She doesn't understand what she's walked into.
Not really.
She thinks she's made a choice—that she's staying. But this world? Once it has its teeth in you, it never lets go. She isn't choosing me; she's choosing war, blood, power she doesn't yet know how to wield.
And I let her.
I let her stay.
Because I'm selfish. Because for the first time in years, something touches the hollow part of me I thought was long dead. Something soft. Something pure. Something I didn't even know I was craving until I saw her trembling hands wrapped around a coffee mug in that bookstore window.
Elena Romano.
She doesn't know what that name means yet.
But they do.
Every bastard who crawled out of the shadows after the Romano empire fell, every rat who tried to claim a seat at my table, they know. And now that she's alive—now that she's with me—they'll come for her.
They already are.
"Boss."
I look up from the open laptop screen. Luca stands at the threshold of my study, tension in his jaw. His gun is holstered, but his hand keeps brushing it like a tic.
"She's asleep," he says. "You want us to post guards at her door?"
I nod. "Two on the inside. No one steps foot in that hall without my clearance."
He hesitates. "You trust her?"
"No," I say, too quickly. Then softer, "But I trust myself not to let anything happen to her."
"She's Romano blood."
"I know."
"And she's a threat to everything you've built."
I give him a hard look. "So was I, once."
Luca doesn't argue. He knows better. I've earned every scar on my hands carving out my place in this kingdom. I didn't inherit it—I took it. And now the only heir of the family I destroyed is sleeping under my roof.
Worse—she's under my skin.
I dismiss him and shut the laptop, standing to pour myself a glass of scotch. The liquor burns, but I welcome the sting. I need clarity.
There's a knock at the back door. Not the front—the back, the coded knock that means one thing:
Family.
I press the intercom. "Come."
The door opens and Dante, my cousin, steps in. His suit is crisp, tie crooked, eyes bloodshot.
"Boss," he says, but the edge in his voice isn't respect. It's doubt.
I wave him in.
"You're late."
"I had to be sure it was true."
"And is it?"
He shrugs. "The girl's the spitting image of Isabella. Same eyes. Same mouth."
He downs the scotch I poured and pours himself another.
"You really brought her here? Into this house?"
"She's safer here than anywhere else."
"That depends on your definition of safe."
I arch a brow. "You have something to say?"
"I have something to ask." He sets the glass down, hard. "What's the play, Alessio? You keeping her locked up until she gives up the Romano estate? Or are you planning to marry her and crown her your queen?"
I don't answer.
Because the answer terrifies me.
Dante shakes his head. "You're losing focus."
"I've never been more focused."
"Bullshit. You've never been this reckless. Bringing her here—if she talks to the wrong person, if she's turned, you'll be handing over your empire gift-wrapped."
"She won't turn."
"You don't know that."
"I do."
He stares at me for a long time. Then, quiet:
"You're in love with her."
I down my drink and say nothing.
"Jesus Christ," he mutters. "You really are."
He turns to leave, but I stop him with a word.
"Dante."
He pauses.
"Keep your eyes open," I say. "There's a leak in the house."
His spine stiffens.
"You sure?"
"I'm sure. Someone knew who she was before I told anyone. Someone tipped off the DeLucas. They were watching her before the alley hit."
"You think it's someone inside?"
"I know it is."
He gives a slow, grim nod. "Alright. I'll start shaking trees."
"And if one falls?"
"I burn it."
After he leaves, I don't return to my room.
I go to hers.
The guards nod and step aside as I approach. I key in the override code and push the door open, silent.
She's curled in the massive bed, drowning in soft gray sheets, her hair tangled across the pillow like silk. Her face is relaxed in sleep, mouth slightly parted, brows furrowed even in rest.
She's dreaming. Fighting, maybe. Her fingers twitch.
I move closer, silently lowering myself into the chair across from the bed. Just watching her. Breathing her in.
I've seen men kill for less than what I feel for this girl. And I've killed for far less than what I'd do to anyone who hurt her.
But this is more dangerous than any war.
Because I don't want to just protect her.
I want to keep her.
I want to wrap her in silk and glass and blood, and make the whole goddamn world understand that she's mine.
Not a pawn.
Not a legacy.
Mine.
Her breathing changes.
"Elena," I whisper.
She stirs. Eyes flutter open—soft green pulling me under like ocean tides.
"Alessio?"
"I'm here."
She blinks, trying to orient herself. "What time is it?"
"Late."
"Why are you watching me sleep?"
"Because I'm not stupid enough to believe the danger's passed."
She sits up slowly, pulling the sheet with her. Her eyes meet mine—and there's no fear in them anymore.
Just something wary. Curious. Brave.
"You still don't trust me," she says.
"I don't trust anyone."
"But you want me."
"Yes."
"And not just because of my name?"
I stand. Walk to her. Let her see the truth in my face.
"I wanted you before I knew your name. That hasn't changed."
She watches me. Her voice is low. "And if I wanted to run?"
"I'd chase you."
"And if I said no?"
"I'd find a way to make you say yes."
Her eyes darken. "That's not romantic."
"No," I say. "It's honest."
She nods slowly. "Then here's honesty for honesty—I don't know if I trust you. But I want to."
That undoes me more than anything else could have.
Not her fear.
Not her tears.
Her hope.
It's the most dangerous weapon in the world.
And she's aiming it right at me.