Nine
Ciro
By the time the door opens, I’m already upright.
Victor doesn’t enter my room unless something has gone wrong.
“Sir.” He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand, the clock reading 2:17 a.m. At this hour, the house is usually silent, contained, and predictable.
“What is it?”
“We have movement downstairs.”
I cross the room and reach for clothes, as Victor shifts back to give me space, his posture tight but controlled.
“The security panel was accessed,” he says quietly. “Not from our system.”
“How?”
“Front door override. External device.”
“Is Katie getting Chiara?”
“Yes. Katie moved as soon as the alert came through.”
Good.
Katie appears at my bedroom door with Chiara.
“What’s going on?” Chiara asks, her voice low but steady.
We don’t have time.
She’s barefoot, in sleep shorts and a thin T-shirt, her hair loose over one shoulder. For a fraction of a second, she looks disoriented, and then she’s fully present, her eyes finding mine and holding.
There’s a flicker there—surprise, awareness, something warmer sharpened by the hour and the fact that I’m standing in front of her naked—but it disappears as quickly as it came.
“Security breach,” I say. “We’re moving.”
She doesn’t resist. Victor moves ahead and opens the concealed panel near a books shelf in my room. From the outside, it reads as part of the wall—clean stone, seamless. The biometric lock releases with a muted click, and a narrow line of light cuts across the floor.
“Is it bad?” she asks.
“We don’t know,” I reply.
I reach for her hand. “Step inside. We’ll be safe.”
Katie slips inside first.
I guide Chiara through the doorway. Victor follows and seals the panel behind us. Stone meets stone with hydraulic finality.
The space is larger than it should be. One wall is anchored by a desk that doesn’t look like furniture so much as part of the structure itself, a bank of screens set flush into the surface above it.
Camera feeds cycle in tight, organized grids—entry points, hallways, elevator, perimeter.
A hard-line phone sits within reach, alongside a second device and a control panel that ties everything together.
As I pull on a pair of boxers and a T-shirt, Chiara’s attention moves there first, taking it in without asking, tracking the same details I am.
“Can you see the entire house?” she asks.
“Once Victor gets it up it will show us everything that matters.” I pull a wool blanket from the cabinet and step back toward her. I drape the blanket around her shoulders, and it swallows her frame as my knuckles brush the thin cotton of her shirt while I pull it closed. She doesn’t look away.
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
There’s a door set into the far corner, nearly invisible until you’re close enough to see the seam. Behind it, a compact washroom—sink, toilet, nothing more, everything necessary.
Victor’ fingers fly over the keys as he brings the cameras up on the screens, and he’s talking. At first, I think he’s talking to himself, but then I realize he’s talking to the operations center at Clear Security.
Chiara pulls the blanket tighter around her shoulders as she steps further inside, her movements steady now, controlled in a way that tells me the adrenaline hasn’t left. It’s just been pushed into something she can manage.
“Have you done this before?” she asks.
I shake my head. “I plan for it.”
Victor brings the internal monitor online, and the main living area flickers onto the screen.
Two men with night vision goggles. They aren’t rushing or forcing entry. They’re moving through the house with measured precision, scanning sightlines and checking corners, one pausing near the kitchen island while the other stands at the glass wall, looking out over the city.
Chiara steps closer to the screen, her body going still.
“They’re not here to steal,” she says.
“No.”
My phone lights in Victor’s hand before he passes it to me.
Jim Adelson.
“Jim,” I answer.
“Is everyone in the safe room?”
“Yes—Chiara, Katie, Victor, and me. Victor just got the security system up.”
“Good,” he replies. “We’ve got two inside. They came through the front door using an override chip, so this was planned. My team has arrived and is entering through all points of entry.”
“They’re not taking anything,” I say, watching the feed.
“No. They’re looking,” Jim says.
“For her?” I look at Chiara.
She goes rigid.
A brief pause. “That’s what it looks like.”
