Page 67 of The Assassin's Captive
"He wants you alive."
I sober, eyebrows rising slowly as the words sink in. I study Lorenzo's face, searching for the meaning beneath his careful expression.
"And the alternative is death. Yes, I understood that part of his threat."
"It wasn't a threat, Serena. It was a warning."
Lorenzo moves to the railing beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. He's always warm, always steady. Even in the middle of chaos, he remains centered in a way I've never been able to master.
"Someone has been watching you for months. Long before I was sent to find you. The photograph Emilio showed you?—"
"Was taken three months ago. I remember." The memory makes my stomach clench. "I was walking back from court after the Bianchi hearing. I remember that day because it was raining, and I'd forgotten my umbrella."
"You were being hunted, Serena. Studied. They know your routines, your habits, your vulnerabilities. And now they know about your connection to the Costa family."
I turn to face him fully, searching his expression for any hint of deception. "Who are they?"
"We don't know yet. But they have resources. Professional surveillance. The ability to move through Rome without detection." His jaw tightens. "And they want you dead."
"Because of what I know about the corruption cases."
"Because of what you represent." Lorenzo's hand covers mine on the railing, warm and solid. "You're a Costa who can't be bought or intimidated. You understand both sides of the system—legal and criminal. You're dangerous to anyone who profits from keeping those two worlds separate. And they'd have come for you even if Emilio hadn't sent me."
The weight of his words settles over me. I've spent my career believing that justice could triumph over corruption through legal channels. But standing here, with the blood of Rome's most powerful crime family running through my veins, I'm beginning to understand how naive that belief was.
"So my choices are to become Emilio's weapon or become a target."
"Your choices are to accept protection from the one man in Rome powerful enough to keep you alive or to die within the week."
The brutal honesty in his voice cuts through my anger. Lorenzo doesn't sugarcoat reality. He presents it exactly as it is, without sentiment or false hope.
"And what about us?" The question slips out before I can stop it. "What happens to whatever this is between us if I become part of his organization?"
Lorenzo's grip on my hand tightens. "Emilio didn't say no."
"What?"
"When I told him about us. About what's happening between us." His hazel eyes hold mine steadily. "He didn't forbid it. He didn't order me to stay away from you."
"That's not exactly a blessing."
"From Emilio Costa, it's as close to approval as you'll ever get." Lorenzo's thumb traces across my knuckles, a gentle gesture that contrasts with the violence that defines his life. "He could have ended this with a word, could have transferred me to another assignment, another city. He didn't."
I want to believe him, want to believe that something real can exist between us despite the circumstances that brought us together. But the rational part of my mind—the prosecutor who's spent years navigating the complexities of criminal law—knows better.
"This isn't a relationship, Lorenzo. This is Stockholm syndrome with decent conversation."
His expression doesn't change, but I see the slight tightening around his eyes. "Is that what you think this is?"
"I think I was kidnapped by a man whose job is to kill people who inconvenience his boss. I think I've been held captive for weeks, isolated from everyone I trust, forced to depend on you for survival." The words taste bitter in my mouth, but they need to be said. "I think my judgment is compromised."
"And I think you're lying to yourself."
The quiet conviction in his voice stops me cold. Lorenzo steps closer, his free hand coming up to cup my face. His palm is warm against my cheek, rough from years of violence but gentle in its touch.
"You want to know what I think?" His voice drops to barely above a whisper. "I think you're terrified of admitting that you care about me. Because caring makes you vulnerable. And you've spent your entire adult life avoiding vulnerability."
"Lorenzo—"
