Chapter 10 Loriana
Loriana
The brick crashes through my bedroom window in the middle of the night, exploding glass across my floor like deadly confetti. I bolt upright in bed, my heart slamming against my ribs as shards cascade onto my nightstand, my dresser, the spot where I was sleeping just moments before.
The window exploded inward, but that’s not what stops my breath. It’s the figure perched motionless on the fire escape—a void in human shape, watching me through the fresh wound in my wall. Neither of us moves. Neither of us breathes. The night holds its breath with us.
Then he’s gone, footsteps clanging down the metal stairs.
Glass transforms my bedroom floor into a minefield as I stumble toward the broken window. My feet leave wet, dark prints with every step, but the pain feels distant, unimportant. The fire escape stands abandoned now, as if no one was ever there at all. As if I imagined the whole thing.
Black electrical tape binds a folded sheet of paper to the brick, like a tourniquet. My fingers tremble against the adhesive, peeling it away with the certainty that I won’t like whatever lies beneath.
I’ll own you when I am ready.
Flavio. It has to be Flavio, despite what Simeone promised about handling him. The masked figure was about his build, his height.
This threat doesn’t scream or demand or throw itself against locked doors.
It whispers. It waits. It plans three moves ahead while you’re still trying to understand the game.
The spoiled rich boy has grown into something far more terrifying—a patient hunter with unlimited resources and nothing but time.
I grab my phone with trembling fingers, scrolling through my contacts. Detective Ory’s number stares back at me, but what’s the point? Another report, another useless promise to “look into it” while the threats escalate and my safety disintegrates.
My thumb hovers over Simeone’s number, the private line he gave me with instructions to call day or night. Part of me rebels against the idea of running to him for help, of proving his point that I need his protection to survive in a world that’s become increasingly hostile.
The other part of me, the part that’s standing in a room full of broken glass at two in the morning, knows I don’t have a choice anymore.
Before I can dial, heavy footsteps echo in the hallway outside my apartment. My blood turns to ice water. Did the masked man circle back? Did breaking my window give him access to the building’s interior?
There are three sharp knocks on my door, authoritative and demanding. “Loriana. Open up.”
Simeone’s voice, rough with concern and something darker. Relief floods through me so intensely that my knees nearly buckle, followed immediately by confusion. How is he here so fast? How did he even know what happened?
I wrap a robe around my nightgown and pad to the door on glass-cut feet, leaving small bloody footprints on the hardwood.
Through the peephole, I see him standing in my hallway like an avenging angel, his silver hair disheveled, expensive suit wrinkled, dark eyes blazing with fury that makes the air around him practically vibrate with menace.
“How did you—” I start as I unlock the door.
“Later.” He pushes past me into the apartment, his gaze immediately cataloging the damage. When he sees the blood on my feet, the glass scattered across my bedroom floor, something primal and violent flickers across his features. “Are you hurt?”
“Just some cuts from the glass. Nothing serious.” I close the door behind him, suddenly aware of how thin my robe is, how exposed I am in front of this man who’s seen me naked and vulnerable and desperate for his touch. “Simeone, how did you know to come here?”
He turns to face me fully, and I see the truth written across his expression before he speaks. “I’ve had men watching you. For your protection.”
“You’ve had me watched?” The words come out sharper than intended, fury blazing through the fear. “For how long?”
“Since the night you left my estate.” His voice is matter-of-fact, unapologetic. “Since I realized that claiming you made you a target for anyone who wants to hurt me.”
“You’ve been stalking me.” I wrap my arms around myself, feeling violated all over again. First the masked figure on my fire escape, now this revelation that Simeone’s men have monitored my every move. “For four days, you’ve had people watching me, following me—”
“Protecting you,” he corrects, moving closer with that fluid grace that marks him as a predator. “And it’s a good thing I did, or you might be dead right now instead of just scared.”
The casual way he discusses my potential murder makes me want to scream. This is my life now—threats and surveillance and casual violence discussed like the weather forecast.
“The man on the fire escape,” I say, gesturing toward the broken window. “Your people saw him?”
