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“No.” She eases back far enough to meet my eyes. “Don’t apologize for being the man who protects me like he promised. I knew what I was walking into.”
“But you didn’t.” My thumb traces her cheek. “I promised you’d be safe. You didn’t sign up for these close brushes with death. You shouldn’t have to watch me beat a man nearly to death or endure being a hostage.”
In response, she rises onto her toes and presses her mouth to mine in a fierce kiss that pours out everything she can’t say. As my lips slide over hers, terror and relief buzz through me, plus the dawning realization that this woman has become essential to me.
When she draws back again, her eyes are bright. “Thank you, Marco. You’re a good man.”
Behind us, Enzo issues orders while soldiers haul a kicking and cussing Tomas away.
“You sentenced him to death.” I turn to Enzo. “Give me one good reason why he’s still breathing.”
“Because he didn’t access that gun without help.” Enzo’s voice drops low. “He’s alive until we know every name he’s connected to. Then he’s yours.”
The capos disperse with the careful discretion of men who’ve witnessed a scene that’s too intimate. Sophia meets my gaze and nods once. One hand is pressed to the swell of her abdomen, and the other stretches to Lucia, who takes it. They disappear together.
After everyone leaves, I find myself patrolling the estate.
I should sleep. I’m exhausted, my shoulder’s screaming, and an adrenaline crash has left me hollow.
Instead, I stare at the moon and let the questions surface.
What is she to you?
No answer comes to me except that her presence in my life is vital, like air or blood.
What are you willing to sacrifice to keep her?
A lot. That answer comes without too much thought.
And if she’s only here because she needs you to find her brother’s killers, if this is all a means to an end, will you survive losing her?
That one I can’t answer.
My hands tighten into fists as I reach an unwelcome but clarifying conclusion.
Men like me don’t get happy endings. We get moments of borrowed time and stolen nights and the memory of someone warm in our arms.
Chapter 17
Lucia
The morning after Tomas Greco tried to kill me, I keep my hands busy so my mind won’t explode.
I start by picking up and rearranging my belongings in Marco’s quarters. The converted stables are one big room meant to function as a sitting area, a study, and a bedroom. It’s a soldier’s space, functional, undecorated, each piece chosen for purpose rather than comfort. The gradual intrusion of my things crowds the limited space even more.
Hoping to blend my possessions with his, I fold my clothes, arrange my toiletries right where they should be, and line my medical journals on the shelf beside his tactical manuals. Their worn spines forge an unlikely alliance between wound care protocols and close-quarters combat strategies.
I transfer the framed photo of Matteo from the dresser, where it’s been since I first arrived, to the sole nightstand that sits on my side of the bed, justifying the repositioning with the fact that I need it closer to me. The new location means my brother’s smiling face keeps me company beside Marco’s expensive watch and the small ceramic dish where he empties his pockets each night.
When he comes in from a morning run—sweat still glistening on his skin and his chest heaving—and discovers Matteo there, he doesn’t say anything at first. He picks up the frame and studies my brother’s face with an intensity that tightens my chest, then puts it back down with a nod.
“You don’t mind?” I ask from the doorway. I’m wrapped in one of his shirts that hangs past my thighs. The fabric still carries his woodsy, soapy scent.
“He’s part of you.” Marco crosses the room in those long, fluid strides and pulls me against his sweat-damp chest. I breathe in the musk and exertion dripping from him. “That means he’s part of this, and he’s why we’re doing this together.”
Together. The word warms my chest and spreads heat through my skin.
I do some quick runs to my apartment, with the dour-faced and armed Izzy accompanying me each time. Piece by piece, more of my belongings migrate to Marco’s place. My struggling succulent is now on his windowsill, set in the best light I can find.
