Chapter 13
POV: Amanda
Across the table, Adrian’s lips curved slow, wicked, and absolutely unhelpful. “That’s because she didn’t.” His gaze slid to me, then back to Bella as if this was the most natural conversation in the world. “And she probably won’t again.”
Bella’s fork clattered against her plate. She actually choked. “Oh, my God.”
Heat flared in my face. “Adrian—” I hissed under my breath, but he only leaned back in his chair, perfectly smug, perfectly untouchable.
Riccardo, bless him, just smiled wide. His hands clapped once, sharp and happy, before he went back to his breakfast with a nod of approval. “Good,” he said simply. “Amanda is good.”
I blinked at him, my chest softening despite the fire still racing through my veins. Damn. He really was too sweet.
Bella dragged a hand down her face. “You two… unbelievable.” But the twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed her amusement.
And Adrian? He was enjoying every second. His hand slid under the table, curling warm and sure on my thigh. My breath hitched, but I forced my eyes on my coffee, pretending his touch didn’t make me want to squirm in my chair.
That was when Bella spoke again, like she was dropping a grenade into the room. “By the way, Mom called. She’s arriving today. Early.”
My head snapped up so fast I nearly spilled my cup. Today?
Adrian’s fingers flexed on my thigh, steadying me. My throat went dry, but I managed, “So… today.”
Bella shrugged, sipping her juice like it was nothing. “Mm-hm. Thought you’d want to know.”
Panic coiled low in my stomach. I masked it with a sip of coffee, my hand steady even though my heart wasn’t.
I wasn’t worried. I wasn’t. I had no reason to care if his mother liked me—except that I did.
Too much. And the thought of her walking in, seeing me at Adrian’s side after one night, made my pulse race like I was back in the middle of a firefight.
Adrian leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear so only I could hear. “Don’t panic,” he murmured, smooth, certain. “She’ll love you.”
I turned my head slightly, meeting his eyes out of the corner of mine. “I’m not worried.” My voice came out firm, clipped.
But the flicker of a smile on his lips told me he’d seen right through the lie.
The garden was drenched in late morning light, the air carrying the faint sweetness of roses and freshly cut grass. Riccardo had set up his easel near the fountain, brushes and paints spread neatly on a small table beside him.
I sat where he’d pointed—on a wrought-iron chair—trying to keep still while his brush moved in quiet precision. He barely spoke when he painted, only glancing up at me from time to time, his focus so intense it felt like he was trying to read beneath my skin.
It was peaceful here, just the sound of the fountain’s trickle and birdsong mixing with the soft scratch of bristles on canvas. Every now and then, I stole a look at the painting, curiosity clawing at me.
“Can I see it?” I asked finally, breaking the silence.
Riccardo paused, his hand hovering mid-air before shaking his head. “Not yet. Need… more time.”
There was no hesitation in his tone, just shy honesty. I respected that, even if I wanted to peek. “Alright,” I said softly. “I’ll wait.”
His shoulders eased, and he gave me one of his small, rare smiles.
When we finally left the garden, Bella was waiting, leaning against the doorway like she’d been there for a while. Her eyes flicked over me, assessing in that razor-sharp way she had, and then she pushed off the wall.
“Absolutely not.”
I blinked, looking down at myself. “What?”
She gestured at my tactical clothes, her expression horrified, like I’d just told her I planned to attend dinner naked. “This is not going to work. Not for Mama.”
I raised a brow. “It’s what I always wear.”
“Exactly.” She strode to my closet—well, technically hers, since I hadn’t exactly moved in with suitcases—and started rifling through hangers. “You’re meeting Giuliana De Lucca. This is not the day to look like you’re about to storm a bunker.”
I groaned. “I don’t wear dresses in daylight.”
“Good,” she said immediately, pulling one out just to toss it aside. “Because you’d look like you’re going to prom, and Mama would never let Adrian hear the end of it.”
Despite myself, I laughed. “So what then? If not tactical gear and not dresses, I’m out of options.”
She turned to me with that spark of mischief that was pure Bella. “Tailored pants. Silk blouse. Maybe high heels.” She eyed me up and down critically. “We want elegant but strong. Like… a woman who could shoot someone in the knee and then order champagne without smudging her lipstick.”
I snorted. “That’s oddly specific.”
“It’s the De Lucca way.” She winked, pulling out a pair of black pants and a cream blouse that looked far too soft to belong to me. “Try these. Trust me.”
I stiffened. “That’s not necessary. I mean… it’s not like I’m her guest. I’m just Adrian’s bodyguard.”
Bella arched an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her mouth. “Mhm. You keep saying that.”
“I am,” I insisted, even though the words didn’t sit right in my throat.
She folded her arms, her eyes glinting with the same perceptiveness she’d used at breakfast. “Amanda… I got this gift from my mother. The way she sees people, sees everything. And trust me, she’ll notice soon. Just like I did.”
