Chapter 18
The heels were too tight. Or maybe it was the cuts.
Either way, her walk had changed, stiffer, more careful. Most wouldn't notice. But I watched her too closely.
She crossed to the car, her stride clipped and quiet.
I stepped back and opened the door for her. She didn't look at me when she spoke.
"You didn't have to wait outside the car."
"I'm supposed to be beside you," I muttered. "But I guess the Lexus needed shadowing more."
My gaze flicked past her.
Aurelio Kashani was still standing there. Waiting, watching.
She hadn't said it out loud, but Alvaro had. The head of security never kept secrets for long, at least not from me.
My hands itched for a bike ride. I was getting fed up with all this shadowing.
The worst part? Protecting someone who didn't want to be protected.
I climbed into the passenger seat and nodded to the driver. "Go."
Through the rear-view mirror, I caught her reflection, sunk into the leather, eyes half-open. Staring at me like I was a ghost in her hallway.
My mind kept flashing back to yesterday, to how she'd pleaded to be saved from her own mind.
Now the woman behind me looked nothing like her.
Or maybe she was like a Matryoshka doll. Layer after layer. No bottom.
"Stop looking at me like I'm going to break," she muttered.
I rolled my eyes and turned to the window. But the words stuck. My fingers twitched.
It was the smile she'd given Kashani. Business smile. Strategic. Polished. Hollow.
A marriage contract with teeth. That was what the mafia was.
Love was a luxury item, and most of us were never rich enough for it.
The car eased to a stop at the estate.
Standing outside was a woman with her hair in a bun, dressed in a fitted suit with the House of Versace crest on her chest.
Ah. Versace's personal assistant.
Another shadow. Except, this shadow doesn't need to die for Versace if shit goes south. Did I sense some discrimination? Yes. Yes, I did.
Mayami stood outside, clutching a crested tablet to her chest like a bible. "Miss Versace! Miss Versace!"
"I told you not to come until tomorrow," Versace said, walking towards the doors.
"Yes, but tomorrow's the introduction party and today you have a visi—"
The door swung open before Mayami could finish.
I stepped in, and came face-to-face with a gun.
Walther PPK. Threaded barrel. Silencer attached.
One of my favourites. Quiet, neat, no mess.
Like the guy I killed in a bathroom two years ago. Pressed his head into the sink. Pulled the trigger.
No blood on the tiles. Just the drain.
The gun was pointed straight at me. I didn't flinch. Just moved, instantly into position. Shoulders squared, blocking her from view.
Hands at my sides. Not raised. Calculated, not reckless.
"You're hard to get a hold of, Versace," the man said, cocking his head like he was disappointed in her. "Hurts my pride that I had to resort to such menial tactics."
Warm fingers curled around my arm. My eyes dropped to see her manicured hand gently gripping me as her voice found my ear.
"It's fine," she whispered. "Move."
"He has a gun," I said flatly. I still hadn't forgiven her for leaving the house with fresh cuts last night. I wasn't about to let her drag us into another mess.
She attracted trouble. No, she wanted it.
"He can't aim," she whispered back, steady. "And he wouldn't dare shoot. Not here."
Her tone wasn't bluffing. It was fact.
Still, I didn't move.
"What do you want?" I asked the man, voice levelled, eyes locked on his.
"Shadows shouldn't speak," he said casually, like we were having tea. "Want me to make you mute permanently?"
"Not if I cripple you first," I sneered, tensing.
His eyes slid past me to Versace. "I'm here to talk about the shipment."
Her body stiffened behind me. Of course.
That shipment.
Versace stepped beside me now, not behind. Her arms crossed loosely, not defensive. Daring.
"Shipment?" she asked lightly. "You'll have to be more specific. The House of Versace deals in many things, and a menial shipment doesn't exactly deserve this much effort."
He smiled like he knew something we didn't. "Don't play dumb, sweetheart. You know exactly which one."
Mayami stepped forward, still clutching the tablet like it might save her.
"Sir," she chirped, voice bright and brittle like glass. "You're not on today's schedule. If you'd like to file a formal complaint regarding cargo issues, I'll be happy to connect you with the House Versace logistics manager."
His glare made her retreat a full step back.
"You show up with a gun at my doorstep to talk about imaginary goods?"
"Your family deals in ghosts and shadows. I figured it was fitting."
