“There’s no walking away now,” she whispered. “For either of us.” She needed Luca to stay alive, and he needed her to grow his empire and save face with the other families now that the Russians were trying to take over the city.
“No, there’s not,” he agreed. His words wrapped around her like chains—tight and unbreakable.
“And you?” she asked. “How can you even still want this? Why do you still want me?” Luca stepped closer. His movements were slow and deliberate. He backed her against the wall until she had nowhere left to go.
His voice dropped, quiet and deadly. “I want what’s mine.” Her breath caught, and this time, she didn’t argue. Because for the first time, she understood that this wasn’t a choice or a negotiation. This wasn’t even about her anymore. This was about survival, now, and Luca Camorra was the only reason she was still alive.
Luca
The house didn’t feel the same. It wasn’t the décor or the silence that filled his home now. It wasn’t even the faint scent of gunpowder that was still clinging to his clothes. It was her. She was quickly changing everything about his home and him, and that scared the hell out of him.
Luca stood in the doorway of his home office, watching the reflection of the city in the glass—and her reflection layered over it from down the hall. Isabella looked so small and fragile, but never weak. She had gone quiet, refusing to talk to him, and that was worse.
He’d seen women scream, cry, and try to bargain their way out. They all fell apart under less pressure. He knew how to handle that type of pressure. He learned how to control it and even make it end. But this cold, internal shift was something else. Isabella was a woman who was recalculating her situation, and that could be dangerous for him.
His jaw tightened as he rolled his injured shoulder. Pain flared sharp and hot, but he ignored it. Pain meant nothing to him anymore. Pain had become background noise. “Boss.” Luca didn’t turn as Dante stepped into the room.
“She didn’t eat,” Dante said. “She won’t rest or even sit down for five minutes. She just paces in her room.”
Luca exhaled slowly. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I figured she’d give us trouble, but she’s been quiet, and I’m worried about what that might mean.” Dante hesitated, and that alone was enough to irritate him. “What aren’t you saying, Dante?” he asked.
“Are you locking her down completely?” Dante asked. “Or is she free to come and go as she pleases?”
Luca’s gaze stayed fixed on the glass. “She’s not to leave the premises,” he said.
Dante nodded. “Got it.” He started for the door and turned back to Luca. “She’s not going to like that,” he quickly added.
Luca’s mouth curved faintly. “Good.” Because if she liked it, that would mean she wasn’t paying attention, and Isabella paid attention to everything. Dante left without another word. Luca stayed where he was for another minute, maybe two, letting the quiet settle and allowing the plan to solidify in his head.
When he was sure that he had worked everything out, he made his way down the hall toward her. He didn’t knock or hesitate. He just opened the door. Isabella stood near the window, her arms wrapped around herself again, staring out at the city like she could find answers in it. She didn’t turn when he entered, but then, he didn’t expect her to.
“I told you to rest,” he said.
“I’m not tired,” she insisted. Her voice was flat and controlled. She sounded different from the way that she had earlier—almost like she had given up some of her fight. Luca shut the door behind him with a soft click.
“That wasn’t a suggestion,” he said.
“I know,” she breathed, finally turning to look at him. And there it was—he saw no fire or challenge in her gaze. She seemed more focused, and to him, that was worse. He could deal withher fighting him, but he didn’t know how to deal with her simply giving up.
“What now?” she asked, jumping straight into the subject that he was trying to avoid. Her voice was void of emotion, and he hated that she was putting on a brave face for him.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“I mean,” she said, stepping away from the window, “what happens next?”
Luca studied her carefully. She was holding it together almost too well. “That depends,” he said.
“On what?” she asked.
“On whether you’re going to keep fighting me,” he replied, “or start paying attention to what I tell you to do.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “I’ve been paying attention.”
“Not enough,” he said, “and if you are paying attention, you certainly aren’t doing as I tell you to do.” A flicker of irritation sparked behind her eyes. Good. There she was—the woman who had shown up at his club, asking around about him. He needed that feisty princess to step up and take charge again.
“Then explain it to me,” she said. “Since you seem to think I don’t understand anything.”
Luca stepped closer—slow and measured. “You don’t understand my world, honey,” he said. “Not yet, at least.”
