Chapter 28
Loriana
The marble steps of our estate feel different beneath my feet now—not just cold and elegant, but solid.
Real. Safe. Each one carries me further from the nightmare of that warehouse and closer to something I’m only now beginning to understand: home isn’t just a place, it’s the man whose arms tighten around me with every step we climb together.
“Careful, stellina,” Simeone murmurs as my heel catches slightly on the edge of a step. His grip shifts to support more of my weight, like I’m made of spun glass instead of the steel he claimed to admire. “We’re almost there.”
Almost where? Our bedroom? Safety? The place where I can finally stop pretending that being kidnapped by his psychotic former nephew and my crazy ex-boyfriend didn’t shake me to my core?
“I can walk,” I protest, but my voice lacks conviction. The truth is, I don’t want him to let go. Don’t want to test whether my legs will actually hold me up without his strength keeping me anchored to this moment, this reality, this proof that I survived.
“I know you can.” His voice carries that note of infinite patience I’ve learned means he’s not budging on something. “But I need to carry you. I need to feel you safe in my arms.”
This isn’t about my supposed fragility—it’s about his need to reassure himself that I’m really here, really whole, really his to protect again.
When we reach our bedroom, he gently sets me down. The room looks exactly the same as when I left it this morning—silk curtains, expensive furniture, the lingerie I’d been planning to surprise him with later tonight draped across the chaise lounge like a promise I’m no longer sure I can keep.
Everything’s the same, but I feel fundamentally altered. Like I’ve been disassembled and put back together with some crucial piece in the wrong place.
“Sit,” he commands gently, guiding me toward the edge of our bed. “Let me look at you.”
“Simeone, I’m fine—”
“You’re not fine.” His hands frame my face with infinite care, thumbs stroking across cheekbones that probably show the stress of the last few hours. “You’re breathing, you’re safe, you’re home. But you’re not fine.”
When did this dangerous man learn to read the difference between survival and actually being okay?
His fingers find the bruises on my wrists where the restraints bit into my skin, and something violent flickers across his features. “He marked you.”
“They’re just bruises. They’ll fade.”
“They’re proof that someone put their hands on what belongs to me. They’re evidence of how badly I failed to protect you.”
“You didn’t fail—”
“I left you alone.” The words crack out of him like a confession torn from his chest. “I knew Flavio was unstable, knew he was dangerous, and I still left you with security protocols that proved inadequate.”
I watch him examine each mark on my skin. The careful way he touches the rope burns around my wrists, the gentle pressure of his fingers checking for deeper damage I haven’t admitted to.
“Look at me,” I say quietly.
His dark eyes lift to mine, and I see something I’ve never seen before: genuine fear. Not anger, not rage, not the cold calculation that usually follows threats to his empire. Just raw, honest terror at how close he came to losing something irreplaceable.
“I’m here,” I whisper. “I’m safe. Because you came for me.”
“I should’ve been there to begin with. Should’ve anticipated—”
“Stop.” The command comes out sharper than intended, cutting through his self-recrimination like a blade. “You can’t control everything, Simeone. You can’t predict every threat or prevent every danger. You’re not a god.”
“I’m supposed to be your protector.” His hands still on my wrists, holding me like I might disappear if he loosens his grip. “I’m supposed to be powerful enough, smart enough, ruthless enough to keep you safe.”
The vulnerability in his voice undoes me completely. This man, who commands empires and ends lives with a word, is torturing himself because someone got past his defenses for a few hours.
“You are,” I say simply. “You found me. You brought me home. You made sure that warehouse became Flavio’s final mistake instead of my tomb.”
His hands begin a thorough examination that walks the razor’s edge between tenderness and possession.
Every touch is catalogued, every response noted with the precision of a man who refuses to miss a single sign of damage to what belongs to him.
The obsessive attention should feel invasive.
But it doesn’t. Instead, it feels like being claimed by someone who values me more than his own life.
“Talk to me,” he murmurs as his hands map every inch of accessible skin, searching for damage I might be hiding. “Tell me what happened. All of it.”
So I do. I tell him about Flavio emerging from the garden like some twisted specter from our past. About the van, the warehouse, the casual way he discussed using me as leverage against the man he used to call uncle.
About the restraints, the waiting, the growing certainty that I might not make it home to build the life we’ve barely started.
With each detail, I watch Simeone’s expression grow darker, more dangerous.
“I should have killed him,” he says quietly. “Should have put a bullet in his head the moment I saw him in that warehouse.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No. I thought mercy would satisfy you.”
