Lucas drove Mel out of the school to his house, one hand resting gently on her lap while the other gripped the steering wheel.
The drive home was heavy with silence, as if a physical fog had permeated it. More than once, Lucas attempted to initiate a conversation, but Mel merely turned her face to the window and ignored him utterly.
Along the way, Lucas called Jude and asked him to go back inside the house.
Arriving, Lucas dropped Mel onto the couch carefully, paying attention to her movements. He went into the kitchen to heat up milk for her. Mel weakly shook her head; the ache in her head pulsed harder as she protested.
"Please… stay," she whispered, her voice cracked and fragile.
Lucas's voice trailed off as his face contorted with deep concern. "Amore," he whispered, "I only want to get you some warm milk. The nurse said you're malnourished, and it's my duty to take care of you."
His voice was soft, even, almost hypnotic; it soothed her. Mel nodded reluctantly as he went on.
He had gone out and came back with the warm milk, gave it to her, and he watched her as she took a few sips. Then he asked,
"Belly, what would you like me to make for you?
The question caught her off guard. Her gaze rose to his, sparkling with faint humor.
Can Lucas cook? she thought.
"I'm fine," she said softly. "I'm just a little under stress. I am not malnourished."
Lucas had started to explain how he could call Jude to bring them some food, but she hadn't really heard him. She rose to her feet unsteadily and then wrapped her arms around him, pressing her face into his chest.
"Papi," she whispered soft, almost imploring, "stay… please."
---
Lucas swept Mel right off her feet and placed her gently onto the sofa, lying down beside her. She leaned back against him easily, her head fitting perfectly on his chest .
Mel finally said, her tone weak yet laced with confusion.
"Lucas… why are you selling people torgans and becoming part of the mafia? That's not what you wanted to become before. What made the change for you?"
Lucas breathed deeply, his arm pressing tightly around her as his fingers sketched out soothing designs on her skin.
There were times when it was all worth it-the sacrifices he had ever made for her, each risk, each shadow he carried.
"If saving you." he whispered.
"Protecting you," he continued, "that's what changed me. If becoming the villain means that I protect you, if it means that no bastard ever lays a hand on you, then I'll gladly go to hell as long as you're safe."
The weight of his words sank deeply into her chest. Mel felt a tug on her heart, knowing that she was the reason for the man that the man had become. She leaned her head on him once more, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat, trying to shoo away the pain that was growing in her chest.
But before she could help herself, her head came up and she leaned in close to kiss him—briefly.
The moment was over as quickly as it had arrived.
Her eyes widened as she recoiled, her mind spinning.
What was that? she wondered, her heart racing.
Lucas's shock mirrored that of the others, and he froze where he was. Mel buried her face in Lucas's chest immediately, her cheeks flooding with heat.
Neither of them said a word, but the silence that had lain there before was no longer empty.
He reached, gently lifting her chin up to his eyes.
Mel opened her mouth to explain, to apologize maybe-but before the words could escape, Lucas leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, cutting her off entirely. His hand came up to cradle her face, pulling her closer, as if afraid she might disappear if he didn't hold on.
Oh… how I have missed this, he thought. The feel of her against him.
The kiss was languorous, unhurried-almost reverent. There was no hurry, no demand-just longing layered over restraint. Every second it lasted felt intoxicating, like something he'd gone too long without and didn't know how to give up again.
When he finally drew back, their foreheads were touching, their breathing mingled, and their hearts were racing to the same silent meter. That was all that needed saying.
They didn't need words.
The slow burn had already begun
"Lucas." She stared into his eyes, and what she saw there disturbed her. Fear lurked there—unhunted and raw—as did love—deep and all-consuming. And underlying it all, an obsession he didn't bother to disguise. She couldn't fathom what she could possibly be doing to merit such adoration, such responsibility.
He pulled her closer to him, his hands firm and gentle as if holding her together, and not imprisoning her.
"Give me a chance," he said softly. "Even if you haven't forgiven me yet. Just… a chance. Let me start over. Let me try to make things right."
She, instead, laid her head on his chest, letting herself be soothed by the beating of his heart. It calmed a pulse she couldn't articulate. And so, both simply let themselves be in the embrace of the other, in the silence, with neither of them seeking further or moving away.
Minutes slipped by. Her breathing grew slower. Sleep gently, trustingly, possessed her.
Lucas didn't budge.
All he could think about was the kiss, the way it had lingered on his lips, the way it had laid him low in a way no bullet, no blade, ever could. He lay back, his hand still pressed against her back.
'Fuck,' he muttered to himself.
"Isabella would be the death of me."
And for the first time ever, the thought didn't frighten him at all.
Lucas was brought out of his thoughts when the voice of Jude suddenly penetrated the atmosphere.
"Don…Mr. Santos wants to speak to you," Jude said carefully. "It's urgent," he added.
Lucas didn't even bother to look up. His arms instinctively hugged Mel as if to protect her from the mere suggestion of the world out there.
"I'll call you when I'm ready," he said icily. "Leave. Now."
Jude looked down.
"Si, Don."
The door shut behind him, and the silence was returned.
Lucas let out a slow sigh as irritation flickered across his face. I just got here, and they're already bothering me, he thought angrily.
"Fucking businessmen," he muttered under his breath.
Then he looked down.
Mel was still asleep, her face peaceful, her body relaxed against his chest, as if it was the safest place she knew. One of her hands rested lightly over his heart, rising and falling with his breathing.
The anger drained out of him instantly.
He stroked his thumb across her hairline, not wanting to wake her. The power, the money, the alliances-none of that meant anything at this moment. All the chaos of his world faded when she was here like this.
This, he thought, is all I ask for.
He leaned his head back against the sofa, letting the rhythm of her breathing steady him. For now, the world could wait. The calls could wait. The wars could wait. So long as she did not go away