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When he lifts his eyes to me, something comes alive within me.
Oh God. I’m in such big trouble.
3
LUCA
Itry to retreat behind the familiar wall of denial, but I fail.
I lost control last night, acted like a maniac, like a man with the sexual appetite of a caveman.
See, living with my dad kept me on my toes. I didn’t know what the next day would bring. Would we need to move to another city, another state, another country? Should I constantly check behind me and see if I’d been followed by his creditors? Where would we live next? A dump, under the bridge, or a five-star hotel?
It all meant that growing up with him, my constant companions were worry and anxiety. I would lay awake in bed for hours, overthinking, going over the worst-case scenarios, adding more fuel to the fire.
The cages were hidden. They were buried beneath my skin, but they might as well have been real prison for the way they kept my mind trapped.
When I was recruited as an assassin and had to train for five years, it kept the demons at bay. I was so spent at night that I would sleep soundly five seconds after hitting the bed. I didn’t have time to think or spend countless hours worrying.
Last night with Lila changed all that. Changed me—in what ways, I still haven’t figured out. Retreating into an unreachable chamber in my mind was a mechanism I used when goons knocked on our door in the middle of the night or when foot soldiers blocked my way home to force me to cough up money I didn’t have.
Ignoring things became such a huge part of my life that I’m sorely tempted to do the same thing with this rising tide of emotion for Lila.
When I first laid eyes on her, I was fully convinced it was nothing more than physical attraction. She’s gorgeous, and I’m well beneath her. Her beauty and smile blasted heat straight through me, and it was either fight it or let the fire consume me.
I let myself burn when I caved to her.
And now, images, possible scenarios, and wild thoughts shuffle through my mind.
The men from last night.
Bad, bad men who’ll stop at nothing to get what they want.
Men with guns. Men with knives. Men with every torture device ever invented. Men who know how to make others scream and beg for mercy. Men who won’t kill because they prefer drawing out pain.
Lila in pain.
Lila hurt.
Lila crying.
Lila’s face full of fear, just like last night.
They want the money owed to them, but the woman who lives here will do just as well.
If they’re pros, they’ll have Lila’s information—where she works, what route she takes, where she shops, where she goes on weekends.
If they can’t track my father, they’ll settle for the next best thing—his stepdaughter.
They won’t just take things from the mansion because where’s the fun in that? Then they’ll have to?—
Fucking stop!
Just thinking of Lila hurt at the hands of these imbeciles is enough to make me sick to my stomach. No, I won’t let that happen. I was nonchalant when I learned of their threats to my father, but Lila is a different matter altogether.
She’s innocent, and while my moral compass has never truly pointed north, I am always on the side of innocents. I don’t have a high ground to speak of because of what I do, but I never raise a hand or draw blood from innocents. My missions always involve men of questionable character, men with no qualms about hurting and exploiting the poor, men who enjoy others’ pain, and men whose existence continues to bring misery to others.
Lila doesn’t deserve to be dragged into my father’s world. She doesn’t deserve my filth. She doesn’t deserve to be touched by this beast.
