Page 45 of The Assassin's Captive
The confession should terrify me. Instead, it confirms what I already suspected—that Lorenzo Santoro operates by different rules from the civilized world I used to inhabit. Rules that might be the only thing keeping me alive. Rules that, given the chance a month ago, I'd have used against him, and now I'm feeling grateful he lives by them.
"Did you kill them to protect me?"
"I killed them because they were going to kill us." He turns back to the city. "Everything I do now is about keeping you breathing long enough for Costa to decide your fate."
I climb onto the stone ledge beside him, bringing myself to his eye level. "Is that all this is to you? A job?"
"That's what it was supposed to be." His voice drops lower. "Extract information, then eliminate the target. Should've been clean and simple."
"But?"
"But nothing is simple anymore." He meets my eyes. "You were supposed to be dead weeks ago."
I reach up and trace the scar down his cheek, feeling him go very still under my touch. "Why am I not?"
"Because you're Emilio Costa's daughter."
"That's not why." I lean closer, close enough to see the conflict in his hazel eyes. "That's the excuse you tell yourself, but it's not the reason."
Lorenzo's hand covers mine, pressing my palm against his scarred cheek. "What do you want me to say, Serena? That I couldn't pull the trigger because you reminded me of something human? That watching you fight for your life made me remember what it felt like to care about someone?"
"Is that the truth?"
"The truth is you were a job until I fucked you that night after having drinks." The words come out rough but honest. "Then it got complicated."
Heat flushes through me at the memory, at the way he's looking at me now. "Complicated how?"
"You know how." His thumb brushes across my cheekbone. "Don't make me say it."
I shift closer, sliding my arms around his waist. His hands find my hips automatically, steadying me. "If I'm not a job anymore, what am I?"
"I don't know." The admission seems to cost him. "To Costa, you're an asset. A tool he can use to legitimize his empire or leverage against his enemies. To the other families, you're a threat to be eliminated or a prize to be claimed."
"And to you?"
Lorenzo's grip on my waist tightens. "To me, you're a complication I can't afford and can't eliminate."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer I have." His voice is strained. "I've never had to define what someone means to me beyond their use as a target or an ally. I don't have vocabulary for whatever this is."
I understand that admission in a way that surprises me. My entire adult life has been built around the law, around clear definitions and documented precedents. There's no legal framework for what exists between us, no case law to guide me through the ethics of falling for my captor.
"Maybe we don't need definitions," I say. "Maybe we just need honesty."
"Honesty?" He tilts his head. "You want me to be honest about what I think when I watch you sleep? About what I imagine doing to anyone who tries to take you from me?"
The possessiveness in his voice should alarm me. Instead, it sends heat spiraling through my core, especially when his grip grows firmer. "Yes."
"I think about killing them." His hands slide up my ribs in a possessive motion. "All of them. Every family, every rival, every threat. I think about ending this the only way I know how—with bullets and blood and bodies in shallow graves."
"And then what?"
"Then I remember you wouldn't forgive me for that. You'd see the monster instead of the man." His forehead touches mine. "So I try to think of another way."
The confession breaks something open in my chest. This dangerous, violent man is restraining his nature because of how I might react. Because my opinion of him carries weight he can't quantify but can't ignore.
I kiss him softly, and he returns the gesture with such tenderness, I feel surprised. He tastes of coffee and cigarettes but his mouth is gentle against mine.
