17
The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast a faint light over Lenora as she stirred in her sleep.
She looked small and fragile, curled up beneath the sheets, her breath steady now but still too shallow for my liking.
After our meeting with the Farooq's she had been looking exhausted and so we were back in the ensuite as I told her to rest up since the rest of the day was clear schedule.
Of course it wasn't, but she didn't have to know that.
Last night, her scream had nearly stopped my heart.
I hadn't known what was happening at first—just the sharp, panicked sound of her voice crying out in the dark. My instincts had kicked in before my mind caught up, and I was at her side in an instant.
"No, please no!" she'd screamed, twisting away from some unseen torment.
It wasn't just a nightmare. I'd seen nightmares before—this was something far worse. The raw fear etched into her expression, the way her small hands clenched the sheets as though trying to hold on for dear life—it was the kind of terror born from something real.
I had tried to wake her gently, but her cries only grew louder. So, I did the only thing I could think of. I pulled her into my arms.
She didn't say anything, but the way she clung to me, her small fingers gripping my shirt like a lifeline, told me everything I needed to know.
Now, watching her sleep peacefully, I felt a strange mix of emotions—anger at whoever had caused her such pain, frustration at my inability to fix it, and a deep, unsettling desire to protect her from anything and everything that might harm her.
She stirred slightly, her lashes fluttering as she began to wake. I stepped back, unwilling to let her catch me watching her like some lovesick fool.
Instead, I busied myself with my phone, scrolling through emails as though I wasn't hyper-aware of every movement she made.
I'd made a decision.
"Get dressed," I told her. "We're going out."
She blinked at me, confused. "Out where?"
"Dinner," I said simply. "There's a place I want to take you."
The restaurant was one of Milan's finest, an understated gem nestled in the heart of the city. Its warm, inviting atmosphere was a stark contrast to the cold, sterile boardrooms we'd spent the day in.
The ma?tre d' greeted me by name, and I nodded in return, guiding Lenora to a quiet corner table.
"This is beautiful," she said softly, her eyes wide as she took in the surroundings.
She's beautiful.
"It's one of my favorites," I admitted, signaling for the sommelier.
As the evening progressed, I found myself relaxing in a way I hadn't expected. Lenora's presence was... calming, even as it was maddening. Her innocence, her quiet curiosity—it was a sharp contrast to the cut-throat world I lived in.
"This place," she said after a while, her voice hesitant, "it feels so personal to you. Like it means something."
I studied her for a moment before answering. "It does."
She waited, her eyes meeting mine with that quiet patience I was coming to admire—and resent.
"I grew up in Italy," I said finally. "Not Milan, but a small town outside Florence. My mother worked as a seamstress in a local atelier. My father..." I paused, my jaw tightening. "He died when I was 8."
Lenora's expression softened, but she didn't interrupt.
"My mother raised me on her own," I continued. "She was hardworking, talented, and determined to make something of herself—and for us. She eventually became a designer in her own right, though she's retired now."
"That's incredible," Lenora said, her voice filled with genuine admiration. "I guess she's a great designer."
I nodded thinking about her. "She is." After getting back from Italy I need to visit her since the woman has been complaining everyday on her calls, even though we had dinners every Fridays together.
I nodded, swirling the wine in my glass. "She taught me everything I know about discipline, ambition, and survival. But it wasn't easy. Growing up without a father... it shapes you."
Lenora looked down at her plate, as though processing my words. "You've accomplished so much," she said after a moment. "I think your mother must be very proud."
Her words struck a chord I hadn't expected, and I found myself unable to look away from her.
"Maybe," I said quietly.
The conversation shifted after that, turning to lighter topics, but the air between us felt different—more intimate, charged with something unspoken.
Later, as we walked back to the hotel, I found myself watching her more closely than usual. The way the streetlights illuminated her features, the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the way she looked up at me with a mix of nervousness and trust—it was maddening.
When we reached her door, she hesitated, turning to me. "Thank you for tonight," she said, her voice soft.
I stepped closer, unable to help myself. "Lenora."
"Yes?"
Fuck, I was trying not to loose it and kiss the living soul out of her.
"You don't have to thank me," I said, my voice low. "I'll take care of you. Always."
She blinked up at me, those mismatched eyes holding so many untold stories, her lips parting slightly as though to speak, but no words came out.
I leaned in, my hand brushing against her cheek, my lips hovering just above her ear.
"You're mine, Lenora," I murmured, my voice dark and possessive. "Don't ever forget that."
Her breath hitched, and she took a step back, her cheeks flushed as she fumbled for the door handle.
"Goodnight, Luca," she said quickly before slipping inside, leaving me standing in the hallway with a satisfied smirk.
Whatever it took, I would unravel every piece of her past, every scar, every fear. She didn't know it yet, but she belonged to me. And I wasn't letting go.