The house felt different after the attack.
Not just quieter, but heavier, as though the walls themselves had absorbed the violence that had spilled onto the streets. Lottie sat curled on the edge of the leather couch in the Cavelli estate's library, a steaming mug of tea in her hands. Gabe had insisted she stay inside until security was doubled. Which, translated into mafia-speak, meant she now had two men shadowing her every step, even to the bathroom.
She blew at the tea, muttering under her breath. "So this is it. Witness protection, Cavelli edition. Guards outside the door while I brush my teeth."
From the doorway, Marco's voice chimed in, smooth as silk. "Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart. They're not guarding you. They're guarding Cavelli's temper if anything happens to you."
Lottie rolled her eyes. "Thank you for that comforting image."
Marco smirked, leaning against the doorframe. His suit jacket looked freshly pressed, but his tie was loose, and his knuckles still bore faint bruises from the fight last night. "Hey, I try to set realistic expectations. Makes disappointment less… disappointing."
Before she could snap back, footsteps echoed in the hall. Gabe entered, black shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his presence as commanding as ever. His gaze swept the room and landed on her, lingering just long enough to remind her that in his world, she was both priority and liability.
"You're safe here," he said, tone flat but final.
Safe. The word made her grip the mug tighter. Last night's chaos—gunfire, screeching tires, the blur of Gabe pulling her into the backseat while bullets cracked against the windows—still replayed in her head. Safe wasn't real. Not in this world.
"Sure," she said, her voice sharper than intended. "Because nothing screams safety like armed men babysitting me while I drink chamomile tea."
Marco chuckled, low and amused. "Careful, Cavelli. This one's got more bite than the Rossi boys."
Gabe shot him a look that silenced the room, but not before Lottie caught the flicker of irritation beneath it. Something about her sarcasm either unsettled him or intrigued him—she wasn't sure which.
"Charlotte," he said, dropping into the chair across from her. "Richard Vitale won't stop. He wants you because you're leverage, and because he enjoys taking what belongs to others." His jaw tightened. "Which means you don't leave this house unless I say so. Not to the store. Not to church. Not to the garden."
"The garden?" she repeated. "Wow. That's harsh. I might start a rebellion with the roses."
Marco snorted, quickly disguising it as a cough. Gabe's glare cut across the space, sharp enough to skin a man alive, but Lottie only lifted her brows, daring him to scold her like a child.
He didn't. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his dark eyes locked on hers. "I mean it, Lottie. You step outside those gates without me, and you're as good as dead."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Her sarcasm fizzled, leaving the raw truth between them. Gabe wasn't exaggerating. The image of Richard Vitale's men closing in on the car flashed again in her mind, and she swallowed hard.
"Fine," she said quietly, setting her tea down. "You're the boss."
Gabe studied her for a long beat, as though weighing whether her words were agreement or defiance. Then he stood, giving Marco a pointed look. "Stay with her. I'll be in the study."
Once he was gone, Marco gave a low whistle. "He likes you."
Lottie blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." He strolled into the room, taking Gabe's vacated chair with the ease of a man who feared nothing. "Cavelli doesn't let anyone talk back to him. You? You could probably throw that tea in his face, and he'd just tell you not to burn yourself."
She let out an incredulous laugh. "That's your idea of 'liking someone'?"
"In his world, yeah." Marco leaned back, arms crossed. "Don't read too much into it, though. He's got a heart made of granite. You'll bruise before you dent it."
Her lips curved despite herself. Marco had a way of cutting the tension without cutting away the truth. For the first time since the funeral, the crushing weight of grief and danger lifted, if only slightly.
But it didn't last.
Because that night, as darkness wrapped around the Cavelli estate, the shadows outside thickened with more than just silence.
Lottie woke to the sound of glass shattering.
Her pulse spiked as she bolted upright in bed. The room was dark, only the silver glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains. For a second she thought she'd dreamed it, but then—another sound. Heavy boots. Muffled voices.
Intruders.
Her throat went dry. She scrambled for the bedside lamp but froze when the door burst open. Gabe stormed in, gun in hand, face carved in fury.
"Stay down," he ordered, crossing the room in two strides.
Before she could argue, he yanked her to the floor, shielding her with his body as the crack of gunfire split the night. Shouts erupted from the hall—Marco's voice among them, barking orders, curses slicing through the chaos.
"Richard," Gabe growled under his breath, as if the name itself was poison.
Lottie pressed her palms to her ears, heart pounding. She wanted to scream, to run, but Gabe's weight against her back kept her anchored. He fired twice, the sound deafening, then shoved her toward the bed.
"Closet," he snapped. "Now."
Her legs shook, but she moved, crawling into the walk-in closet as more shots rang out. The door clicked shut behind her, plunging her into darkness. She buried her face against her knees, trembling.
Minutes felt like hours. Finally, the gunfire dulled, then silence swallowed the house.
The closet door creaked open. Gabe stood there, chest heaving, shirt spattered with blood that wasn't his. His eyes swept over her, checking for wounds before he exhaled.
"You're all right."
Lottie's breath hitched. She wanted to tell him she wasn't. That she was breaking. That this life of his—of Daniel's, of their family—was too much. Instead, all she managed was a strangled, "What happened?"
"They tried to breach the estate. They failed." His voice was a blade. "Vitale won't stop."
Her fear turned to anger, sharp and hot. "So what now? Do I just sit in closets while men kill each other outside?"
Gabe's jaw flexed. He stepped closer, towering over her. "No. From now on, you stay at my side. Day and night. Until I finish this."
The words were a vow and a threat.
And though she wanted to scream at him, to demand her freedom, a small, traitorous part of her felt the faintest flicker of safety in his shadow.
Not safe from the world. But safe from everything else.
Even herself.