The storm had eased by the time the last mourners left the cemetery. The rain slowed to a mist that clung to the air, softening the edges of the world. The silence it left behind was almost worse—every drop from the tree branches above seemed to echo too loudly, every shift of damp earth beneath her boots too sharp.
Lottie stood frozen in place, her umbrella collapsed at her side, her hair plastered to her cheeks. She had stayed long after everyone else had gone, unwilling to leave Daniel to the cold ground. Her brother deserved better than a swift goodbye and whispered condolences.
But she wasn't alone.
Gabriel Cavelli lingered a few paces away, an immovable shadow against the gray sky. He hadn't tried to pull her from the grave, hadn't offered hollow words of comfort. He had simply stood there, watching, silent and steady. Like a sentinel. Like a man who had already decided she belonged under his guard.
Lottie turned at last, her eyes narrowing on him. "You can stop pretending to mourn. You didn't come here for Daniel. You came here for me."
His jaw flexed, rain dripping down the sharp line of his cheek. "I came here because I gave him my word. You may hate me for it, but I don't break promises."
Her throat tightened. She hated the way his voice could sound so steady when hers trembled. "Daniel never wanted me dragged deeper into your world, Cavelli. If you cared about him at all, you'd leave me the hell out of it."
For the briefest moment, his expression flickered—something like regret passing through his eyes. But then it was gone, buried beneath his usual steel. "Leaving you out of it isn't an option anymore. You're a Rossi. You're Daniel's blood. That makes you a target."
She shook her head violently, taking a step back, mud sucking at her heels. "No. It doesn't make me anything. I'm not him. I'm not part of your business, your wars, your games. I don't want any of it."
His gaze sharpened, voice dropping low. "You don't have to want it, Lottie. You're already in it."
The words struck harder than the rain ever could. She felt it in her chest, in the weight that pressed down on her lungs. He was right, wasn't he? Already, whispers had spread at the funeral—men with eyes too sharp, women with sympathy too shallow. They hadn't looked at her as a grieving sister. They had looked at her as something to claim, something to use.
And Gabe knew it.
He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "You're coming with me. My house is secured. My men know what's at stake. You'll be safe there."
Her lips parted around a sharp laugh that held no humor. "Safe? You think being locked in your glass tower with your guns and guards will make me safe? You think I'm going to trade one prison for another?"
His eyes darkened. "It's not a prison. It's protection."
"It's control," she shot back, her voice shaking with fury. "You don't get to decide where I go or what I do."
"Then who does?" His words cracked through the mist like a whip. "Richard Vitale? Veronica Caruso? The vultures who were circling you today? You think they'll give you a choice? You think they'll let you walk free?"
Her heart lurched at the names. She had seen Richard at the edge of the cemetery, his cigar glowing through the rain like a serpent's eye. She had seen Veronica too—dripping in black lace, her red lips curved in a smile that hadn't belonged at a funeral. They had looked at her the way wolves look at a cornered deer.
Lottie wrapped her arms around herself, trying to steady her breathing. "I don't trust you either, Gabe."
He stepped closer still, his voice roughened with quiet force. "You don't have to trust me. You just have to stay alive. Let me handle the rest."
The air between them tightened until it felt like the storm had moved inside her chest. She wanted to scream at him, to shove him away, to demand her freedom. But every instinct, every part of her that still remembered Daniel's warnings, whispered that Gabe was right.
If she walked away from him now, she wouldn't make it a week.
The thought terrified her more than anything else—that her survival might depend on the one man she had sworn to hate.
The ride back from the cemetery was suffocating.
Gabe's black SUV waited at the gates, two of his men in dark coats flanking it. They nodded respectfully as he opened the door for her, but their eyes flicked to Lottie with the same sharpness she had seen all morning. Measuring. Assessing. She slid inside without a word, spine rigid.
The interior smelled faintly of leather and smoke, the warmth of the heater doing little to thaw the chill in her bones. Gabe sat beside her, his presence filling the space even in silence.
The city streets blurred past the tinted windows. She kept her gaze fixed outward, refusing to look at him, refusing to acknowledge the way her pulse raced under his nearness.
"Your apartment isn't secure," he said at last, his voice calm but firm. "I had my men sweep it this morning. Too many blind spots. Too many ways in."
She didn't turn. "You had your men in my home?"
"Yes."
Her head snapped toward him, eyes blazing. "Without my permission?"
His expression didn't change. "I don't need your permission. Not when your safety is on the line."
Her hands clenched in her lap, fury and helplessness knotting together. "You don't get to make these decisions for me."
"I already did." His voice dropped, threaded with steel. "And if you want to live long enough to hate me for it, you'll do as I say.
She wanted to slap him. Wanted to claw that arrogance right off his face. But the words tangled in her throat because deep down, she knew he wasn't wrong.
Damn him for it.
Richard Vitale watched from the window of a nearby club as the black SUV rolled past, its sleek body glistening in the wet streetlight. He sipped from his glass of brandy, eyes narrowing with satisfaction.
Cavelli thought he could swoop in and claim Daniel's little sister, thought he could play protector without consequence. But Richard knew better. He knew the hunger in men like Cavelli, the way loyalty could curdle into possession.
He flicked ash into the tray beside him, lips curling.
Sooner or later, Charlotte Rossi would see that Cavelli was no savior. And when she did, Richard would be waiting.
The SUV pulled to a stop outside Cavelli's penthouse, a tower of steel and glass rising above the city. The kind of place built to intimidate, to remind everyone who truly held power here.
Gabe stepped out first, motioning for his men to stay close. Lottie hesitated at the door, her pulse quickening as she looked up at the glittering windows.
"This is temporary," she said coldly, her chin lifting with defiance.
His eyes caught hers, unflinching. "Until it's safe, it's permanent."
She bristled, anger surging through her veins. "You don't get to own me, Gabe."
His voice was quiet, dangerous. "I don't want to own you, Lottie. I want to keep you breathing. That's the difference between me and every other man in this city."
For a heartbeat, the world stilled. His words hung between them, heavy and unshakable. She hated the way they made her chest ache, the way they made something inside her fracture.
Because for all her fury, for all her resistance… a part of her believed him.
And that part was the most dangerous of all.