The silence of Leo's locked bedroom was deafening. He sat on the edge of his ridiculously oversized bed, the compress Silas had given him now a lukewarm, soggy weight against his throbbing face. The physical pain was a constant drumbeat – the sharp ache of the split cheekbone, the dull throb radiating through his jaw and eye socket, the sting of his swollen lip. But it was dwarfed by the turmoil within.
Dominic's violence was a familiar horror, a dark current running beneath his life. But Silas… Silas was an earthquake. The memory of his touch – the shocking gentleness, the contained fury in his eyes, the rasp of his voice saying *Leo* – replayed on a loop, eclipsing even the terror of Dominic's fist. That tender care, offered in defiance of everything, felt more dangerous, more world-shattering, than any blow.
He hadn't seen Dominic since the study door closed. The penthouse felt like a tomb, heavy with unspoken threats and the lingering scent of violence and expensive bourbon. Leo knew he should sleep, let the ice numb the damage, but every nerve was alight, hyper-aware. He strained to hear any sound beyond his door – Dominic's footsteps, the murmur of his voice on the phone, the chime of the elevator.
And Silas. Always listening for Silas.
Morning arrived with grey, oppressive light filtering through the automated blinds. Leo's reflection in the bathroom mirror was worse. The swelling around his eye had blossomed into a spectacular purple-black shiner, the skin stretched tight and hot. The split on his cheekbone was an angry red line, crusted at the edges. His lip was still puffy. He looked like he'd gone ten rounds in a boxing ring. *Which, in a way, he had.*
Dominic's reaction, when Leo finally ventured hesitantly into the main living area for coffee, was chillingly dismissive. He glanced up from his tablet, his expression one of mild distaste, as if Leo were a piece of furniture that had been slightly scuffed.
"You look a fright," he stated flatly, returning his attention to the screen. "Stay in today. I have meetings. Vance will handle anything you *absolutely* need." He didn't mention the incident. Didn't apologize. Didn't even acknowledge the cause of Leo's injuries. The silence, the utter lack of remorse, was its own form of violence. Leo was furniture. Damaged furniture.
"Yes, Dominic," Leo murmured, his voice thick. He poured coffee with trembling hands, the rich aroma doing nothing to settle his churning stomach.
Silas arrived precisely at 8 AM, his uniform crisp, his expression the familiar mask of professional detachment. But the moment his grey eyes landed on Leo's face, the mask fractured. Leo saw the swift intake of breath, the almost imperceptible tightening around his eyes, the way his gaze lingered a fraction too long on the vivid bruising. It wasn't pity. It was a silent, seething acknowledgment. *I see what he did. I remember.*
"Mr. Rossi," Silas acknowledged Dominic, his voice neutral. "Perimeter is secure. The… debris in the foyer has been disposed of." He didn't look at Leo again, focusing solely on Dominic.
"Good," Dominic replied without looking up. "Leo is staying in. Ensure he has whatever he requires." The order was casual, as if instructing a butler about laundry. "I'll be in the downtown office. Expect me late."
With that, Dominic rose, collected his briefcase, and strode towards the private elevator without a backward glance at either of them. The soft *whoosh* of the elevator doors felt like a reprieve, however temporary.
The vast penthouse felt simultaneously empty and charged. Leo stood frozen by the coffee machine, cup in hand. Silas remained near the entrance, a statue once more. The silence stretched, thick with everything unsaid, everything that had happened in the powder room.
Leo couldn't bear it. He turned, intending to flee back to his room, but his gaze snagged on Silas. Silas was already looking at him. Their eyes locked. It was like the moment at the gala window, amplified a hundredfold by the shared secret, the shared violation, the shared spark that had flared into life.
Silas's gaze was intense, unreadable yet full of meaning. It swept over Leo's battered face, a silent inventory of the damage. Leo saw the muscle jump in Silas's jaw again, saw the controlled tension in his posture. He saw the question, the fury, the helplessness. And beneath it, the echo of that terrifying tenderness.
Leo felt pinned, exposed. He wanted to look away, to hide his shame, but he couldn't. He held Silas's gaze, a silent plea forming in his own eyes. *See me. Still see me, even like this.*
Silas broke first. He gave a curt, almost imperceptible nod, his gaze dropping to the floor for a brief second before snapping back up, resuming its watchful scan of the room. The moment was over, but the charge remained, crackling in the air between them.
The day passed in a strange limbo. Leo drifted from room to room, unable to settle, acutely aware of Silas's presence. Silas moved through the penthouse with his usual quiet efficiency – checking security feeds, verifying perimeter sensors, making a brief, terse call on his comm. He maintained a careful distance, a physical manifestation of the professional barrier he was desperately trying to rebuild.
But the glances happened. Stolen, fleeting moments that carried the weight of worlds.
Leo, pretending to read by the terrace windows, would look up and find Silas's gaze already on him, intense and unguarded, before it flickered away.
Silas, adjusting a security panel near the kitchen, would catch Leo watching him in the reflection of a polished surface. Their eyes would meet for a heartbeat in the glass, a silent communication, before Leo quickly looked down at his book.
Passing each other in the hallway, shoulders almost brushing, the air would thicken. Silas's hand might clench briefly at his side. Leo's breath would catch. A glance would be exchanged – hot, loaded, dangerous – before they moved on, hearts pounding.
Each glance was a brand. A reminder of the crack in the cage wall. A reminder of the fire smoldering beneath the surface. They were prisoners together now, bound not just by Dominic's tyranny, but by this terrifying, fragile connection forged in blood and tenderness.
Leo found himself near the floor-to-ceiling windows again in the late afternoon, the city sprawling below, painted in the long shadows of dusk. He wasn't looking out this time. He was tracing the faint reflection of Silas, standing guard near the entrance to the dining room. He watched the reflection of Silas's strong profile, the set of his shoulders, the way his gaze constantly swept the room, always, inevitably, returning to linger on Leo's reflection too.
Silas shifted slightly, turning his head. Their reflected gazes met in the darkening glass. This time, neither looked away. The distance between them, both physical and metaphorical, seemed to collapse in that shared reflection. Leo saw the turmoil in Silas's eyes, the battle between duty and something far more primal. He saw the echo of his own desperate longing, his fear, his fragile hope.
The silence stretched, thick and electric. Leo's heart hammered against his bruised ribs. He saw Silas's reflection take a half-step forward, then stop, clenching his fists. The air crackled with unspoken words, with the memory of cool cloth on heated skin, with the promise of something perilous and profound.
Then, a chime echoed through the penthouse – the security system indicating someone was accessing the service entrance. Silas snapped into motion instantly, the intense connection severed as he turned, hand instinctively moving towards the concealed holster at his back, his professional mask slamming back into place. It was just a delivery, a mundane intrusion into their charged bubble.
But as Silas moved to intercept it, he paused for a fraction of a second, his gaze finding Leo's real form, not his reflection, across the room. It was a look that held the residue of that intense moment, a silent acknowledgment of the dangerous current still flowing between them. A current that Dominic's absence had amplified, a current that was becoming impossible to resist.
Leo turned away from the window, pressing his fingertips against his swollen cheek, the pain a sharp counterpoint to the treacherous warmth blooming in his chest. The stolen glances weren't enough. They were kindling, feeding a fire that threatened to consume them both. The cage felt tighter than ever, but the lock Silas held felt tantalizingly within reach. The silence was no longer just oppressive; it was pregnant with the terrifying, exhilarating possibility of what might happen when it finally broke.