The next morning, Lottie woke to the low murmur of voices in the hall. Heavy footsteps, the faint click of a gun being holstered. She sat up, her body still carrying the tension of yesterday's threats. For all Gabe's reassurances, Richard Vitale's letter haunted her like a whisper in the dark.
A knock came at her door before she could move.
"Breakfast," Marco's voice drawled. "And before you panic, no poisoned coffee, no exploding croissants. Just carbs."
She opened the door to find him balancing a tray laden with eggs, fruit, and pastries. He gave a theatrical bow. "Your highness."
Lottie rolled her eyes but stepped aside to let him in. "You're ridiculous."
"Correction," Marco said, setting the tray on her desk, "I'm essential. Without me, this place would be nothing but brooding silences, gun oil, and Gabe glowering at shadows."
As if on cue, the man himself appeared at the end of the hall, his presence commanding even from a distance. He walked toward them with unhurried precision, every step a quiet reminder of who held the room.
Marco leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, "See what I mean? That's his resting murder face. Terrifying."
"Eat," Gabe said as he stepped into the room, ignoring Marco entirely. His gaze scanned the tray, then flicked to Lottie. "You'll need the energy."
Her brows rose. "For what?"
"We're leaving the estate."
Lottie nearly choked on air. "Leaving? As in, outside? Where people like Vitale can find me?"
"Yes." Gabe's tone was final, no room for argument. "Keeping you locked in here paints you as a prisoner. He'll use that. We change the narrative."
Marco clapped once. "Field trip! I'll pack snacks."
Gabe's glare silenced him, but Lottie caught the faintest twitch of a smirk at the corner of Marco's mouth.
The convoy rolled out an hour later, sleek black SUVs cutting through the city streets. Lottie sat in the backseat beside Gabe, every turn of the road tightening her nerves. She couldn't decide what unsettled her more—the possibility of an ambush or the heat radiating off the man sitting mere inches away.
Her eyes flicked to the city beyond the window. For the first time since her abduction, she saw the world outside the Cavelli estate. The streets were alive with ordinary life—people shopping, kids laughing, cars honking impatiently. She longed for that normalcy.
"You miss it," Gabe said quietly.
She turned, startled. "Miss what?"
"Freedom."
The word hit too close. She swallowed. "I miss… choice. Not being told where to go, what to eat, who to trust."
His gaze lingered on her, unreadable. "Choice is an illusion in this world. Everyone answers to someone."
"And who do you answer to?"
For the briefest second, his eyes softened, then hardened again. "No one."
The cars pulled up to a quiet café tucked into a corner street, far from Cavelli's usual haunts. Two guards swept inside before them, and only when they gave the all-clear did Gabe escort Lottie in.
The café smelled of espresso and warm bread, sunlight spilling through tall windows. For a moment, it almost felt normal.
Almost.
Marco slid into the booth opposite them with a grin. "See? Totally safe. And look at this menu. Croissants that don't explode, cappuccinos that don't double as cyanide cocktails. I'm telling you, this is progress."
Lottie laughed under her breath, tension easing just a fraction. "You're unbelievable."
"That's what my mother says, too," Marco replied solemnly.
Even Gabe's lips threatened a twitch, though he hid it behind a sip of coffee.
As they ate, Lottie let her eyes wander. Normal patrons chatted over steaming mugs, oblivious to the armed guards outside. But her relief was short-lived. In the far corner, a man sat alone, too still, his gaze flicking toward her one too many times.
Her pulse spiked. "Gabe," she whispered.
He followed her line of sight instantly. His hand slid under the table, resting on the grip of his gun. A silent signal passed between him and Marco.
Within seconds, two guards intercepted the man, dragging him from the café. A knife clattered to the floor where he had been sitting.
The café erupted in murmurs, but Gabe remained calm, his hand still steady on his cup. "Finish your coffee," he told Lottie.
She stared at him, incredulous. "Someone just tried to—"
"He didn't succeed." His gaze locked on hers, steady and unflinching. "You're safe. That's all that matters."
Her hands trembled, but she forced herself to lift her cup. If only to prove she wasn't broken yet.
Marco, ever the balm in the storm, leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "Well, so much for a quiet breakfast. On the bright side, at least he didn't order first. Would've been rude."
Despite herself, Lottie let out a strangled laugh, half-hysterical, half-relieved. Gabe's hand brushed against hers under the table—just a fleeting touch, but enough to steady her.
Back at the estate, the aftermath hung heavy. Gabe paced his office, the predator in him prowling close to the surface.
"He's escalating," Marco said, perched on the edge of the desk, unusually serious now. "Vitale's not just sending letters anymore. He's planting knives in cafés."
"He won't get close again," Gabe growled.
Lottie stood in the doorway, arms wrapped around herself. "You can't promise that."
Both men turned to her.
Her voice shook, but she forced the words out. "He's not after just you anymore, Gabe. He's after me. I'm the one he wants. And as long as I'm here, I'm a liability."
Gabe crossed the room in two strides, his hand gripping her chin, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. His eyes burned, fierce and unyielding.
"You're not a liability," he said, each word low and deliberate. "You're the reason I won't stop."
Her breath caught, tangled between fear and something far more dangerous.
And in that moment, she realized the truth she'd been avoiding:
Richard Vitale wasn't the only danger consuming her life.
Gabe Cavelli was too.