Chapter Eight #2
“Don’t apologize.” Her voice drops lower, intimate. “It’s... flattering.”
“Elena.” Her name comes out as a warning.
“Alessandro.” She mirrors the tone, teasing.
“We agreed—”
“You agreed. I distinctly remember expressing a different opinion.” Her hand slides up my chest, over my shoulder, fingers threading through my hair. “But you’re right. We should get up. You promised me breakfast and explanations.”
The reminder of what today holds, the conversation that can’t be avoided any longer, they help dampen some of the heat. “Right. Breakfast.”
Neiter of us moves.
“Elena—”
“I know, I know. We’re getting up.” But instead of pulling away, she leans in and presses a kiss to my jaw. Then another, lower, at the corner of my mouth. “Just one more minute.”
Self-control has limits, and mine are currently being tested beyond reason. Hands grip her hips, prepared to set her away, but she chooses that moment to shift her weight and suddenly she’s straddling me, the t-shirt riding up to reveal bare thighs and—Cristo—matching black lace underneath.
“You’re trying to kill me,” the accusation comes out strained.
“Maybe a little.” Her smile is wicked. “Is it working?”
“Very effectively.”
She leans down, hair falling around us like a curtain, mouth hovering just above mine. “Then my work here is done.”
And then she’s gone, scrambling off the bed with a laugh, leaving me hard, frustrated and completely at her mercy.
“You’re evil,” the observation is called after her retreating form.
“You like it!” comes the response from the hallway.
The truth is, “like” doesn’t begin to cover what Elena makes me feel. But admitting that to her or to myself opens doors better left closed.
Thirty minutes later, the kitchen has been transformed into something almost domestic. Eggs scramble on the stove. Coffee percolates. Elena sits at the kitchen island in jeans and a sweater, hair still damp from her shower, watching with amusement as breakfast is prepared.
“You can cook,” she observes.
“Basic survival skill.”
“Most men in your position would have a chef.”
“Most men in my position don’t know how to be alone with their thoughts.” I plate the eggs, add toast and pour Elena a coffee. “Here.”
She takes the plate with a smile that does things to my chest. “Thank you. This looks great.”
We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. But eventually, the reprieve ends.
“So,” Elena says, setting down her fork. “You promised me the truth. All of it.”
“Not all of it. Some things are better left unknown.”
“Alessandro—”
“But I’ll tell you what I can.” I set the coffee cup down, and fold my hands on the counter. Where to even begin? “My family—the De Lucas—we’ve controlled organized crime in Seattle for three generations. My grandfather started it, my father expanded it, and now it’s mine.”
“What exactly does ‘organized crime’ mean?”
“Protection rackets. Gambling operations. Some drug trafficking, though I’m trying to phase that out. Money laundering. The occasional... removal of obstacles.”
Her eyes widen. “Removal of obstacles. You mean murder.”
“Yes.”
She absorbs this, and watching her process the reality of what has been done, what continues to be done, is harder than any interrogation. “How many people have you killed?”
“Does the number matter?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” She rakes a hand through her hair. “I’m trying to reconcile the man who makes me breakfast with the man who admits to murder like it’s a business meeting.”
“They’re the same person, Elena. That’s what you need to understand. I’m not two separate people, one good, one bad. I’m just, this. Violence and tenderness, protection and danger. All of it wrapped up in one very complicated package.”
“And Greco? The Russo family? What do they want?”
“My territory. My operations. Everything I’ve built.” The explanation continues, laying out the territorial disputes, the escalating violence, the reasons why a Christmas market became a battlefield. “Greco thinks he can take what’s mine through intimidation and force. He’s wrong.”
“And me? Where do I fit into all this?”
“You don’t. You shouldn’t.” The truth is bitter. “You’re an innocent caught in the crossfire because I was selfish enough to want something normal. Something pure.”
“Stop that.” Her hand reaches across the counter, finding mine. “Stop acting like you’re some irredeemable monster. You’re a man who made choices in impossible circumstances. That doesn’t make you evil.”
“Doesn’t make me good either.”
“No, but it makes you human.” She squeezes my hand. “And the human part—the part that buys flowers for his mother and dances in the snow and holds me when I’m scared, that’s the part I’m choosing to believe in.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“Too late. Already did.” She stands, moving around the island to stand between my knees.
“So here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to stop trying to scare me away.
I’m going to stay here until this Greco situation is resolved.
And we’re both going to stop pretending this thing between us isn’t exactly what it feels like. ”
“And what does it feel like?” The question is dangerous, but it needs asking.
“Like falling. Like fire. Like something inevitable and terrifying and completely worth the risk.” Her hands frame my face, forcing eye contact. “I’m not going anywhere, Alessandro. You might as well stop fighting it.”
“I hurt people, Elena. I destroy lives. That’s what I do.”
“Maybe. But you also protect what’s yours with everything you have. You care about your men. You tried to push me away to keep me safe.” Her thumb brushes across my cheekbone. “That’s not a monster. That’s a man who’s been forced to be hard because the world he lives in demands it.”
