Page 22 of Bound By Honor

For a moment, I think he’ll shut down again. But then his hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing over the cut on my cheek.

“You’re right.” His voice roughens. “But not here. Not now.”

“Then when?”

His eyes search mine, and I see the moment his repression cracks. He pulls me closer, one hand tangling in my hair as his lips crash into mine. The kiss is desperate, hungry, full of all the words we haven’t said. I grip his shirt, tasting danger and need and something that feels terrifyingly like hope.

When he finally pulls back, we’re both panting. His forehead rests against mine, one hand still tangled in my hair while the other grips my waist like an anchor.

“After we get out of here,” he promises roughly. “Back at the mansion, when you’re safe—I’ll tell you everything.”

“Everything?” I search his eyes, seeing the war between protection and truth.

“Everything.” He brushes his thumb across my lower lip, gentle despite his callused hands. “No more secrets between us. But Aurora—” His expression darkens with something like fear. “Once you know, there’s no going back. Alessandro, Maria, the night everything changed—it could destroy us both.”

I press my palm against his chest, feeling his heart race beneath my touch. “I’m already in this, Luciano. Whatever demons we’re facing, whatever secrets you’re carrying—let me help you fight them.”

His kiss this time is softer, a seal to our pact. As we drive through Chicago’s darkening streets, his hand stays linked with mine. In the window’s reflection, I study his profile—the sharp jaw, the vigilant eyes, the weight of unspoken words still heavy on his shoulders.

Tomorrow, everything changes. Tomorrow, we face Alessandro’s games and Maria’s ghosts together. But tonight, in this moment between danger and truth, I choose to believe in us—in this fierce, fragile thing we’re building in the shadows of our families’ sins.

God help anyone who tries to tear it down.

9

LUCIANO POV

The silence between us isn’t peaceful—it’s a fuse waiting to ignite. Aurora shifts on the other end of the small couch, and even that subtle movement sends electricity crackling through the air. The safe house’s dim lighting casts shadows across her face, softening her features but doing nothing to dull the challenge in her eyes.

Reinforced windows and steel-core doors mock any illusion of normalcy in this place. The safe house is exactly what it claims to be—safe, sterile, a fortress disguised as a luxury apartment.

Security cameras blink their red eyes from every corner, a constant reminder that we’re being watched. That this is business, not pleasure. The leather couch we sit on probably costs more than most cars, but it’s the gun safe by the door and the panic room down the hall that matter.

“You’re doing it again,” she says, breaking the loaded silence.

I force my gaze away from the curve of her neck. “Doing what?”

“That thing where you look at me like I’m made of glass, then pretend you weren’t looking at all.” She stretches, the motion deliberate and maddening. “I’m not going to break, Luciano.”

Cristo. My hands clench against my thighs as her dress rides up slightly. “We’re not having this conversation.”

Maria’s face flashes through my mind—her gentle smile, her quiet acceptance of our world. She never pushed, never demanded. Never made me choose between her and the family like Aurora does now. The guilt twists in my gut, sharp and familiar.

Dominic trusted me to protect his sister, and I am failing already. The memory of Maria’s funeral, of Dom’s hand gripping my shoulder as we lowered her into the ground, burns like acid in my throat.

“Of course not.” She stands, moving to the window with dangerous grace. “We never do, do we?”

The lamplight catches her curves as she peers through the blinds, and my mouth goes dry. Every movement, every breath she takes, tests my limits.

“Aurora.” Her name comes out rougher than intended. “Step away from the window.”

She turns, moonlight painting silver in her hair. “Make me.”

The words hang between us like smoke. My body responds before my mind can stop it, rising from the couch with predatory focus.

This is madness, I think. But I can’t seem to look away from the dare in her eyes.

The tension crackles between us as I take a step closer. Her perfume fills my senses—jasmine and danger wrapped in one intoxicating package. The safe house suddenly feels too small, too intimate, and her next words only make it worse.

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