Page 79 of The Assassin's Captive
"Seventeenth-century, completely renovated. Twelve rooms, six bathrooms, modern kitchen, library, home office with secure communications." I shift to face her more directly. "Swimming pool, tennis court, gardens that extend to a private olive grove."
"Sounds excessive."
"It is excessive. That's the point." I reach over to tuck a strand of damp hair behind her ear. "Emilio wants your lifestyle to reflect your new status. Understated wealth sends the wrong message."
"And you'll live there too?"
"I'll maintain my own residence for appearances, but yes. I'll spend most of my time there."
She nods, seeming to accept this arrangement. "What about work? Will I have office space?"
"Full legal suite on the ground floor. Reception area, conference room, private office, law library. Everything you need to maintain a legitimate practice while handling family business."
"Legitimate practice."
"You'll need regular clients to maintain professional credibility. Corporate law, estate planning, civil litigation. The kind of work that pays well and doesn't attract unwanted attention."
The fire has burned down to glowing embers, sending soft light across the room. Rain continues against the windows, but the sound has become soothing rather than ominous.
"Lorenzo." She turns to face me completely, legs folded beneath her. "What we have—this thing between us. Is it real, or is it just proximity and adrenaline?"
I've been asking myself the same thing for weeks, trying to separate genuine emotion from the heightened circumstances that brought us together.
"It's real," I tell her. "More real than anything I've ever felt."
"How do you know?"
"Because when I think about losing you, I can't breathe." It feels out of place to be this raw and honest with her, but I'm enjoying the fact that I have this space to be real. "Because when I see other men look at you, I want to kill them. Because you make me want to be better than I am."
She reaches over to take my hand, threading our fingers together. "Good. Because I feel the same way."
"Even knowing what I do for a living?"
"Especially knowing what you do for a living." Her thumb traces across my knuckles. "You're dangerous, Lorenzo. But you're dangerousforme, nottome. There's a difference."
There is a difference, and the fact that she understands it means everything.
I stand and move to the bookshelf beside the fireplace, retrieving a small velvet box from behind a leather-bound copy of Machiavelli. When I return to the couch, Serena is watching me with curious eyes.
"What's that?"
Instead of answering, I open the box. Inside, nestled in white silk, sits a platinum ring set with a single emerald-cut diamond. The stone is flawless, nearly two carats, surrounded by smaller diamonds that catch the firelight.
"Lorenzo—"
"In public, we're professional associates," I tell her, taking the ring from its box. "In private, we're everything. But what we really are, what we'll always be, is public knowledge waiting to happen."
I take her left hand, holding it steady as I slide the ring onto her finger. It fits perfectly, which doesn't surprise me. I've been planning this moment my whole life. I just didn't know it was Serena who was the one I was waiting for.
"People will notice this ring. They'll ask questions, make assumptions. By the time they figure out what it means, it'll be too late to use the knowledge against us."
She stares at the diamond, watching light dance through the faceted stone. "Is this a proposal?"
"It's the closest thing you'll get from a man like me."
The answer makes her laugh, and the sound fills the room with warmth. "Most women get flowers and romantic speeches."
"Most women don't fall in love with killers."
