Chapter 24
I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the wedding dress hanging on my closet door. The Marchesa gown looks like a ghost in the darkness, haunting me with promises I don't want to keep.
Tomorrow, I'll be Mrs. Sartori.
The thought makes my stomach twist into knots.
Four days. It's been four days since Daniel and I were together at his house. Four days of avoiding his eyes, of maintaining a careful distance, of pretending I don't feel the electricity crackling between us whenever we're in the same room.
Four days of hell.
I haven't slept more than a few hours each night. Food tastes like ash in my mouth. Ginerva keeps bringing me plates I barely touch, her eyes filled with concern she doesn't voice.
"You need to eat, Miss Lucrezia," she said this morning, setting down a tray of pastries I couldn't stomach.
I tried, for her sake. Took two bites before pushing it away.
The wedding preparations have been a blur.
Fittings, tastings, meetings with the florist, the photographer, the wedding planner.
I've nodded and smiled and agreed to everything, letting Ava Sartori make most of the decisions.
What does it matter what flowers decorate the tables or what songs the band plays?
This isn't a celebration. It's a business transaction.
Daniel has been there through it all, a silent shadow at my back. Professional. Distant. The perfect bodyguard.
Except for those moments when our eyes meet, and I see everything he's not saying. Everything I'm not saying back.
The worst part is knowing what I'm giving up. Now that I've experienced what it feels like to be with someone I truly want, how can I spend my life with someone else?
I rise from the bed, unable to sit still with these thoughts circling like vultures. My bare feet make no sound on the plush carpet as I approach the wedding dress. I reach out, running my fingers over the delicate beadwork, the fine lace.
It should be the most beautiful thing I own. Instead, it feels like a funeral shroud.
I remember the look on Daniel's face when he saw me in it at the boutique. The raw hunger in his eyes, quickly masked but unmistakable. The way his hands trembled slightly when he touched my face.
And then later, at his house...
A soft knock at my door pulls me from my thoughts. I turn away from the wedding dress.
"Come in," I call.
Hazel slips inside, closing the door quietly behind her. She's wearing pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt that probably belongs to Matteo. Her hair is pulled into a messy bun, and she looks so normal, so comfortable in her own skin. I envy that.
"I thought you might want some company," she says, holding up a bottle of sparkling water and two glasses. "Pre-wedding jitters?" I appreciate that she tries to make me laugh.
I do laugh, but it sounds hollow even to my own ears. "Something like that."
She sits on the edge of my bed, patting the space beside her. I join her, accepting the glass she offers.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" Hazel asks, her eyes kind but searching. There's no judgment there, just concern.
I take a sip of water, buying time. What can I say? That I'm in love with my bodyguard? That I can't stop thinking about his hands on my body, his lips on mine? That every time I close my eyes, I'm back in his bed, feeling things I never thought possible after what happened to me?
"I can't stop thinking about him," I whisper before I can stop myself.
Hazel doesn't ask who. She doesn't need to.
I nod, staring down at my glass. "What happened between us... I've never felt that way before. Not ever. And now I'm supposed to marry someone else tomorrow."
"What exactly happened?" Hazel asks, then quickly adds, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."
Heat rushes to my cheeks. "We were together. At his house."
Understanding dawns in her eyes. "Oh."
"Yeah." I set my glass down on the nightstand. "And now I can't stop thinking about it. About him. How am I supposed to marry Bruno tomorrow when all I can think about is Daniel?"
Hazel takes my hand, squeezing gently. "I wish I had an answer for you."
We sit in silence for a moment. My mind drifts to other concerns.
"Has anyone told you anything about the Russians?" I ask, changing the subject. "No one tells me a single word about what's happening. It's like they think I'll break if I know too much."
Hazel hesitates, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Not much. After they lost the man who poisoned Evelyn, things have been quiet. Too quiet, according to Matteo."
My interest piques. "What else?"
"I know they found the leak," she says. "The person who was feeding information to the Volkovs."
"Who was it?"
"Someone on Daniel's security team. Nathan Turner, I think his name was. Matteo didn't give me details about what happened to him." Her expression tells me I probably don't want to know.
"That's it? Nothing else about what the Russians are planning? Or why they're targeting us specifically?"
Hazel shakes her head. "That's all I know. Matteo doesn't tell me much either. He says it's safer that way."
