn’t stopped pursuing me, exactly, but he also hasn’t pushed me either. He’s relentless while still somehow respectful of my boundaries, and it confuses me more than it should.
Every morning, my latte is waiting at the counter with a note. Sometimes it's just—R, sometimes it's a quote from something we discussed in class, sometimes it's just a simple, thoughtful note. I see him in the library, always at a table within sight but never intruding. But he's there.
All of our conversations have been over email since then, but they still feel so different from talking to Thad. Romeo listens. He challenges me intellectually without dismissing me. He treats my work like it matters.
The gifts keep coming, too. Small, thoughtful things. Another photocopy of an article he thought I’d enjoy, a bookmark with a quote from a book I told him I loved, and more flowers waiting for me at the front desk. It’s never anything ostentatious or that directly crosses a line. Just... thoughtful. Like he's paying attention to what I care about, what makes me happy.
It's intoxicating. And terrifying.
I'm engaged. I'm supposed to marry Thad in less than two years. Wanting Romeo—wanting anyone other than my fiancé—makes me a terrible person.
But I can't stop.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror, at the girl in the conservative blouse and pencil skirt, at the engagement ring that feels heavier every day, and I barely recognize myself. When did I become someone who lies and sneaks around? Who spends hours thinking about a man who isn't her fiancé?
My phone buzzes with a text from Thad:Dinner Friday. 7 pm. Wear something nice. I have a meeting with important clients, and one of them is bringing his wife, so I thought I’d bring my fiancée.
It’s not a question. Just an expectation that I'll be available, that I'll show up and play the role of the perfect fiancée.
