Page 49 of Ruthless Arrangement

“I was concerned,” he says, voice calm. “After Moretti’s appearance last night, certain precautions seemed prudent.”

“Precautions like breaking into my apartment?”

“I didn’t break in. I have a key.”

The casual admission steals my breath. “You have a key to my apartment? Since when?”

“Since you became a potential target.” He steps closer, and I back up against the door. “Moretti doesn’t make idle threats, Lea. His interest in you, and your mother, is cause for serious concern.”

The mention of my mother sends a fresh wave of anxiety through me. I think of the stranger’s warning, the note a heavy weight in my pocket.Your mother is in danger. Varela is not what he seems.

“I can take care of myself,” I insist, though the words sound hollow even to my ears.

“Can you?” He gestures around the apartment. “Your locks are substandard. Your windows don’t have proper security. You live alone on a floor with minimal foot traffic. If Moretti wanted to get to you, there’s very little stopping him.”

“And what about you? What’s stopping you from—” I cut myself off.

His expression darkens. “From what, Lea? Hurting you?” He steps closer, voice dropping low. “If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it long before now.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want you to understand the situation you’re in.” Another step forward. “To recognize that my protection isn’t some arbitrary restriction I’ve placed on you. It’s the only thing keeping you from becoming collateral damage in a war you know nothing about.”

“A war?” I repeat, latching onto the word. “What war?”

He grunts, a rare gesture of frustration. “Do you have any idea how many actual wars I’ve prevented in this city? How much bloodshed I’ve stopped by creating structure where there was chaos?” His voice rises, an unusual crack in his perfect control. “I’m a saint compared to what others do.”

The raw conviction in his eyes disarms me. I’ve never seen him like this before, passionate, almost desperate to be understood. I realize with a jolt that he believes this narrative he’s constructed where he’s the reluctant hero standing between chaos and order. It’s jarring to witness someone so intelligent, completely blind to the destruction that follows in his wake.

“Then tell me about it,” I challenge, stepping forward. “Let me write the authentic story. Not just about the negotiations and the deals, but about what drives you. About this ‘war’ you’re fighting.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Why not? You claim to be the good guy?—”

“I never said I was good,” he cuts in, voice hard. “Just necessary.”

“Fine. Necessary. Then let me understand why.” I take another step closer. “Let me in, Nico.”

His eyes drops to my mouth, and the air between us changes.

“Who was the man you spoke to at the café?” he asks.

My breath catches.Of course he knows. Of course he was having me followed.

“No one,” I lie. “Just someone who recognized me from the paper.”

His hand shoots out, catching my throat in a gentle but firm grasp. Not squeezing, just holding. Asserting dominance. My muscles lock, a sudden paralysis rooting me to the spot. Fear coils tight in my gut, yet beneath it, heat spreads through my limbs, making my knees threaten to buckle.

“Don’t lie to me, Lea,” he murmurs, thumb stroking the point beneath my jaw. “It never ends well.”

I should push him away. I should be terrified. Instead, I’m transfixed by the intensity in his eyes, the heat radiating from his body so close to mine.

“I’m not—” My protest dies as his grip tightens.

“You are,” he insists. “I can feel your pulse racing. You only do that when you’re lying or when I’m touching you.”

The words hang in the air, charged with implications neither of us has voiced until now. I swallow hard, feeling the movement against his palm.

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