Chapter 10
Vivian
The black SUV trailed us all the way to my building. Alejandro pretended not to notice, but I caught him watching the mirrors, jaw tight, every muscle in his forearm tensed.
When we got upstairs, he lingered in the entryway while I kicked off my shoes.
“Would you like some tea?” I offered, half joking, half desperate for a return to normal.
He nodded, letting me play hostess in my own space.
We sat on the couch, cups steaming between us, silence stretching.
He asked about my day, the classes I was teaching, how I liked living alone.
I tried to act natural, but the whole time, I could feel him listening to the hallway, alert for every sound.
Finally, I said, “Are you expecting someone?”
He smiled, soft but sad. “No one I want to see.”
We finished our tea, and he kissed my forehead before leaving. “Lock the door behind me,” he said.
After he left, I checked the locks. Twice.
Ryan’s obsession deepened. The PI kept reporting back, nothing new: “Your ex’s boyfriend is clean. Too clean.” Ryan started following leads himself, calling people he barely knew, harassing anyone who’d ever worked for Bellandi.
Everywhere he turned, doors slammed in his face.
Lisa begged him to stop. “You’re scaring me, Ryan,” she said, voice raw.
He snapped at her, “I have to protect what’s mine.”
She cried herself to sleep, alone in a house full of ghosts.
Three days after the gala, Alejandro sent a car for me. “Pack a bag,” he’d texted. “Something casual. And a swimsuit.”
The drive was an hour north, past endless rows of grapevines and stone fences. His lakeside house sat on a bluff, all glass and cedar, with a view that made you want to write poetry or learn to paint.
Alejandro met me at the door barefoot, wearing jeans and a Henley. He took my bag, poured us wine, and showed me the garden where he grew tomatoes and basil.
He grilled steaks and made pasta from scratch. After dinner, we walked along the shore, skipping stones and comparing childhood stories. I told him about my mom’s lemon bars, my dad’s bad jokes, the way Lisa used to braid my hair.
He listened, smiling, making me feel like none of my words were wasted.
Later, we sat in front of the fireplace, wrapped in a blanket, and watched the flames dance.
For the first time in years, I felt completely safe.
He waited until I finished my wine, then turned to face me.
“I want to kiss you,” he said, “but only if you want it too.”
My heart flipped. “I do.”
He cupped my face in his hands, slow and gentle, and kissed me like I was something precious.
It wasn’t urgent or desperate. It was patient, reverent.
I lost myself in it.
When we finally broke apart, I couldn’t stop smiling.
“Is this okay?” he asked, brushing his thumb along my cheek.
I nodded. “It’s perfect.”
He grinned, relaxed for the first time all night.
We talked until nearly dawn, about everything and nothing, both of us drifting closer with each story.
I fell asleep with my head on his shoulder, his heartbeat steady against my ear.
While we slept, a security team patrolled the perimeter.
In a dark room across the property, Alejandro’s head of security reviewed footage.
He froze the screen on a man exiting the black SUV, zoomed in on the face.
He called Alejandro, voice urgent but measured. “We have a problem.”
Alejandro slipped from the bed, careful not to wake me.
Downstairs, he watched the footage. He recognized the man instantly.
“Rival family,” the chief said.
Alejandro nodded, jaw clenched. “Increase the guards. Double-check the alarms. No one gets close.”
He went back upstairs and watched me sleep for a minute, something fierce in his eyes.
He brushed a kiss over my hair and whispered, “You’re safe. I promise.”
I dreamed of nothing.
The next morning, we swam in the lake, ate breakfast on the deck, and pretended the rest of the world didn’t exist.
Alejandro was light and easy, teasing me about my terrible diving form, challenging me to chess, inventing games that made us both laugh.
I felt lighter than I had in years.
But beneath it all, I sensed the tension—the way his eyes scanned the tree line, the way he always stood between me and the street.
When I asked, “Are you expecting trouble?” he just smiled and changed the subject.
I let it go.
At night, after he cooked risotto and poured another round of wine, we curled up by the fire again.
He asked, “What do you want from life, Vivian?”
I said, “To not be afraid anymore. To not always feel like I’m less than everyone else.”
He nodded, as if he’d expected that.
“You’re more than enough,” he said. “You always have been.”
He kissed me again, deeper this time, but still slow.
I wanted more, but he stopped, holding my face.
“We don’t have to rush,” he said. “I can wait forever.”
I believed him.
At midnight, he tucked me into bed, stood guard at the door until I fell asleep.
Mean while in the control room, the chief of security rechecked the footage. The rival’s car was gone, but the message was clear.
They knew where to find us.
Holy. Freaking. Heck.
And now, so did I.