13. Pearl
13
PEARL
T he gunfire was deafening. Huddled in the safe room behind my closet, I tried to focus on breathing, not on the lingering warmth where Vincenzo's lips had touched my skin. The walls seemed to shake with each explosion, making me wonder if they were really as secure as promised.
A pattern of knocks cut through the chaos. "Pearl?" A familiar voice, though not one I'd dealt with much during my weeks here. "We need to move."
The lock beeped and the door opened to reveal one of Giuliano's men —Luca, I remembered. Giuliano had mentioned him once or twice, describing him as someone who kept spirits up during tough times. Now he was in full tactical gear, his expression serious.
His long dark hair was pulled back in a messy knot, and even through the tactical vest, I could tell he was built lean but strong. The stubble along his jaw caught the dim light as he moved.
"You good to run?" His eyes swept over me, taking in my silk pajamas and bare feet. "Ah. Not exactly escape attire."
"I'm fine." I tried to sound braver than I felt. "What's happening?"
"Short version?" He checked the hallway. "Vittorio's done playing nice. Sent his men to fetch you home." The way he said it, casual despite the gravity, somehow made it less terrifying. "Giuliano wants you moved somewhere less obvious."
An explosion rocked the building. Luca moved instantly, stepping in front of me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body.
He led me through service corridors I hadn't known existed, moving with surprising grace for someone his size. Every now and then he'd pause, head tilted like he was listening to something through his earpiece.
"Are you heading to the tunnels?" I heard someone say through his radio.
"Already on it." Luca guided me down what looked like a maintenance shaft. "Though I still say we should've installed that waterslide."
"Focus, Luca." Giuliano's voice, tense with gunfire in the background.
"Always do, boss. Just with style."
The tunnel was narrow and dark, lit only by strips along the floor. Above us, more gunfire erupted. Each blast made me flinch. Without warning, Luca's warm hand found mine in the darkness, his grip firm but gentle. The strange comfort of his touch caught me off guard.
"Stay close," he murmured, his voice low and near my ear. The tunnel forced us closer, and I was suddenly very aware of him—the warmth of his body behind mine, the strength in his hand holding mine, the way his breath stirred my hair. Even in crisis, something about his presence was... distracting in the best possible way.
We emerged into an underground garage I hadn't known existed. A sleek black car waited in the shadows.
"In you go," he said, opening the passenger door while scanning the garage for threats. "Fair warning though: Giuliano usually makes me ride in the back. Says it's better for his blood pressure."
I quickly discovered why Giuliano preferred Luca in the back seat. The car shot through narrow alleys and side streets I'd never seen, taking turns that seemed to defy physics. I gripped the door handle, torn between terror and exhilaration.
"Try not to look at the road," he said, voice steady as he took another impossible corner. "And maybe don't tell Giuliano about this part."
"What?" I twisted to look behind us, catching glimpses of dark vehicles in pursuit.
Nothing we can't handle." He maneuvered the powerful car like it was part of him, movements smooth despite our speed. A sharp turn brought us impossibly close to a wall, but his hands were steady on the wheel, completely in control. I should have been terrified. Instead, I found myself stealing glances at him— the sharp concentration in his eyes, the slight smile playing at his lips.
When we finally lost our tail, his whole demeanor shifted. The intense focus melted into something more relaxed, though his eyes still checked the mirrors regularly.
"So," he said conversationally, "first time being kidnapped from your kidnappers?"
"Is that what this is?"
"Nah, this is more like strategic relocation." His grin was infectious. "With bonus car chase for entertainment value."
"Are you always like this?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.
"Like what?" He glanced over, eyes dancing with mischief. "Devastatingly charming? Unfairly handsome? Just naturally hilarious?"
"Ridiculous," I said, but found myself smiling.
"Ah, that's my specialty. Just ask Giuliano - actually, don't. He's still mad about my last few 'creative' ideas."
We pulled into an underground garage that looked nothing like the luxury buildings I was used to. Everything here felt more real somehow.