“It did.” I lean into his touch as his hands continue their careful inventory of my wellbeing. “But not because I wanted to save him. Because I wanted to save you.”
“Save me from what?”
“From becoming the kind of man who murders family members in cold blood.” I meet his gaze directly. “Blood or not, you raised him. Killing him would’ve changed you.”
“And who am I now, stellina?”
“You’re still the Silver Devil,” I say, using the title.
“Dangerous, powerful, absolutely ruthless when necessary. But you’re also the man who carries me up stairs when I’m shaking.
The man who examines bruises like they’re personal insults that need avenging.
The man who loves me enough to choose mercy when vengeance would be easier. ”
His hands still on my face, and for a moment we just stare at each other in the golden lamplight. Two people who’ve survived something that could’ve destroyed everything we’ve built together.
“I was so scared,” I whisper, finally admitting the fear I’ve been holding back since he pulled me out of that warehouse. “Not just of Flavio, but of losing this. Losing us. Losing the chance to see what we could become together.”
“You’ll never lose me. I will tear down governments and burn cities before I let anyone take you from me again.”
“And our baby?” I ask, my hand moving to rest on my stomach. “What if something had happened to—”
“Nothing happened.” His hand covers mine, warm and steady. “Our child is safe. You’re both safe. That’s all that matters.”
But I can see the fear in his eyes—the same terror that’s been eating at me since I realized how easily our sanctuary was breached. How quickly everything we’ve built could disappear if we’re not careful enough, smart enough, vigilant enough.
“I keep thinking about what could’ve happened,” I admit. “If you hadn’t found me in time. If Flavio had decided I was more useful dead than alive. If—”
“Stop.” His voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts with gentle authority. “Those things didn’t happen. You’re here. You’re safe. You’re mine.”
“But they could’ve happened. They almost did happen.” The words come out broken, carrying the weight of terror I’ve been trying to hold back. “I could’ve lost everything before I even knew what I was losing.”
That’s when I break.
Not elegant tears, but ugly, desperate sobs. Everything I’ve held back comes pouring out. I’m gasping, shaking, falling apart.
Simeone doesn’t try to calm me down or tell me everything’s fine. Instead, he pulls me against his chest and holds me while I fall apart, making it possible to finally feel everything I’ve been pushing away.
“I was so scared,” I sob against his shirt. “So fucking scared that I’d never see you again. Never get to tell you how much I love you. Never get to find out what kind of parents we’d be together.”
“You’re never going to find out what it’s like without me,” he murmurs against my hair. “Because I’m never letting you go. Never letting anyone take you from me again. Never giving you a reason to doubt that you’re the most important thing in my world.”
“Promise me,” I whisper, clinging to him like he’s the only solid thing in a world gone liquid. “Promise me this is real. That’s what we have is worth fighting for.”
“Stellina.” His voice breaks slightly on the endearment. “You are everything worth fighting for. Everything is worth living for. Everything is worth becoming a better man for.”
I lift my head to meet his gaze, and what I see there steals the breath from my lungs.
Not just love—though there’s plenty of that.
Not just possession—though the hunger in his eyes makes my pulse spike.
But something deeper, more fundamental. The look of a man who’s just realized that his entire world revolves around the woman in his arms and the unborn child I’m carrying.
“I love you,” I whisper against his mouth.
“Ti amo,” he whispers back, the Italian rolling off his tongue like a prayer. “I love you more than my own life.”
We don’t make love. We don’t tear at each other’s clothes. We don’t lose ourselves in the kind of passion that burns bright and leaves nothing but ashes.
Instead, we just hold each other. His fingers in my hair. Mine tracing his jaw. Our breathing matches until we’re sharing the same rhythm, the same unshakeable certainty that what we have is worth every risk.
“Are you my willing captive, stellina?” he asks quietly.
“Always,” I breathe against his skin. “In every way that matters.”
Now I understand. This is protection. Not prison. It’s devotion. Not control. Love so complete that losing me would destroy everything he is.
His willing captive. His willing prisoner. Just as he’s mine. Bound together by the truth that what we’ve built is worth everything.
In the golden lamplight of our bedroom, surrounded by the evidence of a life we’re choosing to build together, I finally understand what it means to be a Codella.
It means belonging to someone who would burn down the world before letting it take you.
It means being someone worth burning down the world for.
And as I fall asleep in the arms of the Silver Devil who fought hell to bring me home, I know with absolute certainty that I am exactly where I belong.