The house hadn't stopped buzzing since the attack. Reinforcements arrived by the hour—armed men with grim faces, sharp eyes, and loyalty etched into the set of their jaws. Lottie couldn't walk down the hall without feeling their stares, measuring, weighing, always alert.
But none of it compared to the weight of Gabriel Cavelli's shadow.
"From now on, you don't leave my sight," he'd told her after dragging her out of the closet last night. His tone had left no room for argument.
Now, as morning sunlight bled weakly through the curtains, Lottie found herself sitting across from him at the long dining table. Breakfast sat untouched between them: eggs gone cold, toast no one would eat, coffee that steamed but hadn't been sipped.
She lifted her fork anyway, more for the sake of proving she still had control over something than out of hunger. "You know," she muttered, stabbing at the eggs, "most kidnappers don't provide breakfast. I guess I should thank you."
Across from her, Gabe's eyes flicked up. Dark. Flat. Unamused.
From the corner, Marco chuckled. "Careful, Lottie. Keep poking him like that and he'll take away your silverware. Plastic cutlery for life."
Gabe's gaze cut to Marco like a blade. Marco only raised his hands in mock surrender, the ghost of a grin tugging at his lips.
Lottie fought the urge to laugh. Humor came easy when Marco was around—it was like his dry wit cracked holes in the fortress walls Gabe kept around himself. But when Gabe's attention returned to her, the laughter dried up in her throat.
"Eat," he ordered.
"I'm not hungry," she shot back.
"You'll eat anyway."
Her jaw clenched. He wasn't her brother, wasn't her father, wasn't anyone with the right to tell her how to live her life—and yet, the memory of bullets splitting the night silenced her retort. She shoved a bite of toast in her mouth, chewing aggressively, just to prove a point.
Marco muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, "Domestic bliss, mafia edition," before rising and leaving the room.
For a few minutes, silence reigned. Gabe watched her. Not the way other men watched her, with hunger or calculation, but with something heavier. Like he was assessing her every move, weighing how much of a liability she might be.
Finally, she slammed her fork down. "You can stop staring at me like I'm a bomb about to go off."
"You are," he said simply.
The words startled her. Heat rushed to her face—not the warmth of embarrassment, but the sting of truth. She was a liability. Daniel's sister. A Rossi. The one piece on the board Richard Vitale could use against Cavelli.
Her voice dropped. "Then maybe you should've left me alone."
His jaw tightened, but he didn't look away. "I promised Daniel."
The reminder cut through her anger. Daniel. Her brother. The reason she was here at all. She swallowed hard, blinking back the sting in her eyes.
"You think I asked for this?" she whispered. "To be locked in your house like some… pawn in your war?"
"No." His voice softened, but only slightly. "But if I let you go, Vitale will have you within the hour. And then it won't just be your life at stake—it'll be everything Daniel died to protect."
Her throat tightened. She hated him for being right. Hated that her brother's memory tethered her to this man more securely than any locked door.
The clink of silverware broke the silence. Gabe finally took a sip of his coffee, eyes never leaving her face.
"You'll stay by my side," he said again, final as a gunshot.
By midday, the house had settled into a tense rhythm. Guards rotated shifts. Marco handled calls in low tones from the study. Gabe disappeared for hours at a time, then reappeared without explanation.
Lottie wandered. She drifted through endless hallways lined with oil paintings and velvet drapes, past rooms that smelled faintly of cigars and expensive liquor. Every corner reminded her she didn't belong here.
When she stumbled into the armory, she froze.
Racks of guns lined the walls. Rifles. Pistols. Ammunition stacked neatly in rows. And in the center of it all—Gabe, cleaning a handgun with the kind of reverence most men reserved for prayer.
He glanced up when she entered. "You're lost."
She crossed her arms. "Or maybe I was just looking for the bathroom and found your little… apocalypse starter kit instead."
His brow lifted. "You don't belong in here."
"Well, that makes two of us." She gestured vaguely at the arsenal. "Normal people hang paintings. You hang weapons. Very subtle."
From the doorway, Marco's voice chimed in again, perfectly timed. "Don't knock it, sweetheart. Those paintings never saved anyone from a drive-by."
She jumped. "Do you lurk in doorways for fun, or is that part of your job description?"
"Both." Marco grinned before disappearing again.
Gabe shook his head, but the corner of his mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly. Lottie caught it, though. And for one insane second, she wondered what he'd look like if he ever really smiled.
That night, the world outside pressed closer.
Gabe had insisted she sleep in the master suite—his room. Lottie protested, but his argument was unshakable: more guards on this floor, better locks, fewer blind spots. Still, it felt wrong, like she was trespassing into territory she had no right to.
She lay awake long after midnight, listening to the steady rhythm of Gabe pacing the room. He hadn't even bothered pretending to sleep.
"You're going to wear a hole in the floor," she muttered finally.
He stopped, glancing at her in the dim light. "You should rest."
"Oh, sure. Because sleep comes so easily when assassins are climbing the walls."
For the first time, something like amusement flickered in his eyes. "You get used to it."
"Comforting." She rolled onto her side, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. "Maybe I'll add that to my résumé. 'Excellent at ignoring impending doom.'"
His gaze lingered on her, and she felt it even in the dark. Heavy. Unyielding. Protective in a way that unsettled her more than any gunfight.
"Close your eyes," he said quietly. "You're safe here."
The words shouldn't have meant anything. But somehow, in the shadows of his world, they felt like a promise she wanted desperately to believe.