"Home sweet, somewhat questionable, home," he announced with that infectious grin of his, killing the engine. His eyes swept over me again, lingering on my bare feet and silk pajamas. "We should probably get you some actual clothes. Unless you're trying to start a new fashion trend—midnight escape chic."
I looked down at myself, suddenly aware of how absurd I must look. "I didn't exactly pack for this."
"Here." He shrugged off his jacket, stepping close to settle it around my shoulders. His fingers brushed my neck as he adjusted the collar, and I caught a hint of his scent, something warm and distinctly male.
In the elevator, Luca leaned against the wall, seemingly unaffected by the chaos we'd just escaped. "Fair warning about the fourth floor," he said casually. "The vending machine by the stairs is definitely haunted."
I blinked at him. "Haunted?"
"Oh yeah." He nodded solemnly. "Eats your money, then gives you exactly what you didn't ask for. Giuliano says it's just old, but I've seen it give Angelo a protein bar when he clearly pressed for chips. Twice." He tapped his temple.
The elevator ride up had me fighting back a laugh. I couldn't figure him out; one minute he's expertly dodging people trying to kill us, and the next he's going on about a haunted vending machine like it's the most normal thing in the world. I should have been terrified. Instead, I kept catching myself smiling.
But when we reached his door, he hesitated, key hovering near the lock. For the first time since I'd met him, his grin turned sheepish.
"So, fair warning," he said, fiddling with his keys, "my place is kind of a mess."
"After tonight, I think I can handle anything."
"We'll see about that," he muttered, but pushed open the door.
The apartment wasn't what I expected. Yes, there were signs of bachelor life: video game controllers on the coffee table, takeout menus magnetized to the fridge. Still, something about it felt real. Lived in. A shelf in the corner caught my eye, filled with an eclectic mix of motorcycle repair manuals, medical textbooks, and a collection of graphic novels.
"Not quite up to Vittorio's standards, huh?" he said, watching me take it all in.
"No," I breathed. "It's so much better."
His grin came back, full force. "You might want to hold that thought until you see the kitchen."
"I'm serious." I wandered to the shelf, noticing a motorcycle helmet beside stacks of well-read comics. "Everything in Vittorio's world is for show. Perfect and cold and empty." I picked up a graphic novel, finding coffee stains and handwritten notes in the margins. "This is actually lived in."
"Well, if you like mess, you're definitely in the right place." But something in his voice had softened.
"Kitchen's through there," he said, gesturing vaguely. "Though I should warn you, my cooking skills are limited to exactly three meals, and one of them is cereal."
My stomach growled, reminding me how long it had been since dinner. "Cereal sounds great, actually."
"Really? A girl after my own heart." He moved to the kitchen, grabbing bowls. "Though I should mention I only stock the kind that turns milk into interesting colors."
I settled at his kitchen counter, watching him pour what looked like tiny rainbow explosions into our bowls. "I can't believe they still make these. The milk's going to be nuclear pink in about two minutes."
"That's half the fun." He hopped onto the counter opposite me, his own bowl filled to the brim.
I took a bite, tasting pure childhood nostalgia. "I haven't had cereal like this since..."
"Since?" He leaned forward, something shifting in his expression.
"Since before my father died." I surprised myself with how easily the words came out. "He used to sneak me the sugary snacks. Called it our secret rebellion."
Something flickered in Luca's eyes, his usual smile fading. "Sounds like a good man."
"He was." I stirred my cereal, watching pink swirl through the milk. "Vittorio... he tried to erase all that. Make everything perfect and controlled."
Luca's jaw tightened. For once, there was no hint of his usual playfulness. "Vittorio's good at destroying things people love."
The bitterness in his voice made me look up. He was staring into his bowl, shoulders tense, like he was fighting some internal battle.
"I had someone once," he said quietly. "Sonia." His voice softened on her name. "She was an artist—always had paint on her clothes, saw beauty in everything. Even in me, I guess." He traced patterns in the condensation on the counter. "We were good together. Happy. Until we weren't."