Clear Security enters the frame seconds later, efficient and coordinated. The intruders move toward the stairs.
“They won’t breach the safe room,” Jim says. “Stay sealed.”
The call ends.
Chiara hasn’t moved. Neither have I.
On the monitor, the men move upstairs, closing distance with the same deliberate pace. One takes position at the top of the stairs, waiting, anticipating movement, while the other begins opening doors.
“That’s my room,” Chiara says as he enters it. “How did they know?”
“Good question.”
She exhales, just enough to release a fraction of tension, as the man in her room checks the closet, the bed, the bathroom.
Gunfire cracks through the audio feed as Jim’s team engages the man on the stairs. One of Jim’s team takes a hit to the chest and goes down.
Chiara flinches, a sharp sound escaping before she covers her mouth.
Katie steps closer to her. “He’s wearing Kevlar. It’ll bruise and be sore, but he’s fine.”
Chiara nods, but her focus stays on the screen.
The man at the top of the stairs is pinned seconds later, a knee pressed into his back as they secure him.
“One down,” Victor says.
The second man exits Chiara’s room and is taken just as quickly, forced to the ground before he can react.
“They’re contained,” Victor adds. “They’ll be escorted out.”
“Escorted,” she repeats.
“The police are pulling up,” Victor says. “And there’s Jim.”
A tall man steps into frame on the monitor, composed and controlled. Beside me, Chiara exhales, her shoulders lowering just enough to show how tightly she’s been holding herself together, the tremor that follows contained but there if you’re looking for it.
I move closer without announcing it. “You’re safe.”
“I know,” she says, but her grip tightens on the blanket, and I don’t argue with the part she isn’t saying.
“Even if they know where this room is, they can’t override it.”
“They overrode the front door.” Her gaze shifts back to me, not challenging, just correcting.
“Yes,” I say evenly. “And I want to know how.”
“They won’t stop.” There’s no panic in her voice. Just certainty.
“Maybe not,” I answer, holding her gaze long enough that she has to meet me fully. “But they won’t get back in here.”
She studies me like she’s deciding whether I believe that or just need her to, and then her hand leaves the blanket and presses flat against my chest, deliberate and steady.
The space between us closes without either of us naming it, and I let my hand settle at the back of her neck, my thumb resting at her hairline, not claiming, not soothing, just giving her something solid to orient to.
“They know where I am,” she says.
“That’s what it looks like.”
“They followed us.”
“Maybe,” I say, glancing once at the monitor, tracking movement more than the images themselves. “Or they tracked you. They knew where to look for you in the house. That means something you brought with you may be sending a signal.”
“I only have a burner phone. I bought it once I got to town.”
“Jim’s team will find it.”
Her breathing steadies against me, not calm but contained, the edge of adrenaline managed instead of gone. I give it a second before shifting the focus.
“Do you recognize either of them?”
She shakes her head, slower this time. “No. They found me faster than I expected.”
That tells me more than anything else she’s said.
“You don’t have to handle this alone.”
She tilts her head, studying me with more precision now. “You don’t know what this is.”
“Then tell me.” I hold her gaze, not pushing, just leaving the space open for her to step into it.
She doesn’t. Her eyes drop past me to the monitor instead, the silence stretching long enough to confirm it’s a choice, not hesitation.
Light flashes across the screen—brief, controlled—and her attention locks onto it, tracking the movement before she speaks.
“You stepped in front of me,” she says, still watching the feed.
“Yes.” I don’t look away from her, even when she isn’t looking at me.
“You didn’t hesitate.” Her gaze searches this time.
“No, I didn’t.”
A beat passes. She holds it, weighing something I can’t see.
“Why?”
I let that sit just long enough to answer it cleanly. “Because they walked into my house for you.”
She searches my face, measuring that, trying to place it somewhere between protection and something she hasn’t decided she trusts, and before she can attach the wrong meaning to it, I cut it off at the source. “You don’t even know me.”
