75 | I can't lose you
The jewelry store is a place of light and luxury.
I stand at the counter, my hands braced on the edge, my eyes scanning rows of rings that sparkle under the spotlights, each one a potential claim on her.
I'm here for a golden wedding ring, not the one we exchanged in haste, bound by Ciara's lie, but something real, something that screams her.
But there's another reason I'm here, one I won't say out loud.
I want a tracking device embedded in the ring. So I'll always know where she is. So no one can take her from me.
In my world, if you vanish, if you're kidnapped, you're as good as dead. Enemies don't leave trails. They don't send ransom notes. They make people disappear.
And I'll be damned if that happens to my wife.
I won't risk losing her to death. Not when I can tether her to me, even from a distance. Not when I have the power and the wealth to make sure she's never truly alone.
The jeweler, an eldery man with nervous hands, hovers nearby, offering suggestions, but I barely hear him.
My focus is on the rings, delicate bands, ornate designs, diamonds that catch the light like stars.
None of them feel right, not yet.
I need perfection, something that fits her golden eyes, her freckled cheeks, the fire in her that burns me alive.
I imagine her wearing a ring, her fingers brushing mine, her smile soft, and it's not just a ring, it's a vow, a chain, a way to keep her safe when the world wants to tear us apart.
My jaw tightens because I'm not naive, someone's out there, targeting her, sending photos, bullets, lies, and I'll be damned if I let them touch her again.
"Show me something simpler," I say, my voice low, cutting through the jeweler's chatter. "Gold, no stones. Something timeless."
He nods, scurrying to a case in the corner, and returns with a tray of bands, each one sleek, unadorned, but heavy with potential.
My eyes land on one, a thin gold ring, etched with a subtle pattern like waves.
I pick it up, turning it in the light, and it feels right.
"This one," I say, my voice final, and the jeweler's relief is clear as he starts the paperwork.
Once I have bought the ring, I slip the ring into my pocket, and head across town, to a secret shop tucked in an alley, the kind of place that doesn't advertise.
I step inside, and the tech, a man with steady hands, is waiting, his workbench littered with tools and wires.
I hand him the ring, my voice low, precise.
"Put a tracking device in it," I say. "Small, undetectable. I want to know where it is at all times."
He nods, no questions, because men like him don't ask.
I watch as he works, his tools carving a hidden compartment into the gold, so tiny it won't change the ring's feel or its look.
He slides in a chip and seals it with a precision that's almost art, the ring emerging untouched to any eye but mine.
The tech hands it back, and I test it, pulling up an app on my phone that shows a blinking dot.
It's her, or it will be, and the thought soothes the darkness in me, the one that roars every time I think of losing her.
But it's not enough.
I want her to have me too, to know I'm hers as much as she's mine.
I pull another ring from my pocket, my ring, golden to match hers.
"Do the same to this ring," I say, handing it over.
The tech raises an eyebrow, but he takes it, repeating the process, carving, embedding, sealing.
I watch, my mind racing, because this is more than protection, more than control.
It's trust, giving her the power to find me, to know where I am, to hold my heart and my life in her hands.
The man finishes, handing me both rings, and I test mine too, watching the second dot appear on my phone, blinking beside hers.
It's us, bound by gold and secrets, and it's fucking perfect.
I pay him in cash and leave, the rings burning a hole in my pocket, a weight that's both promise and burden.
────??────
The mansion looms like a fortress as I step inside the peaceful home.
I climb the grand staircase, and I walk down the hallway before I reach our bedroom.
I push open the door, and Aurelia is sprawled on the bed, her hair fanned across the bed sheets, her phone glowing as she plays some game, lost in a moment of lightness I'd kill to protect.
She looks up, her golden eyes catching mine, and her smile, fuck, that smile, hits me like a bullet. Stealing my breath, and making my heart pound like I'm a teenage boy, not a man who's seen death, dealt it.
She sets the phone down, sliding off the bed, her white silk nightgown clinging to her curves as she walks toward me.
My blood roars, a mix of love and hunger, because I want her, want to pin her to the wall, kiss her until she's gasping, claim her in every way, but tonight, it's more than that.
"Where were you?" she asks, her voice teasing, her head tilting as she stops close, too close.
I smile, trying to keep my cool when all I want is to spill everything, to bare my soul again.
"I have a gift for you," I say, my voice low, rough with the weight of what I'm about to do.
"What kind of gift?" she asks, stepping closer, her fingers brushing my jacket. "Is it another yacht?"
I laugh, a deep sound that shakes loose some of the tension in my chest, because only she can make me feel this light.
"No," I say, shaking my head, my hand dipping into my pocket, closing around the red velvet box. "Not a yacht."
Her eyes widen, sensing the shift, and I drop to one knee, right there in our bedroom, the world falling away until it's just us.
My heart's hammering. Not from fear but from need. From the truth that she's everything to me.
I open the box, revealing the golden ring and look up meeting her gaze.
Her shock a mirror to the storm inside me.
"Aurelia," I say, my voice steady despite the fire in my veins, "will you do me the honor of wearing this ring?"
She stares, her breath catching, and for a moment, I'm terrified she'll say no.
But then she nods, and reaches for the ring, slipping it onto her finger with trembling hands.
It fits, fuck, it fits, like it was made for her. Like she was made for me.
I stand up, my chest tight, and pull out my ring.
"Your turn," I say, handing it to her, and she takes it before she slides it onto my finger, her touch a claim I feel in my bones.
"I never thought it'd be this kind of surprise," she says, her voice soft, a mix of wonder and trust, maybe, or love.
It's enough to make me want to kneel again, to worship her forever. But then I falter, my smile fading, because there's more, and she needs to know.
I step closer, my hands finding hers, my eyes locking on her golden ones, serious now, because this could break us, and I'd rather die than lose her.