"What happened?" I asked gently, recognizing the pain in his voice.
"It started with parties, you know? Just having fun, letting loose. I thought I could handle it—we both did. But Sonia..." His knuckles whitened around his spoon. "She started needing it more. To sleep, to work, to feel normal. And I was too caught up in my own shit to see how deep she was getting."
His voice caught. "Then Vittorio started pushing this new synthetic on the streets. Said it was pure, safer than the other stuff out there. She thought it would help her quit. But what he was selling..." He swallowed hard, looking away.
"I should've known better, but by the time I found her..." His voice broke, and he blinked rapidly, fighting back tears. "I tried everything, but..." He drew in a shaky breath, his knuckles white around the spoon. "The doctors said it was cut with something else. And I couldn't... I couldn't save her."
Without thinking, I reached across the counter, laying my hand over his. His fingers were cold despite his usual warmth.
"After I lost her, I was empty. Apart from anger, that is. Did some stupid things." He turned his hand over, gripping mine like an anchor. "Giuliano found me when I was at my lowest. Gave me purpose. A chance to make sure it didn't happen to anyone else."
"I'm so sorry," I whispered, understanding now why he'd been so quick to help me escape.
He met my eyes, and for the first time, I saw him without any masks. "Sometimes, I still see her everywhere. In little things, you know? Like..." He gestured vaguely at our cereal. "She used to eat this stuff at midnight, too."
I stood up, moving around the counter. When I wrapped my arms around him, he stiffened for a moment before melting into the embrace. We stayed like that for a while, his breath warm against my hair, sharing a grief that needed no words.
Neither of us seemed willing to break away first. His hand had drifted to my lower back, steady and warm. When we finally pulled apart, the air felt different—charged with something that made my pulse quicken. His eyes had darkened, all traces of their usual mischief gone.
His phone buzzed, making us both jump.
"Good news; everyone's safe," he said after checking it, his voice rougher than before.
I felt myself swaying slightly, exhaustion finally catching up to me.
"Bed's all yours," he said, catching my arm to steady me. "I'll crash on the couch."
"Are you sure? I don't want to?—"
"Trust me, that couch and I go way back," he said with a grin. "Many quality naps have happened there."
His hand stayed on my back as he guided me to his bedroom, fingers splaying slightly against my spine. The warmth of his touch through the thin silk of my pajamas made it hard to focus on walking straight.
He moved around the room quickly, shoving a few things into drawers before turning to the bed. I couldn't help but smile, watching him fuss with the dark blue comforter, attempting to make it presentable. When he reached across the bed, his shirt rode up, and I found myself distracted by the flash of bare skin beneath.
"You should get some sleep," he said, turning back to me. His voice had gone low and rough, the usual playfulness replaced with something that made my pulse race. We stood there for a moment, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. His fingers brushed against my arm, barely there but enough to make my breath catch. His eyes dropped to my lips, and I found myself leaning in slightly, drawn to him without meaning to be.
But then his phone buzzed. He stepped back, running a hand through his hair, and I had to stop myself from reaching for him.
"Sweet dreams." He turned to leave.
"Luca?" His name slipped out before I could stop it. Part of me wanted to ask him to stay; the thought of being alone after everything that had happened today, after sharing so much... But what would I even say? That I was scared? That I didn't want to be alone? That I wanted...
He paused at the door, turning back slightly. His hand lingered on the doorframe, and I could see the tension in his shoulders, like he was fighting the same battle I was. He took half a step toward me before catching himself.
"Try to get some rest," he said finally. Then he was gone.
I sank into his bed, surrounded by his scent. Despite my exhaustion, my mind wandered to him in the next room, imagining him pulling off that t-shirt before settling on the couch. The thought of his bare skin, the way his muscles had moved when he'd reached across the bed, how his fingers had felt against my spine...
My eyes grew heavy, and the last thing I remembered was wondering if he always slept shirtless. Finally, sleep pulled me under.