Chapter 288: 32

Reyna POV

The flight back to New York feels heavier than the one to Vegas, even though it's the same private jet, the same leather seats, the same low hum of engines.

I don't look at Luca the entire time and it's not because I don't want to, but because I'm scared of what will happen if I do. The image of him storming into that warehouse, gun in hand, eyes locked on me like nothing else mattered, is burned into me. He came for me without hesitation. He killed for me.

And still, I don't know if I can trust him after that everything.

When we land, Dante doesn't waste time. He gets me in the car with Ana, his men surrounding us like our shadows. Luca stays behind, speaking in low tones automatically in Dante's second-in-command character. I don't hear his words, but I know it's about me. Everything is, lately.

By the time we pull into the Greyson mansion, my chest is tight and my head aches. I've been here before, but this time it feels different. This time I don't feel like a guest. I feel like some liability.

Ana doesn't treat me like one. She pulls me inside,her arm looped through mine, her son already asleep in the crook of her shoulder. "You're with us now," she says simply, her voice calm but firm. "You'll stay here until we figure this out. No arguments."

I don't argue. I can't after the kidnapping

The mansion is quiet when I'm shown to a new guest room on the second floor. The walls are tall, the bed is impossibly soft, and for the first time in days, there's no gunfire or broken glass or men chasing us through alleyways. I should feel safe but I don't.

Hours pass. I shower and change into one of Ana's silk robes, and sit at the window staring out at the dark lawn below. Security guards are stationed at every corner. It looks impenetrable, but so did the safehouses andVegas mansions.

A knock from the door, breaks me out of it. Two sharp taps, steady and familiar

I don't have to ask who it is. My chest tightens before I even reach for the door handle.

Luca.

He's leaning against the frame when I open the door, his jacket is gone and his shirt sleeves are rolled up, his hair is slightly messy like he's been running his hands through it. His eyes meet mine, and for a moment neither of us says anything.

"You shouldn't be here," I whisper, though I don't close the door.

"Dante knows," he says, his voice low. "I told him I was checking on you."

I raise a brow. "And he let you?"

The corner of his mouth lifts in something that isn't quite a smile. "Not exactly. I don't think he trusts me either right now. But he trusts that I won't let anything happen to you."

I should tell him to leave. I should remind him of everything I found on that drive, of Francesca's accounts with his name attached. I should remind him that no matter how many bullets he took for me, there are still pieces missing, truths he hasn't shared.

Instead, I step back, and he walks inside.

The door clicks shut behind him, and suddenly the room feels smaller, warmer, charged in a way I can't put words to.

"You scared me," I admit before I can stop myself. "At the warehouse. For a second, I thought-"

"I wouldn't let them touch you," he cuts me off, his jaw tight. "Not ever."

My throat closes, heat crawling up my neck. I turn away, pretending to straighten the blanket on the bed, anything to keep my hands busy. "You can't promise that, Luca. You can't promise me things like that when this world doesn't work that way."

"I can promise you what I know," he says, and suddenly he's closer, his voice right behind me. "And what I know is that I'll bleed out before I ever let anyone take you again."

I freeze, his words hitting too close. I feel his presence at my back, the warmth of him without him even touching me.

Slowly, I turn. His eyes are dark, steady, searching my face like he's waiting for me to pull away.

And I don't.

The space between us disappears before I even realize I've moved. His hand lifts, brushing a strand of damp hair off my cheek, lingering just a second too long.

"Reyna," he says my name like it costs him something.

My chest rises hard, my voice barely above a whisper. "What are we doing?"

"I don't know," he admits, his thumb grazing my jaw. "But I know I don't want to stop."

And then he kisses me.

It isn't like the others. This one isn't rushed or stolen or fueled by adrenaline. This one is slow, deliberate, aching. His lips press against mine with a kind of hunger that makes my knees weaken, but there's something softer too, something that feels like truth.

My hands grip his shirt, pulling him closer without thinking, and when his arms circle around me, the weight of everything else fades. For a moment, it's just us. No Mafia, no threats, no shadows. Just us.

I don't know how long we stay like that. Long enough that when I finally pull back, I'm breathless, my heart pounding in a way I can't ignore.

Luca rests his forehead against mine, eyes closed like he's fighting something. "Tell me to stop, and I will," he says.

I don't and I can't.

But before I can answer, the sound of a phone vibrating cuts through the air.

It's mine. On the nightstand.

I step away reluctantly, picking it up, and when I see the name flashing across the screen, my stomach drops.

"Father."

The phone keeps buzzing until I finally give in and swipe to answer. My father's voice comes through sharp, the kind of tone that makes my stomach twist before he even says anything else.

"Reyna. Do you realize what I've been reading this morning?"

My grip tightens on the phone. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't act clueless. The blogs. The gossip columns. Pictures of you running around Las Vegas with some bodyguard." His voice drops lower, furious. "They're calling him your boyfriend."

I glance at Luca. His head turns slightly, like he can feel my father's words spilling out even if he can't hear them. Heat rises in my cheeks and I look away fast.

"Father, it's not like that," I start, but he cuts me off.

"Not like that?" He almost laughs, bitter and hard. "You're the daughter of one of the most respected families in New York, and you're letting yourself be photographed with a man who looks like-" He stops himself, then says it sharper. "A man who works for Dante. A man who has nothing. Do you understand how ridiculous this makes you look?"

My throat burns but I force myself to answer. "He's not nothing."

The silence that follows is heavy. My father's voice when it comes back is colder than before. "He's a bodyguard, Reyna. A bodyguard. Do you know what people are saying? That he's using you, that he's after your money, your name, that you're too blind to see it."

I shut my eyes, pressing my palm to my temple. "You don't know him."

"I know enough," he snaps. "And I know you're not going to throw away your future for some man who can't even stand beside you in the same room as your fiancé."

The word fiancé lands like a stone in my chest.

"You will continue with the arrangement," he says firmly. "The Romano deal is settled. Alessandro has agreed, and so have we. The wedding will go on, and I don't want to hear another word about this... this...bodyguard."

The line goes quiet except for his steady breathing, like he's daring me to argue.

I don't answer. I can't. My lips part but no sound comes out.

Across the room, Luca is watching me, his jaw tight, his eyes dark. He doesn't know every word but he knows enough, and the look on his face tells me this is about to get worse.