“I’m not him,” I say, quieter now.
“I know.”
The lock disengages a second later as Victor confirms the sweep is complete, and the shift from contained to exposed is immediate as we step back into the bedroom.
Nothing is out of place. The furniture is untouched, the art still level, the space exactly as it was, which is what unsettles me, because it suggests control on their side, not disruption.
I move to pull jeans on without looking at her. “Stay here.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” She’s already on the edge of the bed, the blanket around her shoulders, watching everything without missing anything.
“I know. But don’t leave this room. Don’t answer if you hear voices. Let Victor handle it.”
Her chin lifts slightly. “You think they’ll get past you?”
“No,” I say, meeting her gaze. “I don’t want them to know you’re here and how close they got.”
That earns the faintest shift at the corner of her mouth, and I close the distance.
“Lock the door behind me. If anyone other than me or Victor knocks, you ignore it.”
“Understood.”
I hold her gaze a moment longer than necessary. “You’re safe here.”
She doesn’t answer, and I leave before the moment has time to turn into something else.
“If you want, you can watch from the safe room.”
She nods as I leave her and go in search of Jim and Victor.
The house feels different when I step out.
Not louder. Heavier. I take in the room as I move forward, clocking the two uniformed officers and the inspector in plain clothes already positioned inside the main living area.
Jim and Victor stand at the island, composed, as if this is contained, procedural, and manageable.
The two men are led out in handcuffs. They’re not her brother and the other man who followed us yesterday.
“Mr. Marino?” the inspector asks, turning toward me.
I stop a few feet from him. “That’s correct.”
“You were upstairs during the incident?”
“I was asleep,” I say, holding his gaze.
“And you heard nothing until your security intervened?”
“I rely on my security.” I let a beat sit before finishing it. “That’s what they’re paid for.”
He watches me closely, looking for hesitation, for inconsistency. I give him neither.
“Any idea why someone would override your front door access and enter your property?”
“No.” I don’t rush the answer. “If I did, I would have shared it with Mr. Adelson’s team.”
“You don’t recognize either of the men?” The pen in his hand hovers over his notepad.
“No. Not at all.” My attention flicks briefly toward the hallway before returning to him.
He waits, expecting something to shift.
Nothing does.
“Anything missing?” he asks.
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“And no disputes? Business or personal?”
I let the question hang just long enough to feel considered and then answer evenly. “I’m the CFO of Luster. Disputes are routine. Break-ins are not.”
He nods once, makes a note, and then closes his notepad with a quiet finality. “We’ll be in touch.”
“I’m sure you will.”
I turn to Victor without breaking stride. “Shut down front door access to the house. Biometric only. No overrides.”
“Already done,” he says.
“Reprogram it.” I don’t slow as I move past him.
His jaw tightens. “Understood.”
“And audit everything,” I add, glancing back once. “Cameras, guards, entry points. I want to know how they got in.”
“It’s in motion.”
“No one enters the house without my approval.”
“Clear.”
I stand in the security room downstairs and watch as the men are placed in a car. The inspector talks to Jim, and then they all get in their vehicles and it’s quiet once again.
By the time I return to the bedroom, the door is locked exactly as I told her. I knock once, enter the code, and push it open, and the shift hits immediately.
She’s in my bed when I return. The covers pulled up to her chin.
She looks up as I step inside. “They’re gone?”
“For now,” I say, closing the door behind me.
I cross the room, stopping at the edge of the bed. “They came once. They won’t catch us off guard again.”
Her fingers tighten in the blanket. “They won’t stop.”
“No,” I say, sitting beside her, close enough to feel the heat of her through the fabric without pulling her in. “And neither will I.”
There’s no emphasis in it. No performance. Just fact.
She holds my gaze, measuring it, and then gives a small nod.
Neither of us pretends this is over, but the tension between us refuses to go away.