Lucas
I've silenced men with a glance. Ended lives without blinking. But tonight—tonight I was the one unraveling.
Nia was in my house, bruised, trembling, and drugged with fear. And I didn't know whether to rage or beg for forgiveness. Not from her. From myself—for letting it happen under my watch.
The girl had no business getting tangled in our world. Matteo crossed a line—hell, he buried the line and danced over it.
She was curled on the leather couch now, draped in one of my black shirts that hung low on her thighs. Her knees were drawn to her chest, like she was trying to shrink herself small enough to disappear.
I stood across the room. Watching. Guarding. Fighting the violent urge to destroy everything and everyone who had touched her.
"You're not safe here," she whispered, barely looking at me.
"I know," I said. "But you're safer with me than without me. That's the only guarantee I can give."
Her gaze met mine. Raw. Accusing. "You didn't come for me."
My jaw clenched. That one sentence hit harder than a bullet.
"I didn't know Matteo had taken you. I thought…" I broke off, fisting my hand against the wall. "I thought he wouldn't dare."
"Well, he did," she snapped. "And I got to learn how many fingers a man can put around a throat before it stops being fun."
Fuck.
I crossed the room in three strides. Dropped to my knees in front of her. She flinched.
My hands hovered over her—ready to hold her, touch her, but afraid she'd break in my grip.
"I will never let him touch you again," I swore. "He's already dead. He just doesn't know it yet."
She looked at me with something wild in her eyes—anger or fear, maybe both. "What do you even want from me?"
I wanted to tell her everything. That I hadn't slept in days. That, the moment I heard her name from Matteo's mouth, I saw red and nothing else. That when I walked into that warehouse and saw her tied to that chair, her lip split and blood running down her cheek, something inside me shattered.
But I didn't say any of that.
I just said, "I want you alive."
Her breath caught. "That's not an answer."
"I don't have good answers, Nia," I muttered. "But I have intentions. And mine are lethal if anyone so much as breathes wrong in your direction."
She stared at me for a long beat.
Then her voice softened. "Why me, Lucas? Out of all the girls you could ruin… why me?"
I should've lied.
Told her it was convenience. A game. Something shallow I could walk away from.
But the truth was already lodged in my throat.
"Because you make me want to protect something again," I said, voice low. "You remind me I still have something human left in me. And that's dangerous. For both of us."
Her lips parted slightly. Her fingers fisted the fabric of my shirt like she was clinging to a life raft.
"You don't scare me," she whispered.
"Then you're not paying attention."
I leaned closer.
Close enough to feel the warmth of her breath on my jaw.
Close enough to smell her skin—soap, leather, and something sweet that made my blood thrum.
But I didn't kiss her.
I didn't dare.
Not when everything between us was hanging by a thread soaked in gasoline.
Instead, I reached out slowly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. She didn't flinch this time.
Her hand rose—tentative, unsure—and touched my cheek.
"You're bleeding," she murmured.
I hadn't noticed the split in my brow from earlier. It didn't matter.
"What do we do now?" she asked, and for the first time her voice wavered.
I stood and pulled her up gently. She followed without resistance.
"Now?" I said, leading her toward the bedroom. "Now, you rest. And I watch the door."
She arched her brow. "You think I'm sleeping in your bed?"
"I think you're not sleeping alone. That's what I think."
She opened her mouth to protest, but I shot her a look. Not a command. Not dominance.
Just... something real. Something broken. Something that only existed between us.
She didn't argue again.
Later, as she lay curled in my bed, breathing slow, I sat at the edge—eyes fixed on the moonlight slicing through the curtains.
My phone buzzed once.
Unknown Number: You're not the only one who can bleed, Lucas.
Matteo.
I gritted my teeth so hard my jaw popped.
If he wanted war, I'd give him hell.
But the next text that followed knocked the air from my lungs.
Unknown Number: She's not who you think she is. Ask her about the night Sarah Jones died.
My blood ran cold.
Sarah Jones.
Nia's mother.
The case that started it all. The blood feud between her family and mine.
I turned toward the girl sleeping beside me—so soft, so close, and yet suddenly miles away.
What the fuck did Matteo mean?
What had Nia been hiding?
And why the hell did it fee
l like the room just got ten degrees colder?
I stared at the sleeping girl beside me… and realized I didn't know her at all.