The ride back from the warehouse was a blur. The Don’s n drove, but I barely noticed them. All I could feel was the warmth of his hand covering mine, heavy, steady, as if anchoring 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 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 ans nothing."
"It does an sothing," I whispered, hugging myself. "It ans I’m still alive."
He crouched down in front of , eye-level now, his eyes sharper than the dim lamplight above. "Alive because of ."
I flinched. "So what, I should thank you?"
"Not thank ," he said quietly. "Trust ."
My chest tightened. "That’s the one thing I can’t do."
"Why not?"
"Because trusting you ans 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 mont, silence stretched. Then he reached out, brushing his thumb lightly across my cheek. "Do you know what scared most tonight?"
"What?"
"That I’d be too late. That they’d take you from before I ever got to hear you say my na like it ant sothing."
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."
I wanted to argue, but my voice caught in my throat. The way he was looking at —it wasn’t possession. It was sothing deeper, rawer.
"You confuse ," I whispered.
He gave a low laugh, bitter and soft. "You think you don’t confuse ? Every day, I tell myself to keep you at a distance. And every day, I fail."
"Why?"
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 na," he murmured. "Not Don. My na."
"Luca," I whispered.
His body went rigid, as if the sound alone was a brand. Then he kissed .
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, aning 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 to stop, and I will."
I shook my head, trembling. "Don’t stop."
He groaned low in his throat, kissing again, slower this ti, deeper, his lips moving with a tenderness that made my heart ache. His hand cupped the back of my neck, holding like I was fragile, precious, sothing he’d die to protect.
"Why do you do this to ?" I whispered between kisses.
"Because I can’t not." His mouth trailed to my jaw, down to the hollow of my throat. "You undo , 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 , if that’s what you want."
But his hands trembled where they held , betraying him.
I placed my hand over his. "Don’t you get it? You already touched . You’ve been touching from the mont you walked into my life."
His breath caught. "And you hate for it."
"I should," I admitted. "But I don’t."
The admission cracked sothing open in him. He kissed again, this ti slower, lingering, almost reverent.
"Luca," I whispered again, my voice breaking. "Don’t ruin this mont. Don’t turn it into sothing ugly."
"I couldn’t if I tried," he said, his voice raw. "You’re the only beautiful thing left in my world."
He eased 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 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 mont 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 ti to be born of fear or desperation. I want it when you’re ready—when it’s you choosing ."
I swallowed hard, overwheld. "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.
Sothing inside 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 , my head against his chest.
For the first ti, 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.
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