The knock came again.
Harder. Impatient.
Luciano's body went stone-still, every inch of him coiled with predator tension. Grace could feel the heat of him against her back as he shielded her, one hand pressed against her stomach to keep her from stepping forward.
"Stay down," he whispered.
She obeyed.
He moved like a shadow, gun low, steps silent as he crept toward the door. He didn't ask questions. Didn't give warnings. He knew better.
Grace's heart pounded so loud she feared they could hear it from outside.
Then—BOOM.
The front door blasted open, nearly flying off its hinges. Two men stormed in, both dressed in maintenance uniforms that didn't match their boots or their guns.
Luciano fired the first shot.
A scream followed. One of the men dropped, clutching his leg.
The second turned, gun raised—but Luciano tackled him before he could pull the trigger. The sound of fists slamming into flesh echoed through the cabin as the two men struggled.
Grace stood frozen—until the downed attacker reached for his own weapon.
Instinct took over.
She grabbed the closest thing—a metal lamp—and hurled it at him. It cracked against his skull. He went limp.
Luciano didn't look up. He was still fighting.
The second man, bigger, had him pinned. For a moment, it looked like Luciano might lose. Then—his elbow slammed back into the attacker's throat. A sharp twist. A snap.
The body slumped to the floor.
Silence.
Luciano stood over the dead man, chest heaving. Blood on his cheek. Splatter on his shirt. Grace didn't know whether to run, scream, or hold him.
He turned to her slowly.
"You okay?"
She nodded, but her hands were shaking.
He crossed the room in two long strides, grabbing her by the shoulders—not roughly, not gently either. "Did he hurt you? Did he touch you?"
"No," she breathed. "I—I hit him."
Luciano's mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Not quite relief.
"You're insane," he said softly. "You should've run."
"You shouldn't have come here to die."
He stared at her then—really stared—and something shifted. Not just in him, but in the room. The danger was still thick in the air, but now there was something else.
A pull.
A need.
His hand was still on her shoulder. Hers gripped his arm like an anchor. Neither moved.
"You could've been killed," he rasped.
"So could you."
They were too close.
He leaned in slightly. So did she.
The kiss didn't happen.
But the almost did. And it scorched them both.
Luciano pulled back like he'd touched fire. "I need to get rid of the bodies."
Grace nodded. But her eyes never left him.
Neither said the truth out loud:
They were in too deep now.
---