32. Skye
32
SKYE
S unlight spills across Luca's dark wood floors, painting golden stripes through the floor-to-ceiling windows. My eyes flutter open to find ice blue ones already studying me, accompanied by something I've never seen before - a genuine smile curving those perfect lips.
"You're staring." I stretch, relishing the delicious ache in my muscles from our night together.
"And you're beautiful." His voice carries none of its usual calculated edge.
I prop myself up on an elbow, taking in how the morning light softens his sharp features. His perfectly styled hair is tousled from sleep and my fingers, making him look younger, almost innocent - if I didn't know better. The small scar above his right eyebrow catches the light, a reminder of the violence that shaped him.
"Who are you and what have you done with the emotionless bastard I fell in love with?"
His smile widens a fraction. "Still here. Just..." He pauses, searching for words in a way the always-composed Luca Mantione never does. "Processing."
I reach out, cupping his face in my palm, and he leans into my touch. The stubble beneath my fingers is rough, real, grounding. His features are so open, so unguarded, it makes my chest tight. This is a side of him no one else gets to see.
"I love you." The words fill me with such joy as I whisper them, seeing his face light up.
He turns his head, pressing a kiss to my palm with a gentleness that steals my breath. It's such a stark contrast to the man who efficiently runs Chicago's underground, who can order deaths without blinking.
"I love you too," he murmurs against my skin, the words still new and precious between us. "Even if it terrifies me."
That admission, that vulnerability, means more from him than flowery declarations would from anyone else. I know what it costs him to voice it.
I follow Luca down to his pristine kitchen, where the scent of coffee and something sweet fills the air. He's traded his usual tailored suits for dark jeans and a black henley that does nothing to hide his lethal frame. The sight of him moving with practiced efficiency through his kitchen, plating fresh croissants and fruit, strikes me as surreal.
"You cook?" I settle onto one of the high-backed chairs at his marble island.
"When it matters." He slides a plate in front of me, his fingers lingering on the edge. "We need to talk."
"About?"
"I'm not good at this." I gesture between us. "And I know that I'm going to fuck up again. So, I want to get ahead of it. I want to understand your boundaries."
That touches me more than I can put into words. I think for a moment, finding my answer. "I need honesty. Even when it's ugly. Even when you think it'll make me run." I reach across the island, taking his hand. "I chose this life - chose you. Let me make informed decisions."
His fingers tighten around mine. "I'm not good at... sharing information. Control keeps people alive."
"Then we'll work on it. Together." I squeeze his hand. "But no more manipulation. No more deciding what's best for me without including me in those decisions."
He brings our joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. "I'll try."
"That's all I'm asking for."
Uncertainty spreads across his face. "Then I have a request."
I raise a brow. "What is it?"
"Stay." Luca's fingers trace idle patterns on my wrist. "Not because I'm forcing you. Not because it's safer." His ice-blue eyes lock with mine. "Because you want to."
The request hangs between us, weighted with meaning. This isn't about protection anymore - it's about choice. About trust. The distinction makes my heart skip.
"You mean actually move in? Not just camping out until the threat passes?" I arch an eyebrow, studying his impossibly composed features for any crack in that perfect mask.
"Skye, I can't stand going another day without you." His thumb brushes over my pulse point. "You are mine and you should be here. Where you belong."
I bite back a smile. "That's awfully possessive for someone claiming to give me a choice."
"I never claimed not to be possessive." The corner of his mouth ticks up - that barely-there expression that passes for a smile with him. "Just that the choice is yours."
His calm facade doesn't fool me. There's tension in the set of his broad shoulders, in the way his other hand grips the edge of the marble counter. This matters to him more than he'll admit.
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"Yes." I lean forward, pressing a kiss to that perfect mouth. "I'll move in. For real this time."
The tension bleeds from his frame, replaced by something darker, hungrier. His hand slides into my hair, gripping just shy of painful as he deepens the kiss. When he pulls back, his eyes are heated.
"Good." His voice carries that edge of authority that makes my knees weak. "Because I wasn't looking forward to convincing you."
I laugh against his lips. "Liar. You love convincing me of things."
"True." His fingers tighten in my hair. "But I prefer when you choose me on your own."
His arms cage me against the counter, his broad frame radiating that lethal grace that first drew me to him. Morning sunlight catches the silver of his Rolex, the only piece of softness he allows himself to wear. I trace the defined muscles of his forearm, feeling the way they flex under my touch.
"We need to stop by the boutique today." I tilt my head up to meet his gaze. "The new collection arrived."
"After lunch." He presses a kiss to my temple, oddly gentle for a man who can order deaths between business meetings. "I have meetings until noon."
"You don't need to escort me everywhere." But even as I say it, I lean into his warmth. "Your men are perfectly capable."
His fingers trail down my spine, possessive. "I want to."
The words carry weight - Luca Mantione doesn't do anything he doesn't want to. Every move is calculated, precise. Except when it comes to me. I've watched him systematically dismantle his own rigid control, piece by piece, just to let me in.
"Fine." I turn in his arms, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from his black henley. "But I'm choosing where we eat."
That ghost of a smile plays at his lips. "As long as it's somewhere private."
"Still worried someone might see you have actual emotions?"
His eyes darken, that familiar emptiness replaced by heat. "No. I just don't like sharing what's mine."
The words should bristle - I've never been one to be owned. But there's something intoxicating about the way he claims me while ensuring I maintain my independence. He's learning to protect without suffocating, to love without controlling.
His phone buzzes, breaking the moment. Business never stops in his world. But instead of immediately checking it like he used to, he keeps his arms around me for another heartbeat. Progress.
"Go." I pat his chest. "Run your empire. I'll be here when you're done."
He catches my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm that feels like a promise. "Always."