Chapter 6
POV: Amanda
My world tilted. Darkness tugged at the edges, but I clung to the pieces—the weight of Adrian’s arms, the heat of his chest against mine, the thundering of his heart that didn’t match the steady, ruthless man I’d met.
I tried to open my eyes, to focus, but everything swam.
Voices blurred. Men shouting. Tires screeching. Adrian barking orders like the king he was, but there was a crack in it now—frantic, jagged.
Then movement. A car door slamming. His arm never let go of me, even as he shifted, even as he kept one hand on his gun. His grip was desperate, unyielding. Like I was something that could slip away.
“Hold on, Volpe. Don’t you fucking dare.” His voice cut through the haze, low, raw, meant only for me.
I wanted to smirk, to tease him about giving me orders now, but the words stuck in my throat. Blood pulsed hot down my leg. My body wasn’t obeying.
The next time I blinked, I wasn’t outside anymore. The scent of disinfectant hit me. A room—dim, but not a hospital. Private. Safehouse?
And then I heard him. Not the commanding don, not the king of the docks. But Adrian.
“She’s burning up—fix it.” His tone cracked on the last word, sharper than a blade.
Another voice answered. Familiar. Steady. The doctor.
My fogged brain recognized him—same man who’d bandaged Adrian back at the villa, quiet and efficient, the kind who never asked questions.
“She’ll live,” the doctor said, calm in a way that only made Adrian’s pacing worse. “The bullet missed the artery. Clean shot. I’ve stopped the bleeding. But she’s weak.”
“She can’t be weak,” Adrian snapped, and I heard the scrape of a chair, the heavy thud of his footsteps. “She’s not—she doesn’t get to be.”
His hand found mine. Big, warm, trembling despite the fury in his voice.
I forced my eyes open. Just a sliver. The world was foggy, but I saw him—head bowed close to mine, hair falling over his forehead, jaw clenched so hard it looked painful.
“Adrian…” My voice came out like sandpaper.
His gaze shot to mine instantly, as if he’d been waiting for the smallest flicker of me. Relief stormed across his face, messy, uncontrolled.
“Volpe,” he breathed, and it was the softest I’d ever heard him. A prayer. A plea. A warning all in one.
The doctor muttered something about rest and left us. I didn’t hear the door close. All I felt was Adrian’s thumb brushing over my knuckles, clumsy and gentle.
“You scared the shit out of me,” he said, his voice rough. “Don’t ever—” He stopped, jaw working, eyes burning into mine.
My lips curved, faint. Weak. “I saved your life… don’t forget it.”
His laugh was broken glass, sharp and aching. He leaned closer, so close his breath warmed my cheek. “And I saved yours. That makes us even.”
But the way he was looking at me—no. Nothing about us was even anymore.
Darkness pulled again, heavy and irresistible. My last thought before slipping under was that he hadn’t let go of my hand. Not once.
I stirred awake, the dull throb in my leg dragging me back from the fog of painkillers. The room was dark, shadows stretching long across the walls. Only the faint golden glow of a lamp on the dresser kept me from drowning in black.
And then I saw him.
Adrian sat slouched in a chair by the bed, one arm thrown over the armrest, his head tilted back. His chest rose and fell in deep, steady breaths. He wasn’t peaceful—no, his brows were drawn tight even in sleep, like he was locked in battle even in his dreams.
I shifted, wincing at the pull in my thigh. The sound of sheets rustling was enough to jolt him awake. His eyes snapped open, sharp, alert, like he’d never really been asleep at all.
“You don’t need to sit here all night,” I whispered. My voice was rough, fragile.
The corner of his mouth curved, faintly. “I wasn’t sleeping.”
I raised a brow. “You were. And you were drooling, King.”
His eyes narrowed, but the insult softened something in him. He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, gaze burning into me.
“You saved my life tonight, Volpe. Don’t try to downplay it.” His jaw locked tight. “I should’ve been in control. But when it comes to Bella…” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I lose it. Every damn time.”
The docks replayed in my mind—how he’d bolted into the open without hesitation when Bella arrived. The way his body had become a shield instead of a weapon.
“She told me,” I said softly, “that the reason you were shot last week… was Riccardo.”
His eyes hardened, shadows flickering across his face. “I stepped in front of him.” His voice was quiet, low, but it cut straight into me. “It was instinct. Always is. My family first. If it had been Bella…” His throat worked. “I’d do it again. A hundred times.”
There was no bravado in his words. Just raw, broken truth.
For a second, I forgot about my leg, the pain, even the blood still drying under my nails. All I saw was him—this man everyone feared, this man who could command an army with a single word—sitting at my bedside, unarmored.
And staring at me like I was the only thing keeping him from shattering.
Sunlight pressed through the curtains when I woke again. For a moment I thought the night had been a dream, that I had imagined the King undone in the dark.
Then the door opened.
Adrian walked in, carrying a tray. Coffee, fruit, eggs, bread. Simple, but arranged neatly. His face was unreadable, but the way his gaze softened when it landed on me stole my breath.
“You need to eat,” he said simply, setting the tray down.