"You can hate me," I say, my voice low, rough. "Yell at me. Curse me out. But don't throw the ring away."
Her brows furrow, confusion flickering, and she tilts her head, her voice cautious. "Why would I?"
I swallow, my throat tight.
"It has a tracking device," I confess.
Her eyes widen, shock flashing across her face, but I push on, needing her to understand. "Mine does too. I want you safe, Aurelia, always, no matter what. And I want you to know where I am. To track me. To have me the way I have you. Someone's out there, targeting you, and I can't—"
My voice cracks, raw, desperate. "I can't lose you."
She stares, her breath shallow, and I brace for the anger, for the walls she's so good at building around herself. But she doesn't pull away, she doesn't rip the ring off or tell me to fuck off.
Her fingers tighten in mine. Her eyes searching for my reaction, and she sees the fear, the love, the obsession I'm offering her.
"You're insane," she says, but there's no venom. "You know that, right?"
"Yeah," I say, pulling her against me, my hands sliding to her waist, her body warm, alive, mine. "Insane for you. Always will be."
She rests her forehead against my chest, her fingers tracing the ring on my finger.
"I'm not throwing it away," she murmurs and it's a vow.
I tilt her chin up, my thumb brushing her lip, and I want to kiss her, to consume her, to lose myself in her right here.
But I hold back.
"I have another thing to say," I say, my voice low, rough with the weight of it, and her brows lift, curiosity flickering as she tilts her head, waiting.
"I had a meeting yesterday," I start, my eyes locked on hers, searching for any hint of fear.
"About whoever's attacking us, the shooting, the photo, all of it.
We found out it's not different people. It's one person, someone with a vendetta against us, against you.
They're not just trying to kill us, they're trying to break us apart, to tear you down. "
"That's why I put ten bodyguards on you," I say, my voice firm, unapologetic, because I'd do more, would lock her in a tower if it meant keeping her safe, even if she hated me for it. "Day and night, watching every move. I can't risk you, not with this bastard out there."
She nods, her expression softening, and says, "I know. I see them."
I blink, stunned, my heart stuttering because I was braced for a fight.
"You're not mad at me?" I ask, my voice almost disbelieving, because I've been ready to beg, to plead, to do whatever it takes to make her accept this.
"If I wanted to get kidnapped and die a brutal death, I'd be mad," she says, her voice teasing but steady, her eyes holding mine with a trust that undoes me. "But I'm not. It's better to be safe than sorry."
I stare at her because she's not just accepting it, she's embracing it.
"I feel safer knowing you can track me down," she says, and it's a confession, a gift, her words wrapping around my heart like a vow. "I know you'd come for me, Luciano, in a heartbeat. You'd tear the world apart to save me."
My throat tightens, because she's right, I would save her, without hesitation.
"Always," I murmur, my voice rough, fervent, my hand covering hers, pressing it to my chest so she can feel my pulse, wild for her.
She smiles, a glint of mischief in her eyes, and it's like the sun breaking through a storm.
"I'm good at fighting," she says, "But I'm not stupid.
I'm not going to risk my life just to prove I'm some strong, independent woman.
The underworld's crazy, people out there would rip my skin apart because I'm married to you.
I'm not playing their game, and I'm not going to play with my own life. "
I laugh because she's perfect and I'm falling harder, deeper, into this woman who meets my darkness with her own.
"And the ring?" I ask, nodding at her hand, needing to hear it again, needing to know she's with me in this.
"Now I can keep an eye on you too," she says, tapping my ring with her finger, a spark of triumph in her eyes. "It's a win-win for me."
I pull her against me again, unable to resist, my arms wrapping around her.
"You're gonna track me, huh?" I murmur, my lips brushing her ear. "Gonna make sure I don't get into trouble?"
"Someone has to, old man," she teases. "What if you shit yourself and I need to change your diaper?"
I chuckle. "I'm not that old yet."
She leans back just enough to look up at me, her golden eyes gleaming with mischief. "Yet. Keyword."
"Watch it," I warn, grinning. "Keep talking like that and I'll prove just how not old I am."
"Oh?" she says, arching a brow, clearly enjoying this game. "You threatening me with cardio, grandpa?"
I grunt low in my throat, catching her around the waist and lifting her effortlessly until her feet leave the floor, her squeal a burst of laughter in the quiet room.
"Still think I'm ready for the nursing home, baby?" I say, my voice thick with amusement.
She wraps her legs around me, arms looped behind my neck, her breath brushing my jaw.
"Fine. You're not old," she whispers. "You're just dramatic."
"Dramatic?" I echo, pretending offense as I carry her toward the bed. "Woman, I would declare a war to keep you alive. That's not drama, that's love."
She laughs, soft and sweet against my skin. "It's dramatic love, though. Like Shakespearean. Doomed, intense, with blood on the curtains."
I lower her onto the mattress, hovering above her, our rings catching the light. "If this is doomed, I'll go down smiling."
She brushes her fingers through my hair, her smile fading into something softer.
"Not doomed," she says quietly. "Just dangerous. But I trust you."
Those words hits me right in the chest.
I press my forehead to hers, breathing her in, her scent, her warmth, the pulse of her body against mine.
"And I trust you," I say. "Even when you're threatening to change my diapers."
Her laughter bubbles up again, and it's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. "Just promise me you'll age gracefully, Luciano. Like wine. Not like... cheese."
I laugh. "Fine. But if I'm wine, you're my fire. You'll keep me warm when I'm vintage."
She smirks. "Deal. But if you start mumbling to yourself and forgetting where you put your gun, I'm upgrading you to a nurse."
"Done," I say, kissing her slow, deep, reverent. "But you're still never changing my damn diaper."
"We'll see about that," she murmurs against my lips, and just like that, she wins again.