I stepped forward. "Put the gun down."
He looked at me, amused. "Or?"
"Or he'll make you. And then we'll test how long you can scream before you pass out."
I didn't say that. She did.
A small tingle hit my chest. She trusted me to destroy her enemies.
He hesitated. Not out of fear. Out of instinct. Predator to predator.
Then, finally, he lowered the weapon.
"That's better," I said.
"I'm talking about the cocaine shipment," he finally muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets.
"It's banned," she said coldly. "We're no longer moving cocaine. Especially not when you cut kids open just to smuggle it across the border."
He took a step closer. "Look, little girl. It's been what? Three years since you crawled back into power, and now you're rewriting all the rules? You might want to watch your back. Not everyone's going to take this so politely. This is the mafia, not a church."
"It'll be your funeral if you keep talking like that."
He smirked. "Tell your mother I stopped by."
And just like that, he turned and walked off like we were old friends who'd swapped war stories, not death threats.
Versace let out a breath.
Mayami stood frozen like a broken Siri, the tablet trembling in her hands.
"You're not fired," Versace said as we passed her. "But you're definitely blocked."
Mayami didn't, couldn't… say a word.
Inside, she dropped her clutch and headed straight for the kitchen. Poured herself a glass of water with shaky precision.
"You nearly got shot," I said, watching her.
Correction: I nearly got shot.
These abs weren't built to take bullets.
"You nearly broke his fingers," she muttered.
"And you told me he wouldn't shoot."
"I was right."
"That's not the point."
She slammed the glass down.
The silence that followed felt heavier than the gun had.
Then our eyes met, locked. Just for a second. But I could almost hear her thinking: Please. Not now.
"I want to go for a ride."
"Absolutely not. You're not going anywhere alone."
"Exactly. You're coming with me. In fact, you're riding. I'll be your backpack."
I sighed. "Go get changed."
She turned and headed up the stairs.
I didn't follow.
Not right away.
Because my chest still burned.
And it wasn't from the gun.
It was from the way she said he can't aim. Like she'd stood in front of guns before. Like she knew the exact, weight of one.
This engagement, this whole princess act, wasn’t her first disguise.
Suddenly, I wasn't sure I was protecting her from the world.
I was starting to think I was protecting the world from her.
She wore leather. The real thing.
Expensive. Stitched with quiet violence. Her jacket zipped halfway. Black boots tight at the ankles. Hair swept up in that signature no-nonsense twist.
What did I expect from the heir to one of the most feared Mafia syndicates?
If I didn't know any better, I'd say she was dressing for war.
Scratch that—She was dressing for war.
"You ready?" she asked, not even sparing me a glance as she walked into the garage.
The same garage that wowed me every damn time.
She straddled the bike. Not the car. Not the SUV.
The Ducati.
"No way. You're behind me," I said immediately, jerking my head.
She raised her hands in surrender, "Okay," and stepped aside, letting me take the lead.
She didn't say a word for the first ten minutes.
Helmet strapped. Wind in her hair. Arms around me—but not clinging. Loose. Cold. Like trust was a light switch she could flip off.
My mind wandered back to earlier, when he called her ‘little girl’.
She hadn’t flinched. Didn’t bother to defend herself. Because she wasn't a little girl. She was the bigger threat.
I didn't ask where we were going. I just drove.
Halfway through, I took a sharp turn. Changed the route. Roads she wouldn't recognize.
She tapped me once. The universal, ‘Where are we going?’
"Trust me," I yelled over the wind.
Her arms tightened around me. That was an answer on its own.
When we hit the edge of town, I pulled up in front of a random corner store.
"Wait here. I'll be right back."
I didn't wait for her response. Just ran inside. Bought two black face caps.
"Put this on," I said when I returned, tossing her one.
She raised an eyebrow. "What is this?"
"A cap, obviously. Princess."
But I knew she already knew that.
"Anonymity," I said, tugging mine on. "And fun."
Then I reached for her hand. Didn't ask, just took it. Her fingers were cold, stiff with surprise.
"Come on. Let me show you the world."
We wandered through streets lit by flickering signs and neon buzz.
Two silhouettes in leather. Laughing under our breath. Ghosts pretending to be kids again.
"This is hilarious, Zorian," she chuckled.
