Page 3 of Bound By Honor

Something flashes in his gaze—admiration? Warning? He moves closer still, close enough that I catch the spicy notes of his cologne. “Be careful what you wish for.”

“Why do you all say that? Be careful, be good, be quiet.” I step toward him, eliminating more distance. “What are you really protecting me from?”

“Everything.” The word comes out rough, almost pained. “And nothing.”

Voices drift from the house—my brothers, probably looking for me. Luciano tenses, though he doesn’t step back.

“You should go inside,” he says softly.

His hand comes up, hesitating near my face as if he wants to brush back a stray strand of my hair but thinks better of it. The phantom touch burns anyway, and I find myself swaying toward him before I can stop myself.

My breath catches as his scent surrounds me—spice and leather and something darker. His eyes drop to my parted lips for just a moment, but it’s enough to make my heart stutter against my ribs, a betrayal my brothers would never forgive.

“I don’t want to.”

“Aurora.” My name on his lips sounds like a prayer and a warning. “Please.”

The moment stretches between us, electric with possibility. Then footsteps approach on the gravel path, and reality crashes back.

“Until next time,Principessa.” He melts into the shadows, leaving me with more questions than answers and the lingering sensation of his presence like a brand on my skin.

I turn toward the house, my mind racing. They’re hiding something—something big enough to make even Luciano nervous. And one way or another, I’m going to find out what it is.

Let them keep their secrets. Let them think their walls can hold me. Luciano’s dark gaze promises answers I’ve craved foryears, even as warning bells sound in my head. Dominic’s voice echoes in my memory—‘The family must come first’—but the conflict between my need for the truth and my duty to the family makes my chest tight. One way or another, I’ll uncover the truth, even if it burns us all.

2

LUCIANO POV

The laughter and clinking glasses from the dining room feel distant as I close the study door behind me. My world is made of decisions no one else wants to make. Tonight’s dinner plays through my mind like a series of chess moves—each word calculated, each silence measured. But Aurora’s defiance...Dio, her fire burns through every careful plan.

My jaw clenches, the muscle ticking with tension. The memory of her challenging gaze sends an unwanted heat through my veins, my carefully maintained restraint fraying at the edges. I force my breathing to steady, but my heartbeat refuses to obey.

I cross to my desk, fingers trailing over the polished mahogany. Everything here speaks of order: files arranged with military precision, pen perfectly aligned. The crystal decanter catches lamplight like blood.

Tonight’s dinner wasn’t just about Aurora’s defiance—the Rossi threat lurks beneath every calculated move. My phone buzzes again: another warning from our street contacts. Three of our men disappeared last week. The timing of Aurora’s questions couldn’t be worse.

Control is currency in our world. Yet one glimpse of those fierce eyes across the dinner table, and my carefully maintained barriers threaten to crack.

“You can’t keep hiding things from her forever,” Enzo had said earlier, his usual smirk replaced with rare seriousness.

“We do what’s necessary,” I’d replied, the words tasting bitter. “She’s safer not knowing.”

Safer. The word echoes as I pour myself two fingers of scotch. The amber liquid catches the light like her eyes when she’s angry. I shouldn’t notice these things. Shouldn’t catalog the way she holds herself with such pride, even surrounded by her brothers’ suffocating protection. Shouldn’t remember how the moonlight painted her skin silver in the garden.

My fingers tremble against the crystal stem, and I force them still, just as I force down the surge of emotions threatening to break through my walls. The scotch burns, but not enough to erase the image of her defiant stance, the way her presence makes my carefully constructed world tilt on its axis.

“Cazzo,”I mutter, downing the scotch in one burning swallow.

The crystal makes a sharp sound as I set it down too hard, my control slipping for a moment.

My phone buzzes—Dominic’s name lighting up the screen. “Yes?”

“The Rossi situation needs handling. Tonight.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Always the same response. Always the same role.

“And Luciano?” His voice carries that edge I’ve learned to recognize. “Keep an eye on Aurora. She’s asking questions we can’t afford to answer.”

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