"Insurance," I tell her, brushing hair from her face. "Making sure what happened today never happens again."
Understanding dawns in her eyes. "You're going after them. The Marchettis."
"Yes."
"Will you..." She swallows hard. "Will you hurt them?"
There's fear in her voice. Not of them—of me. Of what I'm capable of. I could lie, soften the truth, but I won't build anything between us on lies.
"If necessary," I say simply. "To protect you? Without hesitation."
She's silent for a long moment, processing this. Then her small hand comes up to rest against my cheek, feather-light.
"Come back to bed," she whispers. "Please. I need you there."
Need. Not want. Not just desire or comfort, but need. The word hits me like a physical blow. I look back at Angelo, who nods slightly.
"We've got this, boss. Go take care of your wife."
I follow her back to our bedroom, strip down to my boxers, and slide in beside her. Immediately, she molds herself against me, head on my chest, arm around my waist.
"I was so scared," she admits, voice muffled against my skin.
"I know, angel."
"Not just of them. Of losingthis. Losing you."
My arms tighten around her. "That's never going to happen."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
I hold her until her breathing evens out, until she's warm and heavy with sleep against me. Only then do I allow myself to acknowledge the truth: I've spent a lifetime building an empire, amassing power, eliminating threats. But none of it—not one single victory, not one deal closed, not one enemy destroyed—none of it has ever mattered like this woman in my arms.
Every move I've ever made has been leading me here—to her. Every battle fought, every scar earned, every resource gathered—all of it preparation for the only job that truly matters: keeping her safe.
I press my lips to the top of her head and make a silent vow. No one will ever threaten her again. No one will ever make her afraid again.
And if they try? God help them, because I won't.
eight
. . .
Sharon
I can't stop trembling.Even hours after we've returned to the penthouse, even after a hot bath and Fabio's gentle care, my body won't stop shaking. Not from cold—from the aftershocks of fear. Those men's hands reaching for me. The look in their eyes. The certainty that flashed through me in that moment: if they got me in that car, I was never coming back. I've been sheltered my whole life. Never faced real danger. Never understood that some people in this world move through it like predators, seeing the rest of us as prey. But Fabio knows. Fabio's always known. And now I understand what it means to be his—to be protected by the biggest predator in the jungle.
I woke up alone in our bed, the sheets cold beside me. Found him in his office, surrounded by men and monitors and maps. Planning. Hunting. He came back with me, held me until I dozed off again, but I can't stay asleep. Every time I close my eyes, I feel hands grabbing at me. Hear voices that aren't Fabio's. See strangers' faces instead of his.
Now I'm sitting up in bed, knees drawn to my chest, watching as he steps out of the bathroom. He's stripped down to his boxers, all lean muscle and olive skin and scars I've tracedwith my fingertips but never asked about. His eyes—those dark, intense eyes that see everything—find mine immediately.
"Still can't sleep?" He crosses to the bed, sits beside me. His large, warm hand covers both of mine where they're clenched together on my knees. "You're safe now, angel."
"I know." But my body doesn't know it. My nerves are still firing warning signals. My heart still racing.
He takes one of my hands in his, turns it palm up, presses a kiss to the center. Then one to each knuckle, each fingertip, the inside of my wrist where my pulse hammers.
