Her breath stutters. Once. Then control snaps back into place like muscle memory.
“I didn’t know how to find you,” she says. “And then I did… and I couldn’t risk it.”
The answer is careful. Honest enough to hurt.
“Risk what?”
She looks at me fully now. “You,” she says. No hesitation. “This world. What happened to me with Marco happening to Nico.”
The words land clean. Devastating. Fair.
My chest tightens. Not with anger. With something worse. Regret so sharp, it feels like a bruise under my ribs. I picture her alone with a baby, moving city to city, listening for footsteps outside doors. I picture Marco’s hand on her wrist. His mouth close to her ear. I picture my son in that environment.
My jaw locks. I let the silence stretch because if I speak too soon, it won’t be clean.
“Marco will escalate,” I say finally. Strategy before emotion. Survival before regret. “The auction was public humiliation. He won’t absorb that quietly. You’re not safe in a hotel.”
“I know.” Her chin lifts in a defiance built out of fear. “That’s why I need to find somewhere for myself.”
“What about?—”
“Not here.”
There it is. The line she’s drawn in blood and memory.
“This is exactly what I was trying to avoid,” she continues tightly. “Trading one cage for another.”
“I’m not Marco.”
Her laugh is sharp enough to cut. “You’re his father. You’re the don. You’re a…”
She stops. Too honest. The word hangs between us, anyway.
Monster.
My body reacts like it’s been struck. Not because it’s untrue. Because I know I can become it. Because I’ve spent my whole life building restraints strong enough to hold that part of me down.
And Lucia… Lucia stands in front of me like a match. A threat to my control. A reminder of what I still want, despite everything I am.
I step closer. Not to crowd her. Just close enough that distance can’t hide the truth anymore.
“I’m the man from the plane,” I say quietly. “I’m the man who let you go when I should have looked harder. I’m Nico’s father. And right now, I’m the only thing standing between you and Marco’s retaliation.Imight be the only person who can keep you and Nico safe.”
She swallows. Her throat works. Her eyes flick away once, and when they return, they’re wet but furious.
“Just until the custody case is resolved,” she says at last.
“Just until you’re safe,” I reply. “And I have a private house on this estate you can use.”
Eventually, she nods. And my chest loosens and tightens at the same time. Relief. And an immediate, violent need to make good on every word I just said.
Because now they’re in my house. In my territory. Under my name.
And anyone who tries to take them will discover exactly what kind of monster I can be, and exactly who I become when it’s for them.
Once we’re done talking, I stand at the edge of the drive as she carries Nico to the car, about to leave for the private wing, currently used mostly for storage, where she will be in for the foreseeable future.
My son. Three years old. Heavy with sleep. Perfect in the brutally vulnerable way children are. Utterly breakable. I watch the way his head fits against her shoulder. The way his fingers curl into her sweater like the world might vanish if he lets go.
