Chapter 5
The Flame
“Answer the phone, you son of a bitch!” I hissed, pressing dial one more time.
When had Luca not answered me for this long? Never, that’s when! Usually, I barely had time to listen to the dial tone before he was picking the phone up. But tonight of all nights he goes silent? I hardly fucking think so!
Just when I was about to give up and launch my phone at the wall, the call connected, and a cheerful, “Little ember,” filled my ears.
“Don’t you ‘little ember’ me! What the fuck happened tonight?”
“Calm—”
“Do not tell me to calm down. Of all the things to say right now, I can assure you that is the worst of all the choices.”
His soft chuckle teased my senses. “What has you so worked up?”
His chuckle had the desired effect, as did his calm, soothing voice. I felt my shoulders deflate, the tension melting out of my body. I sank down into my fluffy egg chair by the window, curling my legs beneath me.
“There we go,” he said softly. “Get comfortable and talk to me.”
“It’s really freaky how you’re always watching me, did you know that?”
“It’s comforting,” he corrected. “What is it about tonight that has you this worried?”
“How can you ask me that? I know you heard every word said—”
“I did,” he interrupted without a shred of shame.
“So how can you possibly ask me what’s wrong, when clearly it’s everything.”
“You always suspected your dad was involved in something bigger.”
“Yeah, and you always went along with my suspicions. But why am I now getting the impression that you weren’t just suspicious, too? You outright knew, didn’t you?”
“Little ember, with the level of surveillance I have on you, I think it would be impossible for me not to know, don’t you?” he asked calmly, as though this was the most natural thing in the world.
“Why haven’t you told me? What exactly is he involved in?”
“Would you believe me if I told you?”
“Jesus, it’s that bad?” I asked, my mind immediately assuming the worst.
Luca chuckled in my ear. “If you really wanted to know, you would have gone looking. Maybe now you will.”
“Hmm. Maybe. And whilst we’re on the topic, answer me this—why do you have such heavy surveillance on me, Luca?”
“Why are you asking now?”
I sighed heavily. “Because threads of my life are beginning to unravel, and I am trying to see where you fit into it all!”
“So let’s work it out together.”
I felt like screaming in frustration. “Or you could just tell me!”
“Have I ever used any of my knowledge to harm you, Belle?” he asked, making my stomach clench with the use of my nickname.
No one had called me that in so long.
Marco used to call me it all the time, but ever since my engagement, everyone had shifted to “Isabelle” because they said it made me sound more grown up. Which is what Adrien had demanded.
“No,” I agreed reluctantly—only because I knew if I agreed with him, it would only cement the idea that he didn’t need to tell me outright.
“Since that very first night, all I have ever wanted is for you to be safe,” he said softly, taking away the last bit of fight from my body.
It was true.
His first text had been to ask why I was crying.
It was the night of my eighteenth birthday, and things had been going so well. It was before Adrien, before arranged marriages and gilded cages. It was the last night of my freedom—though I hadn’t known it at the time.
The party was perfect, as was everything my mother planned. Other than Silas skulking around, making me nervous, things could not have been better.
And then disaster struck.
My uncle was gunned down, murdered in the middle of the dance floor with a bullet that hit its target precisely.
I had been dancing with him one minute, and the next minute blood was oozing from the very centre of his forehead.
I’d screamed, called for my father, frantically searched the room, only for my eyes to land on that terrifying silver mask in the shadows.
Silas didn’t rush to help. He didn’t move at all. He remained exactly where he was, watching my every move.
When everyone else was panicking and sending out demands, their focus on the dead man in my arms, his focus had been on me. His head had tilted to the side, as though my reaction had surprised him, and he hadn’t so much as flicked a single glance towards my uncle.
I’d been ordered to my room, locked behind the thick wooden doors, the emergency shutters placed over the windows—as was our lockdown procedure—whilst the house was evacuated and the murder was investigated.
