CHAPTER 8
Mia sat at the long oak table in the study room, sunlight pooling across her sketchbook and open textbooks. Her handwriting was neat, though occasionally smudged where her hand brushed over words too quickly.
She bit her lip, glancing toward the quiet figure across the table.
Grayson.
He sat with one ankle resting on his knee, a thick novel in his hands, though Mia doubted he was reading. His pale eyes were always scanning - not the pages, but the windows, the door, the hall.
She knew what he was.
Not just a teacher. Not just someone Luca trusted.
A guardian.
But he never treated her like a burden. Never asked her too many questions or pushed when she needed quiet.
When she'd cried once softly, frustrated over a lesson he hadn't said anything. Just slid a mug of hot cocoa beside her and waited.
Today, he spoke.
"You're improving," he said, nodding at her notes. "Your French is cleaner. Less hesitant."
She blinked, surprised. "Really?"
Grayson gave a small nod. "You're smarter than you think."
Mia looked down, cheeks warming. Praise always felt too heavy. Like she didn't know what to do with it.
"Thanks..." she murmured. Then, after a breath, "I like French. It's quiet. Pretty. Like... a language you whisper."
Grayson's lips twitched into a rare smile. "Fitting."
They fell into silence again, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It never was. Grayson had a strange way of making her feel safe not by protecting her with words, but by simply being there. A quiet presence that never left.
He glanced at her sketchbook another flower growing out of a crack. The same theme.
"You ever think about showing Luca these?" he asked.
Mia froze, eyes darting to the page, then shook her head.
"No. They're just... for me."
Grayson didn't push. Just nodded and returned to his book, leaving her with her thoughts.
She smiled faintly, pencil gliding again.
Safe. For now.
Luca stood in the shadows of the hallway just outside the study, silent as stone, watching through the narrow sliver of glass in the door.
Mia sat at the table, head bowed slightly as she sketched. Her hair fell across her face like a curtain, and her pencil moved with quiet purpose. Peaceful. Content. Safe.
A small smile ghosted over his face so brief it might've been imagined.
Grayson sat nearby, posture casual but aware, every move calculated. That was why Luca had chosen him. Not just because he could shoot. But because he knew how to stay invisible until he was needed.
He was loyal.
And Mia liked him.
Still, Luca's hand itched to open the door to see her face, to hear her voice. The weight of the city, the mafia, the Don, and every move he'd made today dug into his spine like knives.
But in there?
That room was untouched.
So he waited. Just a little longer.
Then he knocked soft but sure.
Mia looked up. When she saw him, her entire face lit up in a way that shattered him every time.
She jumped up, nearly tripping over the chair in her excitement. "Luca!"
He opened the door, and for the first time that day, he let himself breathe.
"Hey, princess," he said, voice warm, eyes soft only for her. "How's school?"
She threw her arms around him, holding tight, like she always did when he came home.
And he held her back like she was the only thing that kept him human.
Mia held onto Luca for a few more seconds, as if she could protect him just by staying close.
He noticed. She always hugged a little tighter when he came home late, when his shoulders were heavier, when his jaw was clenched no matter how hard he tried to hide it.
"You okay?" she asked softly, stepping back just enough to look up at him. Her big, earnest eyes searched his face.
He hesitated.
Then offered the kind of half-smile only Mia ever got. "I'm better now."
Mia's brow pinched. "You're tired."
"Maybe a little," he admitted.
She guided him toward the small couch in the corner of the study, grabbing a blanket from the back and tossing it over his lap like she'd done a hundred times before. Luca let her fuss over him without protest. With anyone else, he'd never allow it.
Mia sat beside him, folding her legs under her and glancing toward her sketchbook, then back to him. "I drew something today. You want to see?"
Luca nodded. "Always."
She got up and brought the book over, flipping to the newest page. It was one of her more detailed pieces a figure standing with his back to a storm, body shielding a small child behind him. The lines were soft, but the emotion bled through clearly.
He stared at it in silence.
It was him.
He didn't ask. He didn't need to.
"I wanted to draw strength," she whispered. "But not... scary strength. The quiet kind. Like you."
Luca's throat tightened.
He reached out and gently cupped the side of her face. "You don't know how strong you are, princess."
Her eyes shimmered, but she didn't cry this time. Instead, she rested her head against his shoulder.
They stayed that way for a while he silent protector and the girl who unknowingly gave him purpose.
No enemies. No secrets. No mafia.
Just Mia and Luca.
And the fragile peace between them.