Her words landed heavier than I expected, sinking deep into my chest.
Bella’s tone softened as she went on. “Besides, Adrian isn’t… like the others. Mafia chiefs are famous for juggling women. Lovers in every city, trophies on their arm.”
She tilted her head. “But the De Lucca men? We were raised differently. Our father was devoted to our mother. My brothers grew up in that mirror.”
Her eyes held mine, firm, steady. “Adrian never brings women here. Never.”
The air seemed to shift around me, my skin prickling.
Never.
I wanted to brush it off, laugh it away, remind her again that I wasn’t here for romance. But the way her words wrapped around me, pulling tight, made my heart stutter.
Because if what Bella said was true, then the fact that Adrian had me in his bed last night… meant more than I was ready to admit.
Ten minutes later, I was standing in front of the mirror, staring at a version of myself I didn’t quite recognize. The blouse hugged just enough, the pants lengthened my legs, and the heels—though they made me feel like a newborn deer—actually worked.
Bella stood behind me, grinning like she’d just created a masterpiece. “Perfetta. You look powerful, but approachable.”
I shook my head. “I don’t even recognize myself.”
“That’s because you don’t usually let anyone see you. But Adrian already does.”
The words caught me off guard, warmth creeping into my chest before I could shove it down.
Bella turned me gently, fixing the collar of my blouse with the same care she’d use on a little sister. “Don’t stress. The most difficult person to like you in this house is Adrian. And he already does. Very much.”
She hugged me then—tight, warm, unreserved, like it was the most natural thing in the world. I froze for a second, not used to this kind of easy affection, but slowly let myself lean in.
And to my own surprise, I liked it.
I knocked on the heavy office door, but Adrian’s voice cut through before I even touched the handle.
“Come in, Amanda.”
I pushed it open, stepping into his kingdom—dark wood, leather, and power dripping from every corner. He was behind the desk, sleeves rolled up, signing papers like he owned the whole damn world. Which, in a way, he did.
His gaze flicked up and narrowed immediately. “That’s not tactical gear.”
I raised a brow. “Good observation.”
“Bella,” he said, not asking—knowing.
I shrugged, tugging at the edge of the blouse she had insisted on lending me. “She thought I should look less like a soldier today.”
His mouth curved in that dangerous smirk that undid me every time. “Because of my mother.”
I scoffed, crossing my arms. “Not everything is about your mother.”
But the way he leaned back in his chair, watching me like he could see straight through my skin, told me he knew I was lying. I hated how easily he could read me.
In the next second, he was out from behind the desk, moving with the kind of lethal grace that made my pulse trip. He stopped in front of me, so close I had to tilt my head back.
“You clean up well, bodyguard.”
I tried to roll my eyes, but then his hand slid to my waist, fingers grazing skin under my blouse, and the words melted on my tongue.
“Adrian…” I warned, but it came out soft, breathless.
“Tell me no,” he murmured, mouth brushing the corner of mine. “And I’ll stop.”
I didn’t say it. I couldn’t.
His lips crashed into mine, fierce and consuming, swallowing every excuse I should’ve made. His other hand cupped the back of my neck, anchoring me while the first slid higher, under my shirt, fingers brushing bare skin. Heat shot through me, sharp and instant.
I clutched his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, trying to keep myself upright while he kissed me like a starving man. His palm grazed the side of my breast, and I moaned into his mouth, shameful and desperate.
He groaned low, pushing me back until my spine hit the desk. The edge bit into me, but I barely noticed—his tongue tangled with mine, his thumb rubbing fire over my ribcage. I was seconds away from undoing his belt, from forgetting the entire damn world.
Then—knocks. Voices in the hall. A ripple of movement.
We froze. His lips hovered over mine, his breathing ragged. His hand was still under my shirt, still scorching me. Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled back just enough to whisper against my lips, “Saved by the bell, Amanda. For now.”
I shoved him, trying to fix my clothes with shaking hands, running fingers through my hair to tame the mess he left. My cheeks were burning, my lips swollen, and he knew it. He stole one last kiss, quick and claiming, before stepping back with that smug bastard smile.
The door opened. Bella’s voice carried in, bright and urgent. “She’s here. Mom just arrived.”
My stomach plummeted. The name hit me harder than a bullet: Giuliana De Lucca. I knew the file. Every agent, every rival family knew her reputation. Cold, brilliant, terrifying. She was a queen in her own right.
And I’d just been about to let her son take me on his desk.
Adrian took my hand, casual as anything, like he hadn’t just been about to strip me. “Don’t panic,” he murmured, lips brushing my ear. “My mother will love you.”
I swallowed hard. “I’m not panicking.”
Lie. My heart was in my throat.
We stepped out into the hall, and there she was.
I heard the commotion before I saw her—the sharp click of heels on marble, voices greeting her in rapid Italian, a ripple of energy rolling through the house. And then she was there.
Giuliana De Lucca.