Chapter 6 – Fragments of the Past
The Venetian morning was crisp, carrying the smell of saltwater and baked bread through the narrow streets. Emma followed Lorenzo reluctantly, her frustration from yesterday still simmering beneath the surface. His bodyguards were present, but today she kept her tongue in check—mostly.
They stopped at a small, hidden café, tucked away from tourists, overlooking a quiet canal. Lorenzo gestured for her to sit, but she hesitated, glancing at the men stationed like statues just outside.
"Why here?" she asked, folding her arms. "Why not one of the big tourist cafés where I can at least pretend to be normal?"
Lorenzo leaned against the table, dark coat brushing the cobblestones, eyes fixed on hers. "You're not normal," he said simply. "And this world… this part of my world… isn't for tourists."
Emma frowned, the words strangely familiar. Something in the cadence, the tone, pulled at a memory she couldn't quite grasp. She sipped her coffee, eyes narrowing as fragments of images flashed in her mind—New York streets, a crowded café, Lorenzo's sharp gaze cutting through a crowd, almost like he'd been following her.
"I… I remember this," she murmured, more to herself than him. "A city. A street. You… you were there. Watching."
Lorenzo's expression darkened for a brief instant, but his voice remained calm. "I have always watched over you, Emma. From the beginning."
Her pulse quickened. The memories grew sharper—her laughing at a street performer, spilling coffee on the pavement, and a hand catching hers before she fell. The man who had startled her in New York, whose gaze had made her chest pound, the stranger she had protected… it was him.
"You… you knew me then?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "In the US… you followed me?"
"I did," he admitted, almost reluctantly. "I couldn't… I couldn't let anything happen to you. Even then."
The truth hit her in waves, her heart stuttering. "And the mission?" she asked, fragments surfacing like shards of glass. "The danger… I remember there was… someone… someone trying to kill you."
"Yes," Lorenzo said, leaning closer, voice dropping low so only she could hear. "And you saved me. Not because you had to, but because… I mattered to you. Even before you knew it."
Emma's chest tightened, the memory of that day—the cliff, the desperate leap to save him—coming back in full. "I… I jumped. To save you. I…" Her voice broke, shaking.
He reached out, taking her hand in his, fingers strong and warm. "You did. And you always will be. That… that moment… that was the moment I fell for you. Completely. Madly. Irrevocably."
Emma's eyes filled, and for a long moment, they just sat there, the quiet hum of the city around them, the water lapping below, and the ghosts of their past hovering between them.
Finally, Lorenzo stood, pulling her gently to her feet. "Come with me," he said, voice both commanding and tender. "There's more you need to remember… and there are people in this world who would do anything to stop us."
She looked up at him, the full weight of their history settling over her. Fear, awe, and a trembling desire coiled together in her chest. "I… I trust you," she whispered, almost to herself. "Even if I don't understand everything yet."
A faint, almost imperceptible smile crossed his lips. "You will," he said. "I promise. And I'll show you… everything."
As they walked, Lorenzo's presence was both a shield and a tether, a dangerous pull she could neither resist nor escape. Venice shimmered around them—romantic, treacherous, alive—and Emma realized that in this city of secrets and canals, in this man's world, she was already halfway in love.