The ride back from the warehouse was a blur. The Don’s men drove, but I barely noticed them. All I could feel was the warmth of his hand covering mine, heavy, steady, as if anchoring me to the world. I wanted to pull away, but I couldn’t.
Back at the mansion, he didn’t let go until we were inside his private suite.
"Sit," he ordered softly, guiding me to the edge of the bed.
I shook my head. "I’m not broken."
His jaw tightened. "You were almost killed tonight. You don’t get to pretend that means nothing."
"It does mean something," I whispered, hugging myself. "It means I’m still alive."
He crouched down in front of me, eye-level now, his eyes sharper than the dim lamplight above. "Alive because of me."
I flinched. "So what, I should thank you?"
"Not thank me," he said quietly. "Trust me."
My chest tightened. "That’s the one thing I can’t do."
"Because trusting you means handing over my heart. And you’ll crush it without even blinking."
His gaze darkened. "You think I want to hurt you?"
"I know you will," I whispered.
For a moment, silence stretched. Then he reached out, brushing his thumb lightly across my cheek. "Do you know what scared me most tonight?"
"That I’d be too late. That they’d take you from me before I ever got to hear you say my name like it meant something."
I froze, my lips parting. "You’re lying."
He shook his head. "I’ve lied to many people in my life. But never to you." ᴛhis chapter is ᴜpdated by 𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝⚑𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖⚑𝕟𝕖𝕥
I wanted to argue, but my voice caught in my throat. The way he was looking at me—it wasn’t possession. It was something deeper, rawer.
"You confuse me," I whispered.
He gave a low laugh, bitter and soft. "You think you don’t confuse me? Every day, I tell myself to keep you at a distance. And every day, I fail."
His fingers slid into my hair, his forehead lowering to touch mine. His voice was hoarse, broken at the edges. "Because you’re the only thing in this cursed life that feels real."
I gasped, trembling as his breath brushed my lips. "Don..."
"Say my name," he murmured. "Not Don. My name."
His body went rigid, as if the sound alone was a brand. Then he kissed me.
It wasn’t careful, not at first. It was desperate, like a man starved of oxygen finally breaking to the surface. My hands pressed against his chest, meaning to push him away, but instead they curled into his shirt, dragging him closer.
When he finally broke the kiss, both of us breathless, he whispered against my lips, "Tell me to stop, and I will."
I shook my head, trembling. "Don’t stop."
He groaned low in his throat, kissing me again, slower this time, deeper, his lips moving with a tenderness that made my heart ache. His hand cupped the back of my neck, holding me like I was fragile, precious, something he’d die to protect.
"Why do you do this to me?" I whispered between kisses.
"Because I can’t not." His mouth trailed to my jaw, down to the hollow of my throat. "You undo me, cara mia. Piece by piece."
I shuddered, tears pricking my eyes. "I don’t know if I can survive you."
"You’ll survive," he murmured, pressing his forehead to mine again. "Because I won’t let anything touch you. Not even me, if that’s what you want."
But his hands trembled where they held me, betraying him.
I placed my hand over his. "Don’t you get it? You already touched me. You’ve been touching me from the moment you walked into my life."
His breath caught. "And you hate me for it."
"I should," I admitted. "But I don’t."
The admission cracked something open in him. He kissed me again, this time slower, lingering, almost reverent.
"Luca," I whispered again, my voice breaking. "Don’t ruin this moment. Don’t turn it into something ugly."
"I couldn’t if I tried," he said, his voice raw. "You’re the only beautiful thing left in my world."
He eased me onto the bed, but not with the force I feared. Every move was hesitant, deliberate, as if asking permission without words. His hand hovered over my waist.
"Tell me to stop," he repeated.
I shook my head, pulling him down. "Don’t."
The kiss deepened, his body pressing against mine, but his control never faltered. For every breathless moment that threatened to spiral, he reined it back, forcing tenderness where there could have been hunger.
At one point, I whispered, "Why are you holding back?"
His eyes burned into mine. "Because I don’t want our first time to be born of fear or desperation. I want it when you’re ready—when it’s you choosing me."
I swallowed hard, overwhelmed. "What if I never choose?"
He smirked faintly, though his eyes stayed serious. "Then I’ll spend the rest of my life waiting."
I laughed weakly through the tears. "You don’t wait for anything."
"For you, I would," he said simply.
Something inside me broke then—not in pain, but in surrender. I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him close, letting myself sink into his warmth.
We didn’t go further that night, though the tension pulsed between us. Instead, we lay tangled on the bed, his arm wrapped around me, my head against his chest.
For the first time, I felt his heartbeat—not the ruthless Don’s, but Luca’s.
"Sleep," he whispered, pressing a kiss into my hair. "I’ve got you."
And for once, I believed him.