Chapter 17 - Faith #2
The Volvo drives like a dream. Smooth, quiet, responsive. Everything my poor Honda isn't. The seat adjusts in a dozen different ways, the steering wheel is heated, and when I press the gas, it accelerates with barely a whisper of sound.
"Heated seats," Luca notes, reaching across to adjust something on the console. His arm brushes my thigh, deliberate. "You're always cold in winter. I've watched you sit in your car for five minutes in the library parking lot, waiting for the heat to work, rubbing your hands together."
"You're very creepy, you know that?"
"Yes." He doesn't sound even slightly bothered. "Blind-spot monitoring on both sides—those lights in the mirrors will flash if there's a car you can't see. Lane-departure warning if you drift without signaling. Automatic emergency braking if it detects an imminent collision."
"You really did memorize the specs."
"Bulletproof glass. Nothing extreme, just level 3 protection. And the tires can't be punctured—you can drive fifty miles on them even if they're slashed."
I look over at him.
"I researched for six hours last night. Had Santoro prepare his best modified vehicles." His hand rests on my thigh now, possessive and warm through my jeans. "After watching you sleep for two hours."
I should slam on the brakes. Should demand to know why he was watching me sleep. Instead, my body warms under his touch, heat pooling low in my belly at the casual admission.
"The GPS," I say carefully, testing the car's handling as I turn onto Lake Shore Drive. The steering is precise, responsive. "You'll be tracking me constantly?"
"Yes."
"What if I go somewhere you don't approve of?"
"Then I'll either join you or eliminate the threat, depending on the location." He says it like it's reasonable, like this is how normal relationships work. "But you'll always know I'm watching. I won't hide it."
Somehow the honesty makes it less invasive. Or maybe I'm just as sick as he is, finding comfort in the idea of being constantly observed.
"There's a remote start feature," he continues, his fingers tracing small circles on my thigh that make it hard to concentrate on driving. "You can warm the car from inside your apartment. Defrost the windows, heat the seats, before you even step outside."
"That's… actually thoughtful."
"I think about you constantly, Faith. What you need. What would make you comfortable. What could hurt you." His fingers tighten slightly. "Obsessive thoughts become protective actions."
The lake spreads out beside us, gray and infinite under the morning sky. Other cars pass, normal people living normal lives, completely unaware that I'm test-driving a $110,000 car bought by a killer who times how long my engine stalls.
I pull into the dealership parking lot twenty minutes later, my hands steady on the wheel despite my racing heart.
"Okay."
"Okay?" Luca's voice is carefully neutral, but I can feel his tension.
"I'll accept the car." I turn to face him, needing to see his reaction. "But I have conditions."
Interest flickers in those pale eyes. "Name them."
"One: You teach me how to access the GPS tracking. If you're watching me, I get to watch you too."
His smile is genuine this time, reaching his eyes for once. "Agreed. Fair is fair."
"Two: No more surprise gifts without asking first. The car makes sense—I need reliable transportation. But I don't want to wake up to a new wardrobe or jewelry or whatever else you think I need."
"You could never be bought." He interrupts before I can finish. "You're too sharp. Too dangerous in your own way. This isn't about making you dependent on me, Faith. It's about keeping you safe while you plan Neumann's destruction."
The phrasing shouldn't make me hot. It really shouldn't.
"Three: Stop watching me sleep through my window. It's creepy even by your standards."
"No."
"Luca—"
"I'll start using the cameras I installed in your apartment instead. Better angles, more reliable feed." He's completely serious, not even trying to pretend he's joking.
I should be horrified. Instead, I'm laughing, this broken sound that's half amusement, half despair. "You're impossible."
"And you're mine." He leans across the console, his mouth capturing mine in a kiss that tastes like possession and coffee and promises I shouldn't want him to keep. "Say yes to the car, little faith."
Against his lips, I whisper: "Yes."
Two hours later, I'm driving my new modified silver Volvo XC60 home, still processing that Luca just spent $110,000 like it was coffee money.
The paperwork is done—all in my name, fully paid, insurance arranged for the next three years.
Matthew had handled it with the efficiency of someone used to strange requests from dangerous men.
My phone buzzes as I'm stopped at a red light.
Luca: "I can see you're three blocks from home. Speed limit is 30. You're going 32. Slow down."
I should be creeped out. Instead, I find myself smiling as I ease off the gas, checking my rearview mirror even though I know he's not following me. He's watching through the GPS, probably pulled it up on one of his many monitors the second I left the dealership.
Another text: "Good girl. Also, check the glove compartment when you get home."
The light turns green. I drive exactly 30 mph the rest of the way, hyperaware of his eyes on me through satellites and technology.
At home, I sit in my new car in the parking lot for a full minute before opening the glove compartment.
Inside, I find:
The owner's manual, perfectly organized
A first-aid kit (of course he'd think of that)
Registration and insurance documents in a leather folder
A small black box
My hands shake slightly as I open the box.
A knife. Not just any knife—a beautiful folding knife with a pearl handle, the blade already sharp enough to catch the light. It's perfectly balanced when I test the weight, professional quality, the kind of weapon that costs more than my old monthly car payment.
The note tucked inside reads in his precise handwriting: "Backup weapon. Because I can't always be there in person. But I'll always know where you are. -L"
I sit in my souped-up car, in my apartment parking lot, holding a knife from a psychopath who just spent more money on me than I've spent on myself in five years.
And I feel safer than I ever have in my life.
God help me.