Eventually, we ducked into a dim little bar with graffiti on the walls and a jukebox coughing out 2000s R&B.
Low lights. Lower energy.
Two bar stools. I made sure she sat first.
Even here, I was still her shadow.
"Zorian," the bartender said with a half-smirk, shaking a jigger. "Long time. What brings you to this part of town?"
"Needed to connect with Mother Nature," I deadpanned.
He chuckled, then eyed Versace beside me. "And who's the pretty lady?"
"My girlfriend," I said out of habit.
Shit.
She looked at me sharply. But said nothing.
"Nice to meet you," she told him. "I'm Bella."
Bella. Cute.
He handed her a cocktail and launched into some mixology lesson.
She was riveted. Genuinely fascinated. Eyes glowing as he explained bitters and burn.
If I didn't know better, I'd think she was interested. But this was Versace.
We didn't stay long. Didn't need to.
It was one of those quiet nights you keep tucked away.
Pocket-sized. Just for you.
We were on the Ducati again. Riding through winding roads and dying daylight. Into the city's veins where the lights blurs and the noise faded.
The engine hummed like it had something to say.
I took the corners sharp, like I needed it to bleed for me.
Eventually, she tapped my shoulder. Stop here.
I pulled off near an overlook. The city stretched below us, golden, glowing, distant.
She got off first and walked to the edge with her helmet still on.
I killed the engine. The silence that followed was deafening.
"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked.
She didn't turn. "No."
Didn't expect her to.
She unstrapped the helmet and set it down like it was too heavy.
Hair wild. Face blank. But her shoulders were slacked.
"You've held a gun before," I said. I didn't need her to confirm it.
Silence.
"You knew he wouldn't shoot."
Still silent.
"You've seen worse than him, haven't you?"
She exhaled, slow and thick. "Everyone's seen worse."
"That's not what I asked."
She finally turned. Eyes sharp. "What exactly are you trying to say?"
"I'm saying…I don't think you're new to this."
She looked like she wanted to lie. Maybe almost did. But she couldn't.
"I'm not."
Figures.
"I'm starting to think this whole 'prodigal princess' act isn't new either."
She laughed, but it came out dry. "You think I just woke up knowing five languages, how to run arms, manage three smuggling routes, and lie with a smile?"
"You forgot threatening people with a smile."
"That too."
I stepped beside her. Close. Not too close.
"Why me?"
"What?"
"Why let me see this side of you?"
She hesitated. "Because you're my shadow. I can't really run from you. And around me, you'll always be in danger."
"And that's a good thing?"
"It means you always have the kind of information that can save your life. Don't die for me, Zorian. If they want me dead, they won't care if you're still breathing."
The wind picked up, but she didn't flinch.
Neither did I.
"Are you scared of me now?" she asked, voice low.
"No," I said. "I'm scared of the version of you that has no one to pull her back."
She blinked once. Helmet back on. "That version's not far."
A chill crept up my neck.
I pulled out my phone. "Let's take a picture."
She raised a brow. "Seriously?"
I nodded.
She didn't say no.
We stood there, wind in our faces, city at our backs. Two shadows playing human.
I lifted the phone.
We weren't looking at the camera. We were looking at each other. Helmets on. Silent.
And from her eyes I could almost read the words, "There's nothing to fear about me."
Safer that way.
The picture came out off-centre.
I kept it.
We finally returned to the estate, and it was just us. A few maids. A couple of guards.
She peeled off her gloves, dropped them on the kitchen counter, poured a glass of water, and drank like she hadn't seen water all day.
Now I was thirsty too.
"You do know I'm meeting my potential in-laws, right?" she muttered, heading for the stairs.
"Don't think too much of it," I replied. "I only said 'girlfriend' to avoid suspicion."
"Sure," she said, flat.
We reached the top of the stairs. She was one step above me. Still, I towered over her.
"Can you wake me up early?" she asked. Her voice was softer now. "Don't want my mother thinking I slept in on my introduction day."
I nodded. "Yeah. I got you, princess."
She paused.
"Don't call me that."
"What should I call you, then?" I leaned in slightly. "No, wait. I've got it. Sage."
She blinked. Caught off guard for a second.
"Goodnight, Zorian." she muttered, walking up the rest of the stairs.
She disappeared into her room.
And for the first time—
I didn't stay by the door.