It had never occurred to me to ask why a real estate manager needed a lockdown procedure. I just assumed we were rich—filthy, stinking rich—and it was better to be safe than sorry.
No one had stopped by to ask if I was okay. No one had offered comfort, considering my uncle had been gunned down in my arms.
Nothing, until that one text.
Unknown: Why are you crying?
Of course I hadn’t responded straight away. In fact, I hadn’t responded at all in over a week. But his texts were persistent. And after the funeral, when my feelings were raw, in a moment of weakness, I’d replied and invited him into my life.
I’m still not quite sure how we’d reached this level. Once I’d replied, it seemed as though I’d silently given permission to take charge of everything. He was comforting in a way I hadn’t experienced. He gently gathered up all the broken, damaged parts of my psyche and coaxed me into fixing them.
And that’s what mattered the most. He hadn’t plastered over the wounds himself. He had been my guide, showing me how to fix myself and heal.
He processed my emotions with me, showing endless patience as I tried to work through my grief.
Over time, he’d progressed from my friend, to my protector… to what? What was he now?
He had round-the-clock surveillance on me. He monitored my every move, he knew what meals I ate, how I dressed, when I slept… he was my guard as much as Frank was.
And yet, over the years, he had become… could I say lover? We had never met, and yet we shared something intimate. Something raw.
He knew all my fantasies. The good, the bad, and the ones that had me thinking something was seriously fucked up with me.
He had my blood boiling, my skin burning, and had me feeling things I’d never experienced before.
Those late-night phone calls, when it was just me and him, and the rest of the world was silent and asleep, he coaxed things out of me that the devil himself couldn’t get me to repeat.
So no, he hadn’t hurt me. Not once.
But I was beginning to see that he may be capable of causing damage, whether he meant to or not. Because caring for someone, maybe even loving someone, did not guarantee you were safe with them.
Sometimes, the things we want the most are the things that are the most dangerous.
“Belle?” he repeated softly, drawing me back out of my memories.
“No, Luca. You’ve never hurt me.”
“And I never will. You can trust me.”
I didn’t doubt that for a second.
Men didn’t go to the lengths Luca had gone to for a passing fling. He clearly cared about me, and wanted what was best for me. But we had a time limit, and we both knew it.
I looked out of the window instead of answering him, chewing on my lower lip. And once again, that same feeling of being watched flooded me. I narrowed my eyes, desperately trying to see something—anything—in the darkness, but as always, there was nothing.
“Do you ever feel like you’re being watched?” I asked Luca, making him chuckle.
“You’re always being watched.”
“No… I know when you’re watching me. I can sense it. It’s like air shifts into something familiar whenever you’re around. I don’t feel scared.”
“You feel scared right now?” he asked, his tone hardening with concern.
“Not scared, exactly, but… cautious. Nervous. You can see my gardens, right?”
“There’s no one there. I’m looking right now. I can see every inch, and I assure you, if someone was there, it would be impossible for them to escape the cameras.”
“Okay,” I breathed, feeling slightly reassured.
But then, out of nowhere, a silver mask flashed behind my eyelids.
I blinked, ridding the image from my mind, sitting up straighter, almost pressing my nose to the glass to double check it was my imagination.
“What?” Luca asked. “What’s just happened? Belle, I promise you, there’s no one there.”
“I know, I believe you. I just—”
How could I explain this to him? How could I explain that a man I had met once was haunting me?
You’re practically in love with a man you’ve never met at all. Stranger things have happened.
Ain’t that the truth.
I pushed away from the chair and walked over to my bed, flopping down on my stomach and grabbing the TV remote.
“What are we watching tonight?”
“Game of Thrones,” I replied, chuckling when Luca groaned down the phone.
“One of these days you really need to watch past series one. I can’t do this much longer.”
I smirked as I heard Game of Thrones start from his end.
“They rewrite it to keep Drogo alive, I’ll keep watching. Until then, shh.”