I almost laughed at the irony. The King of this city, the man who could snap his fingers and end lives, bringing me breakfast in bed.
He sat on the edge of the mattress without asking, his weight dipping the mattress toward him. His hand brushed my thigh, light, careful, before he began unwrapping the bandage on my leg.
The touch should have been clinical. It wasn’t. My skin prickled, heat darting under the surface, traitorous and alive.
His fingers were steady as he peeled the fabric back. His jaw clenched when the wound was revealed, his nostrils flaring like the sight physically hurt him.
“Does it hurt?” His voice was low, husky.
“Yes,” I lied. The ache was there, yes, but nowhere near the fire that burned everywhere he touched.
His eyes flicked up, meeting mine. And for a long moment, neither of us looked away.
The door opened with a soft creak.
Bella stepped in, holding a box. Her gaze flicked to my leg, then to her brother’s hand still resting on me. One brow arched, sharp and knowing.
I looked away quickly, heat flooding my face. Adrian didn’t move his hand.
The tension hummed like static between us, threatening to ignite.
The food sat warm in my stomach, strength trickling back into my limbs. I shouldn’t have been on my feet yet—hell, the doctor would’ve tied me to the bed if he’d seen me—but lying there useless while Adrian carried the weight of everything made me itch under my skin.
So I pushed myself up. My leg screamed, but I gritted my teeth and limped down the hall, steadying my hand against the wall when I faltered. Every step was fire, but it was nothing compared to the image of him last night—head bent, broken by the thought of losing Bella.
When I reached the double doors, I could hear muffled voices from inside. Male, low, the cadence familiar. Italian.
I pushed the doors open without knocking.
Adrian sat behind his massive desk, Bella perched elegantly at his side. Two men I didn’t recognize leaned against the wall, sharp suits and sharper eyes, the kind of soldiers who didn’t need introductions.
All four sets of eyes landed on me.
Adrian’s went wide first—shock, then anger, then something rawer flickering beneath. He shoved back his chair so hard it nearly toppled.
“You shouldn’t be up,” he snapped, voice sharp enough to cut steel. “You were shot in the leg, Amanda. Shot. What the hell are you doing out of bed?”
I straightened my shoulders, forcing my weight off the wall even as my leg trembled. “Doing my job.”
His nostrils flared. “Your job is to heal. To stay safe.”
“No.” My voice didn’t shake. I wouldn’t let it. “My job is to protect you. And if I’m going to do that, I need to be crystal clear with you right now.”
Bella’s eyes widened, flicking between us like she couldn’t believe I’d just cut him off. The two Italians stilled, watching Adrian as if waiting for the storm to break.
I stepped farther into the room, every limp echoing in the silence. “The people threatening you don’t just want you dead. They know your weakness. They know it’s your family. That’s why they aim at Riccardo. At Bella. Because they know the second you see them in danger, you lose control.”
Adrian’s jaw clenched, muscles ticking, but he didn’t interrupt.
“You can’t protect them all yourself,” I pressed, heat building in my chest.
“Not if you want to stay alive. So here’s how it’s going to be: when Riccardo leaves, he leaves with me and whichever men you choose. Same for Bella. Same for you. But never together. You three will not walk into a trap as a set. Not while I’m protecting you.”
The words hung heavy in the air.
Bella looked at me like I’d just signed my death warrant, waiting for her brother to explode. The two soldiers exchanged glances, as if they’d never seen anyone throw orders at their King before.
But Adrian didn’t shout. He didn’t slam his fist.
He just looked at me. Long. Quiet. And then he said, voice low, dangerous, and steady:
“She’s right.”
The air shifted.
Bella blinked. “What?”
He leaned forward on his desk, eyes never leaving mine. “She’s right. I can’t afford to lose control again.”
Relief hit me like a wave, but before I could exhale, he stood and closed the space between us. His height swallowed me whole, shadow and heat wrapping tight around my body.
“But,” he said, voice dropping to a growl, “you can’t protect anyone on that leg. Not yet. So go back to your room. Heal. That’s an order.”
His eyes burned into mine, daring me to argue. My heart pounded so hard it hurt, but my chin lifted anyway.
The two men looked like they were holding their breath. Bella’s face was pale, unreadable.
And Adrian—Adrian looked like he wanted to strangle me and kiss me all at once.
I forced myself to stand taller, even with the limp. “Then get used to me limping by your side,” I shot back, every word like fire in my throat.
For a long second, no one breathed.
Then he moved.
Not with an argument. Not with fury. With action.
In a single, fluid motion, Adrian take me in his arms. My breath caught as he lifted me clean off the ground, like I weighed nothing, like my protests meant nothing.
“Adrian—” I gasped, grabbing his shoulders, heat rushing through me as his chest pressed against my side.
He didn’t look at me. His gaze was locked forward, dark and final, daring anyone in that room to challenge him. “Meeting’s over.” His voice was low, lethal.
The Italians dropped their eyes. Even Bella’s lips parted in shock, her usual sharp tongue gone silent.
And me? I couldn’t stop the wild drum of my heartbeat as he carried me out of his office, out of their sight, like I belonged to him.
Like there was never any choice in the matter.