I sigh, frustration building in my chest.
I pace my apartment like a caged animal, boots striking the hardwood floor with each measured step. Seven steps from wall to wall. Turn. Seven steps back. Turn. Repeat.
The walls close in on me with each pass. My skin feels too tight, like I'm about to burst out of it. My fists clench and unclench at my sides.
Tomorrow, Lu marries Bruno Sartori.
The thought sends a wave of rage through me so intense my vision blurs at the edges. I grab the nearest object—a glass from the counter—and hurl it against the wall. It shatters, the sound echoing through my empty apartment.
Not enough. Not nearly enough.
I slam my palm against the wall, welcoming the sting of pain. Better than this helplessness. This fucking powerlessness.
The image of Lu in that wedding dress burns behind my eyes. She looked like something from another world. Too beautiful, too perfect to be real. And tomorrow she'll walk down the aisle wearing it, saying vows to a man who sees her as nothing but a business acquisition.
"Fuck!" The word tears from my throat, raw and primal.
I can't stand the thought of Bruno touching her. His hands on her body. His lips on hers. His ring on her finger. The possessive beast inside me roars, demanding blood.
Mine.
She's mine.
I've never felt this way about anyone. Never wanted to claim someone so completely. Never been willing to risk everything for another person.
But for Lu?
I'd burn the whole fucking world down.
Four days ago, I had her in my arms. In my bed. The memory of her skin against mine, her taste on my tongue, her soft sounds in my ears—it's driving me insane. How am I supposed to stand by tomorrow and watch her become someone else's wife?
Seven steps. Turn. Seven steps. Turn.
My training taught me to compartmentalize. To lock away emotions that interfere with the mission. But this—this is beyond anything I've experienced. This isn't just emotion. It's instinct. Primal and overwhelming.
The thought of Lu in Bruno's bed makes me want to put a bullet between his eyes.
I've killed men before. In war. For the Ferettis. I've never enjoyed it. Never wanted it. It was always just the job.
But for Bruno Sartori? I'd make an exception.
I stop pacing, breathing hard, sweat beading on my forehead despite the cool air in the apartment.
This isn't helping. I need to think clearly. Find a solution. There has to be another way.
I stop pacing and stand perfectly still in the center of my apartment. The chaos in my mind suddenly goes quiet, replaced by crystal clarity.
I will prepare myself.
I will get to her and if she agrees…
I'm going to stop that wedding.
The decision settles in my chest like a lead weight. Final. Irreversible.
I know exactly what this means. I'll be declaring war on two of the most powerful families. The Ferettis, who've been like family to me. The Sartoris, who'll want my head on a spike. I'll be throwing away years of loyalty, my career, probably my life.
And I don't give a fuck.
If Lucrezia tells me to fuck off, I will never get closer to her again. But I need to try.
I move to my bedroom closet. Behind the hanging clothes, I press my palm against a hidden scanner. The false wall slides open, revealing my personal arsenal.
This isn't the standard security chief equipment. These are my war tools. Things I never thought I'd need again after leaving the Rangers.
I select a matte black Glock 19, checking the action with practiced hands. Two spare magazines. A ceramic knife that won't set off metal detectors. I strap a lightweight kevlar vest under my shirt.
"For Lu," I whisper as I load each weapon.
I've spent my entire career as a protector. Following orders. Keeping people safe. Playing by rules.
Not anymore.
The line I swore I'd never cross has disappeared. I've become the very thing I was hired to guard against—a threat.
A predator.
I grab my phone and disable the GPS tracking. Then I remove the battery completely. No one can know where I'm going or what I'm planning. I'll be a ghost.
In the garage, I bypass my SUV—too easily recognized—and head for the nondescript sedan I keep as a backup.
I pop the trunk and remove the license plates, replacing them with clean ones I've kept for emergencies.
I check under the chassis for tracking devices, finding and removing the standard Feretti security tag.
Inside the trunk, I access the hidden compartment beneath the spare tire. More weapons. More ammunition. Enough firepower to start a small war.
Which is exactly what I'm doing.
I load everything methodically, my mind running through scenarios, contingencies, angles of attack.
This is it. The point of no return.
Tomorrow, Lu walks down the aisle to marry Bruno Sartori.
Except she won't.
Even if it's the last thing I do.