Page 60 of The Assassin's Captive
"She's agreed to be useful, but only with certain assurances. She wants guarantees about her safety, her autonomy, the limits of what she'll be asked to do."
"She's in no position to make demands."
"She understands that. But she also understands her value. She's willing to cooperate, but she wants protection from the more… extreme aspects of our business."
Another pause, this one heavier than the last. I can practically hear him calculating odds, weighing benefits against potential complications. Serena's cooperation could provide advantages he's never had access to—legitimate legal expertise, insider knowledge of law enforcement, the respectability her professional reputation brings. But accepting her conditions means acknowledging she has agency, power to negotiate rather than simply submit.
"And you believe she'll honor these arrangements?"
"Yes." The certainty in my voice surprises me. A week ago, I would have trusted no one's word without leverage to ensure compliance. Now I stake my reputation on the promise of a woman who should be my enemy.
"Very well. But Lorenzo—she's your responsibility. Any problems she causes, any complications that arise from her presence, they fall on you. Do you understand?"
"Completely."
"Bring her to the estate tomorrow evening. I want to meet my daughter properly."
The line goes dead, leaving me alone with the implications of what I've just set in motion. I've convinced Emilio to accept Serena's terms, at least temporarily. But I've also bound myself to her in ways that make me vulnerable, that create weaknesses my enemies can exploit.
I set the phone aside and stare at my reflection again. The man in the mirror looks tired, worn down by considerations that never troubled him before. Caring about someone other than myself is exhausting, requires constant vigilance and calculation that goes beyond simple self-preservation.
I return to the bedroom, padding across carpet that muffles my footsteps. Serena lies where I left her, curled on her side with one hand tucked beneath her cheek. Her breathing has deepened into the rhythm of approaching sleep, but her eyes track my movement as I cross to the bed.
"Everything alright?" she asks, voice soft with drowsiness.
"Fine. Go to sleep."
I slide beneath the sheets, feeling the warmth she's generated in my absence. She shifts to accommodate me, molding her body against mine with unconscious trust that makes my chest tight. Her head finds its place on my shoulder, hair spilling across my skin in dark waves that catch the moonlight.
This is dangerous territory I'm navigating now. The words I spoke to her earlier—three words that fundamentally altered the dynamic between us—echo through my thoughts with uncomfortable persistence. I told her I love her, said it in the heat of passion, in the moment when barriers crumbled and truth spilled out uncensored.
Love makes men weak, makes them vulnerable to manipulation, to threats against the objects of their affection.It creates pressure points that enemies can exploit, leverage that can be used to force compliance or exact revenge. Every relationship becomes a weapon that can be turned against you.
But lying here with Serena's weight warm against my side, breathing in the scent of her hair, feeling the steady pulse of her heartbeat against my ribs—it feels right in ways I can't rationalize or dismiss. For the first time in my adult life, I have something worth protecting beyond my own survival. Someone whose wellbeing matters more than my own comfort or safety.
Men will use this against me. Against us both. They'll threaten her to control me, hurt her to punish me, exploit this connection to serve their own purposes. The vulnerability terrifies me more than any physical threat I've faced.
Yet I can't bring myself to regret the admission, can't wish back the words that changed everything between us. Whatever dangers this creates, whatever complications arise from caring about her, I'll face them. Because the alternative—returning to the empty existence I maintained before she entered my life—feels pointless.
I curl around her, pulling her closer against my chest, burying my face in her hair. She makes a soft sound of contentment, unconsciously pressing back against me. Her trust is absolute, her faith in my protection complete despite everything she knows about what I am, what I've done.
Sleep begins to claim me, pulling me down into darkness where dreams and reality blur together. In a few hours, we'll have to face Emilio, navigate the complexities of her new role in his organization, deal with the consequences of choices we've made in this hotel room.
But for now, we have this quiet space between one breath and the next. This moment of peace before the storm breaks over us both. I hold her tighter, memorizing the feel of her in my arms,the sound of her breathing, the way she fits against me as if she were made for this purpose.
Tonight, love is enough to protect us from the world we're about to re-enter.
It's a beautiful lie, and I embrace it completely.
27
SERENA
Sleep refuses to come. I lie against Lorenzo's chest in the hotel room's darkness, counting each breath that moves through him, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath my cheek. His heartbeat drums against my ear—slower now than it was hours ago, when my hands roamed his skin and he whispered my name against my throat. His arm curves around my waist, heavy and possessive even in unconsciousness, but his body maintains that coiled readiness I've learned to recognize. A man who has never learned to truly rest.
The digital clock on the nightstand glows red in my peripheral vision. 3:17 a.m. Rome sleeps around us, but my mind churns with questions that have no comfortable answers. What does useful mean in Emilio's world? What currency do I represent in his calculations? The word circles through my thoughts, sharp-edged and bitter, cutting deeper each time it surfaces.
Useful.
