CHAPTER FIVE #2
"No, do not diminish it," Roxana insisted, her eyes shining with perfectly manufactured tears. "You saved her life. Please, sit. Let me bring you coffee. Let me bring your men outside something to drink. You are guests in this house."
"That is very kind, Signora, but unnecessary," Sandro said politely. He glanced down at Zina. "However, I would accept a coffee, if your daughter would sit with me for a moment."
"Of course she will," Roxana beamed, immediately turning back toward the kitchen. "I will bring the espresso."
Zina led him to a small corner table near the window. She sat across from him, smoothing her apron, projecting a quiet, nervous energy that felt incredibly natural, primarily because her heart was genuinely hammering against her ribs.
"I have been in this town for a long time," Sandro began, his green-grey eyes studying her face with intense focus. "Yet I have never seen you before. A woman like you does not go unnoticed."
Zina dropped her gaze to the wooden table, blushing perfectly. "We only arrived a few weeks ago. My mother and I... we needed a fresh start. We took over the lease here."
It was a careful dance. She gave him just enough truth to satisfy his logistical mind, omitting the blood and the empire she had left behind.
"I must apologize," Sandro said, his voice dropping into that low, impossibly gentle timbre that made Zina’s skin prickle. "The violence you witnessed... it is not typical of this square. It was a dispute. It has been resolved. You have nothing to fear."
Zina looked up, meeting his eyes. "Are you alright?" she asked softly.
Internally, she cringed. It was a calculated move, meant to stroke his ego and present herself as a caring civilian.
But as she looked at the sharp lines of his face, the dark intensity of his eyes, she realized with a jolt that the question wasn’t an act.
She had felt the spark between them the moment he pulled her behind the pillar.
The attraction was undeniable, and incredibly dangerous.
She did not want to feel it. She needed him for intelligence, not romance.
Sandro stared at her, fascinated by the shifting emotions crossing her face. He saw the caution, the curiosity, and the genuine, flustered heat rising in her cheeks. He had never met anyone so transparently complex.
"I am perfectly fine," Sandro answered softly. He leaned forward slightly, the space between them shrinking. "I would like to see you again. In a setting that does not involve gunfire. Do you have time this evening? To take a walk by the pier?"
Zina hesitated. This was the opening she had prayed for, the crack in his armor. And yet, sitting across from him, feeling the weight of his attention, the reality of what she was doing terrified her.
"Yes," Zina finally said, her voice barely a whisper. "I have time."
The harbor was quiet that evening, the dark water reflecting the scattered lights of the coastal town. The air smelled of salt and aged wood. Zina walked beside Sandro along the pier, the rhythmic sound of the waves filling the silence between them.
Matteo and another enforcer trailed them discreetly, remaining thirty yards back in the shadows, granting them privacy while maintaining the perimeter.
Zina walked with her hands in the pockets of her light jacket, deeply conflicted.
The closer she got to Sandro, the more she realized that he was not simply a ruthless monster.
He was intelligent, protective, and surprisingly respectful of her space.
He walked beside her without crowding her, adjusting his long stride to match hers.
The idea of manipulating him, of using this genuine fascination he had for her to infiltrate his world and steal intelligence, began to churn uncomfortably in her stomach.
He is an Italian Don, Zina reminded herself fiercely. He might know who butchered your family. Focus.
But for a fleeting, desperate moment, she considered abandoning the plan. She could walk away right now. She could go back to the café, lock the doors, and find another way to protect Reza.
Sandro noticed the shift in her energy. He saw the way she crossed her arms, the way her eyes darted toward the dark water.
Because he knew nothing of her true identity, his mind immediately filled in the blanks.
She was a civilian. She was terrified of him.
She was walking next to a man who commanded an army of killers, and she was likely regretting her decision to come.
"I make you uncomfortable," Sandro said quietly, stopping near the edge of the wooden pier.
Zina stopped, turning to look at him in surprise. "No. That isn't—"
"It is alright," Sandro interrupted gently, his imposing frame softening as he looked down at her.
"I understand what I am, Zina. I understand how my world looks from the outside.
I did not ask you here to intimidate you, or to make you feel trapped.
If you wish to go home, you only need to say the word. "
His gentleness struck her like a physical blow. The Don of Milan, a man who issued ultimatums of life and death over coffee, was giving her an open door to leave, prioritizing her comfort over his own desires. The guilt twisted harder in her chest.
"I don't want to go home," Zina said, and for the first time all evening, it was the unvarnished truth.
Sandro exhaled a slow breath, a faint, relieved smile touching his lips. He stepped slightly closer, the scent of cedar and leather wrapping around her.
"Because of who I am," Sandro began, his tone shifting into something more serious, "being seen with me carries a certain weight. The people in this town talk. I do not want anyone mistaking you for a target to get to me."
Zina’s tactical mind instantly rebooted. "What are you saying?"
"I would like to place a couple of my men near your café," Sandro said smoothly. "Just to guard the perimeter. Nothing intrusive. You will not even know they are there. But if you are comfortable with it, it would give me peace of mind."
Zina’s pulse spiked. Having Moretti’s enforcers stationed outside her home was a security risk. If they saw Meryam, if they saw Reza, they might ask questions. Refusing outright would make him suspicious. Agreeing instantly would make her look foolish. She had to play the concerned civilian.
"Why is that necessary?" Zina asked, her brow furrowing in perfectly acted concern. "Who would bother us?"
"Nobody will," Sandro reassured her immediately, his voice dropping into a low, protective purr. "It is a precaution, Zina. Nothing more. I simply want you safe."
Zina looked out at the dark water, pretending to weigh the offer. She needed to justify her hesitation. She needed to give him a piece of her reality to anchor the lie.
"It isn't just my mother and me," Zina said softly, looking back up into his eyes.
She intentionally let the vulnerability bleed into her voice.
"My grandmother lives with us. And my little brother. He’s only twelve.
We have been through so much just to get here, Sandro.
I... I cannot bring any trouble to their door. I can't."
Sandro’s expression softened. The mention of her family, of a twelve-year-old boy, cemented his protective instincts. He reached out, his warm, strong hand gently cupping the side of her face. His thumb brushed lightly over her cheekbone.
"I swear to you," Sandro whispered, his green-grey eyes burning with sincerity. "They are only there to protect you. All of you. I will not let the violence of my world touch your family. You have my word."
Zina studied his face, the intense, unwavering honesty in his gaze. She was crossing the Rubicon. If she said yes, the Moretti family would be permanently tethered to her own.
She took a slow breath, leaning ever so slightly into the warmth of his hand.
"Okay," Zina said quietly. "Okay."