“They saw him arrive. They would have stopped him, but he moved too fast—threw the brick and disappeared before they could intercept.” His jaw ticks with barely controlled rage. “He knew they were there. Planned around their positions.”
The implication scares me. “You’re saying this wasn’t random. Whoever did this knows about your security, knows how to evade it.”
“I’m saying this was a message meant for me as much as you.” He moves to the window, examining the damage with professional interest. “Someone wants me to know they can reach you despite my protection.”
A chill runs down my spine. “Your enemies.”
“Or someone who wants me to believe they’re my enemies.” His voice is thoughtful, calculating. “Someone who understands that the fastest way to hurt me is through you.”
“This is exactly what I was afraid of,” I whisper, sinking into my armchair as the full scope of my situation becomes clear. “By getting involved with you, I’ve made everything worse.”
“No.” He moves toward me, crouching beside the chair until we’re eye level. “By getting involved with me, you’ve ensured that anyone who threatens you will face consequences they can’t imagine.”
“At what cost? Living in fear? Having every moment of my life monitored? Wondering if the next brick will be followed by something worse?”
“At the cost of your independence,” he says quietly, and the honesty in his voice is more devastating than if he’d lied. “At the cost of the simple life you built for yourself. I won’t pretend otherwise.”
I stare at this man who’s turned my world upside down with his protection and his passion and his promise of safety that comes wrapped in chains of gold. He’s beautiful and dangerous and everything I should run from, but the alternative is facing these threats alone.
“What are you suggesting?”
“Move in with me. Tonight.” He doesn’t ask—the words drop between us like stones, heavy with certainty. “My estate has security that would make government facilities envious. You’ll be safe there.”
“Safe and trapped.”
“Safe and protected,” he corrects. “There’s a difference.”
“Is there?” I stand abruptly, pacing to the kitchen to put distance between us. “Because from where I’m sitting, it sounds like trading one cage for another. A prettier cage, maybe, but still a cage.”
He follows me, of course, backing me against the counter with slow, deliberate steps that make my pulse race despite the gravity of our conversation.
“What’s the alternative, stellina? Stay here and wait for the next escalation?
Hope that next time, it’s just another brick instead of something that can kill you? ”
“I could leave town. Sell the bar, start over somewhere else—”
“Run.” The single word cuts through my protests like a blade. “You could run and spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder, wondering if you’re safe or if they’ve found you again.”
He’s right, and I hate him for it. Hate that my choices have been reduced to his protection or perpetual fear, that my independence has become a luxury I can’t afford.
“You planned this,” I accuse, though I’m not entirely sure what I mean. “The threats, the escalation—”
“I planned to keep you safe.” His voice is steel wrapped in silk. “I didn’t plan for someone to be clever enough to get this close to you despite my precautions.”
“Your precautions that I never asked for.”
“Your safety that you desperately needed.” He braces his hands against the counter on either side of me, caging me with solid muscle and expensive fabric. “Tell me, stellina—do you really think this masked figure tonight was here to deliver love letters?”
The sarcasm in his voice makes me want to slap him, but he’s right. The calculating patience of the attack, the way the figure studied me through the broken window before disappearing—there was nothing impulsive about tonight’s threat.
“I hate that you’re right,” I whisper.
“I hate that I have to be.” His thumb traces my lower lip with devastating gentleness. “Do you think I want to cage you? Do you think I don’t see how your independence is part of what makes you magnificent?”
The unexpected vulnerability in his voice catches me off guard. This isn’t the possessive mafia don or the predatory businessman—this is a man who understands exactly what he’s asking me to sacrifice.
“Then why—”
“Because the alternative is losing you completely.” His forehead rests against mine, and I can feel his breath ghosting across my lips. “Because I’d rather have you safe and furious with me than free and dead.”
“How long?” I ask quietly. “How long would I have to stay?”
“Until the threat is eliminated. Until I’m certain you’re safe.” His dark eyes search mine, looking for agreement or rebellion in equal measure. “Until you decide you want to leave.”
“And if I decide I want to leave?”
“Then I’ll let you go.” But something in his expression suggests that outcome isn’t one he’s prepared to accept easily.