Page 58 of The Assassin's Captive
“Say it,” I whisper. His hand leaves my hair and grabs my jaw, forcing my eyes to his.
“You want the truth?” he says. “Fine. I’d burn this whole city to the ground if it meant keeping you.”
It's good—it's a confession of his desire, of what he's willing to do. But it's not what I want.
“That’s not what I asked for,” I say, grinding down slowly.
His thumb presses harder at my clit. My body jumps. I ride through it, keeping him deep and aching and locked between my thighs.
“You think I don’t know what this is?” I say. “You think I haven’t seen it every time you touch me?” I'm baiting him, tempting him to let go and be real with me. Men like him don’t want to be vulnerable or weak. Words like "I'm sorry" or "I love you" don't come easily.
His hand shifts from my waist to my back, drawing me closer until our chests brush. He groans low in his throat, voice tight from pain or pressure—I can’t tell which. It doesn’t matter.
“You want the words,” he says. “Right now?”
“I’m not asking again," I tell him, then I pull back just enough to roll my hips. His cock drags through me, and the heat between us is messier now. My thighs shake. I brace against his chest and fuck him harder. He grits his teeth. His grip locks under my ass. His thumb never stops.
My climax hovers so sharp and blinding I almost give in, but I hold the edge with everything I have.
He looks up at me and his deep baritone rumbles out, clear as day. "I love you, Serena.”
"I want to believe you," I pant, so close to the edge I could detonate any second.
"I mean it," he whispers, and then he kisses me hard.
I break.
My head drops against his. My body seizes. I ride him through it, thighs locked, gasping into his mouth. My body convulses and twitches. I leave crescent shapes on his shoulder and the back of his neck, but it's worth it. The satisfaction of hearing it, the way he said it too, like he knew I needed that little bit of reassurance.
Then I feel him come inside me, full and hot and thick, his hands still tight around me, his breath harsh against my skin. When I fail to continue, I feel his hips pumping upward until the pulsing and twitching is over, and his lips linger on mine.
"I mean it," he repeats, but he doesn't say the words again. I'd like to hear him say it again, but maybe it's something he can bring out for special occasions. I don't need those words to know how he feels.
"I mean it too," I whisper, and I kiss him again softly. I trace the lines of his tattoos, following ink that tells stories I'm only beginning to understand. "But I need you to promise me something," I say, not lifting my head to look at him.
His chest rises and falls beneath my chest, a careful rhythm that doesn't fool me. I know he's listening to every word, weighing every possibility.
"I'll be useful for Emilio." The admission tastes bitter, but I force it out. "I'll play whatever role he needs me to play, be whatever weapon he wants to wield. But only if you promise me three things."
"Serena—"
"You won't leave me alone with him." I lift my head now, pinning him with my stare. "You won't make me fend for myself in that world. And you will protect me, no matter what he asks of you. No matter what it costs."
Lorenzo's hands are still on my back. I watch him process the request, see the conflict play out in the tightness around his eyes. He's calculating odds, measuring risks, trying to find a way to promise me something he might not be able to deliver.
"You don't know what you're asking…" he says again, like somehow that's going to make this easier for me to walk into. He's my only defense against Emilio Costa and the violent empire I am connected to.
"I know exactly what I'm asking." I shift, bringing us face to face. "I'm asking you to choose me over him. I'm asking you to put me first, even when every instinct you have tells you to follow orders. I'm asking you to follow your heart, not your training."
He closes his eyes, and for a moment I think he'll refuse. That he'll remind me of his place in Emilio's hierarchy, of the loyalty that runs deeper than blood, of the consequences that come with defying a man who owns half of Rome.
When he opens them again, something has shifted. The careful mask he wears has cracked, revealing the man underneath—the one who pulled me from that hospital, who chose protection over execution, who holds me now as if I might disappear.
"I promise." The words come out broken, barely more than breath. "I promise you won't face him alone. I promise I won't abandon you to that world. And I promise I will protect you, no matter what it costs me."
"Even if it costs you everything?" I ask him again, still needing more reassurance. Because if I'm doing this, if I'm going to walk willingly into the den of lions, I need the ally he promised me he'd be and not someone who will pull back at the first sign of trouble. Not a double-crosser who can be bought by threats.
"Especially then."