The words crack something open, some carefully maintained wall that’s kept emotions at bay for years. Arms wrap around her waist, pulling her closer, and for a moment, vulnerability is allowed, just this once, only with her.
“I don’t know how to do this,” the confession is muffled against her sweater. “How to be what you need and what my world demands.”
“Then we’ll figure it out together.” Her fingers thread through my hair, gentle and grounding. “But Alessandro? You need to let me in. Really in. Not just the sanitized version you think I can handle.”
“You say that now. But when you see what I’m really capable of—”
“Then I’ll decide if I can live with it. But you don’t get to make that choice for me.” She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. “Deal?”
Looking at her, this stubborn, brave, impossibly optimistic woman who’s choosing danger over safety, me over common sense, my only possible response is truth.
“Deal.”
She smiles, and the room suddenly feels brighter. “Good. Now, what’s the plan? How do we handle Greco?”
“We don’t handle anything. I handle it while you stay here, safe, behind reinforced steel and armed guards.”
“Alessandro—”
“This is non-negotiable, Elena. You’re not going anywhere near this situation.” The command comes out sharper than intended. “You’ll stay here, where I can protect you, until Greco is no longer a threat.”
Her eyes narrow. “I’m just supposed to sit here like some damsel in distress while you go off and do... what? Fight some mob war?”
“Essentially, yes.”
“And how long is that going to take?”
“As long as it takes.”
“That’s not an answer!”
“It’s the only answer I have.” Standing puts us at eye level, and the frustration in her expression mirrors what’s churning in my gut.
“I know you want to be involved. I know you want to help. But the best way you can help is by staying safe so I can focus on neutralizing the threat instead of worrying about you.”
“I’m not a child, Alessandro. You can’t just lock me in a tower—”
“I can and I will if it means keeping you alive.” The words come out hard, final. “This isn’t up for discussion.”
Her jaw sets in that stubborn line that means she’s gearing up for an argument. But then something shifts in her expression, calculation replacing irritation.
“Okay,” she says slowly. “I’ll stay here. On one condition.”
Suspicion immediately rises. “What condition?”
“You teach me.”
“Teach you what?”
“How to protect myself. Basic self-defense. How to shoot a gun. Whatever you think I need to know to survive in your world.” Her chin lifts, defiant. “If I’m going to be a target, I should at least know how to defend myself. Unless you disagree?”
The logic is sound, which is exactly the problem. Teaching Elena to handle weapons, to fight, to think like someone in this life, it’s another step toward pulling her deeper into darkness.
But she’s right. If Greco’s already making moves, if other families might see her as leverage, she needs skills beyond flower arranging and stubborn optimism.
“Fine. But you follow my instructions exactly. No improvising, no arguing, no doing something reckless because you think you know better.”
“I can agree to that.”
“And you stay in this penthouse except for training. No going back to your shop, no visiting friends, no anything without explicit approval from me or my security team.”
Her expression tightens, but she nods. “Agreed.”
“And Elena?” A step closer eliminates the space between us, and her breath catches.
“When this is over, when Greco is handled and you’re safe again, we’re going to have a very long conversation about boundaries and risk assessment and why arguing with me in life-or-death situations is a terrible idea. ”
“Is that a threat?” But there’s heat in her eyes now, awareness sparking between us.
“It’s a promise.”
“Good.” Her hands slide up my chest, over my shoulders, linking behind my neck. “I’ll hold you to it.”
Then she’s kissing me, fierce, demanding and completely inappropriate for a conversation about mortal danger.
But rational thought evaporates the moment her mouth meets mine, the moment her body presses against mine, the moment she makes that small sound in the back of her throat that drives me absolutely insane.
We break apart breathing hard, and the look she gives me is part challenge, part invitation, making it clear exactly what she wants.
And maybe, just maybe, after all the violence and darkness and careful control, letting go with this one person might not be the worst idea.
But not yet. Not until she’s seen the full extent of what loving The Shadow truly means.
“Later,” the promise is rough against her lips. “When you’ve had time to really understand what you’re choosing. When there’s no doubt.”
“I don’t have doubts now.”
“You will. And when they come, I want you to work through them with full information.” A kiss is pressed to her forehead, it’s soft, chaste, the opposite of what both of us want. “Trust me on this.”
Elena sighs but steps back. “You’re incredibly frustrating, you know that?”
“So, I’ve been told.”
“But also...” She bites her lip, and the vulnerability in her eyes stops my heart. “Also kind of amazing. In a terrifying, complicated, probably-going-to-give-me-a-heart-attack kind of way.”
“I’ll take it.”
Her smile could light the entire city. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me now.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a promise.”
And standing there in my sterile penthouse kitchen with morning light streaming through bulletproof glass and a woman who shouldn’t want anything to do with me smiling like I’m worth loving, for the first time in fifteen years, hope feels like something more than a liability.
It feels like possibility.
Even if that possibility comes wrapped in danger, blood, and the certainty that the coming days will test everything we think we know about love, loyalty, and how far someone will go to protect what’s theirs.
But that’s a problem for later.
Right now, Elena is in my kitchen, looking at me like I’m worth the risk.