The next morning, I woke up to sunlight spilling through the curtains Lucas had drawn the night before. The silence in the room was louder than any noise—thick, uneasy. The kind of quiet that wraps around you like chains.
I'd barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face—calm, controlled, terrifyingly beautiful. And that last thing he'd said...
"She doesn't know it yet, but she's the only leverage I have left."
Leverage.
That word coiled around my ribs like a vice.
I wasn't here because he cared. I was here because I was useful.
Like bait.
My fists curled in the sheets. Anger itched under my skin like fire with nowhere to go. I needed to get out of this room. Out of this house. Out of his world.
So when I heard voices outside my door and realized the guards had changed shifts, I didn't wait. I marched to the door and pulled it open.
The two men standing there looked startled, but I didn't give them time to recover.
"I want to speak to Lucas. Now."
"No one said—"
"You can either get him, or I'll tear this place apart until he shows up. Your choice."
They exchanged a look, and one of them sighed before grabbing his radio.
Ten minutes later, Lucas arrived.
He didn't knock.
He didn't hesitate.
He stepped in like he owned the room—and maybe he did. Hell, maybe he owned me now too.
"You called?" he said, casual as ever, like we were friends.
I didn't waste time.
"You said I belong to you," I snapped. "That I'm leverage. You brought me here to keep me safe, but I'm still locked in a room like some... mafia pawn. You think a fancy bed and a fresh shower makes this any different from being Matteo's hostage?"
He didn't answer.
He just walked over to the window and lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly like he was trying not to explode.
I hated how good he looked doing it.
"Say something!" I barked.
He turned, smoke curling between his lips.
"You're not a pawn, Nia."
"No? Then what am I? A pet? A prisoner? Or just a convenient reminder of your power?"
His expression shifted. Just slightly. But I saw it. A flicker of something behind those eyes. Guilt, maybe.
Or regret.
"You think I wanted this?" he asked, voice sharp. "You think I wanted to drag you into a war because your father couldn't keep his hands clean?"
I stepped closer, shaking now.
"You think I care about the damn war? My life was normal. Boring, even. Until you."
He dropped the cigarette into a glass and crossed the room in two strides.
"You don't get to blame me for the choices your father made."
"Oh, so this is my fault now?"
We were close. Too close.
His jaw clenched.
"I warned you I don't lose."
"Guess what?" I snapped. "Neither do I."
He grabbed my arm—not roughly, but hard enough that my breath caught.
"You're pushing me, Nia."
"Then push back."
The air between us snapped tight.
His grip loosened, but he didn't move away.
"I've tried to stay away from you," he said, voice hoarse. "Tried to keep you safe from what I am. But you just keep showing up with fire in your eyes and no clue how dangerous this game is."
"I'm not scared of you."
He leaned in.
"You should be."
And then—
We kissed.
Hard. Hungry. Angry.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't sweet. It was war made flesh. A clash of lips and teeth and breathless fury. I didn't know who moved first—me or him—but once it started, there was no stopping it.
His hand tangled in my hair. My nails bit into his shoulders. He tasted like smoke and danger and something I shouldn't want but did.
God help me, I wanted it.
I wanted him.
For a breathless second, I let myself fall into it. Into him. The heat, the pull, the part of me that didn't care who he was or what he'd done.
And then I shoved him back.
Breathing hard. Shaking.
"No," I whispered. "We can't."
He stood there, chest rising and falling, eyes blazing like I'd lit a match inside him.
"You kissed me back."
"Doesn't mean I should have."
A beat passed.
Then another.
Finally, he stepped back. Slowly. Like it took effort.
"Good," he said, voice raw. "We both need reminding."
I nodded, heart pounding.
"Of what?"
"That some things are more dangerous than bullets."
He turned, hand on the doorknob.
"But you already know that, don't you?"
And then he left.
Again.
Leaving me with lips still burning... and a heart torn between fury and something much worse.
Longing.
As the door clicked shut, I sank to the floor, dizzy with heat and shame and something else I couldn't name.
But just before I could catch my breath, my phone buzzed where I'd hidden it inside my jacket—missed calls, unknown number.
Then a message:
"He can't protect you forever, princess. – N."
My blood ran cold.
Matteo.
He knows where I am.
My fingers went numb around the phone.
Matteo's words burned on the screen, each letter heavier than lead.
He can't protect you forever, princess.
I could almost hear his voice—smooth, taunting, dripping with the kind of promise that never ended well.
My stomach knotted.
The room suddenly felt smaller, like the walls had inched closer while I wasn't looking. My pulse hammered in my ears, and for a second, I thought about running. Just… running until my lungs gave out and my legs refused to move.
But where?
Where the hell could I go that Matteo wouldn't find me? That Lucas wouldn't drag me back from?
I shoved the phone into my jacket like it burned to touch, but the words stayed—etched into my head, crawling under my skin.
I stood, pacing, the floor cold beneath my bare feet. I hated this feeling—the helplessness, the waiting. I hated knowing I was the reason two dangerous men were circling each other like wolves, and I was right in the middle.
The worst part?
I didn't know which one scared me more.
The door swung open before I could think, and Lucas stepped inside. No knock, no warning. His eyes found me instantly, sharp as a blade, scanning my face like he could read every thought.
"What happened?" he asked.
I froze.
If I told him, it would start something I couldn't control. But if I didn't… Matteo would.
I opened my mouth, but no words came out.
Lucas's jaw tightened. "Nia. What. Happened?"
The way he said my name—low, dangerous—made my heart trip over itself.
I swallowed hard, my throat dry.
And then, without meaning to, I said the one thing I knew would make everything worse.
"Matteo knows where I am."
His face went still. Too still.
Then, like a match hitting fuel, his eyes darkened, and I knew—whatever came next wasn't going to end quietly.