Chapter 49 -
She touched her arm, her fingers tracing the exact spot where his grip had lingered. It should have left a bruise. By all the laws of her old life, a man like Leo grabbing her should have been an act of violence. But it had not been painful. It had been possessive. It was the grip of a man who was terrified of letting go, as if Nia were the only thing keeping him anchored to the floor.
It would be so much simpler if I just hated him, she thought, leaning her forehead against the cool glass of the window.
Hating him should be easy. He was the man who had stolen her life, the man who had dragged her into a world of blood and shadows, the man who saw her as leverage. He was the Enforcer of the Cimmera. He was the monster in the hallway.
But nothing about this was simple anymore.
She could not unsee the look in his eyes when he talked about the danger she was in. It was not just the calculation of a handler protecting an asset; it was the raw, jagged edge of a man who could not bear the thought of another person being destroyed on his watch. She could not forget the way his gaze had dropped to her lips, a moment of human hunger that had nothing to do with missions or power struggles.
Nia moved back to the bed and sat on the edge, the silence of the mansion pressing in on her. She realized with a jolt of genuine fear that she was no longer just a captive of the DeSanto family. She was a captive of her own heart.
~
The morning light did not feel like a blessing. It spilled across the polished mahogany of the dining table in long, aggressive streaks, highlighting every speck of dust and every microscopic scratch in the wood. Nia sat in her usual chair, her fingers tracing the cold edge of her silver fork. She had not slept. Her eyes felt heavy, as if they had been dusted with sand, and her mind was a broken record playing the same five seconds of Leo’s face over and over again.
The mansion felt different today. The clicking of the locks as Matteo had escorted her down from her room sounded sharper, more final. The scent of the house, usually a mix of old wax and expensive cologne, was dominated by the bitter, acidic smell of the espresso Leo was currently nursing.
Leo sat at the head of the table, his posture as rigid as a statue in a cathedral. He was perfectly groomed, his suit jacket crisp and his hair back in place, but there was a darkness under his eyes that mirrored her own. He refused to look at her. He was meticulously focused on a piece of dry toast, cutting it into perfectly even squares as if his life depended on the symmetry.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Micheal said as he sauntered into the room. He looked far too cheerful for a man who had been drinking gin until the early hours of the morning. He dropped into the chair beside Nia and flashed a bright, mischievous grin. “You look like you fought a ghost and lost. Did the party music keep you up?”
Nia cleared her throat, trying to find her voice. “It was just a long night, Micheal.”
“A very long night,” Christian added. He was sitting across from them, leaning back with a smirk that made Nia’s skin crawl. He did not look tired at all; he looked fed. He looked like a man who had enjoyed the chaos of the previous evening. “I heard some interesting noises coming from the west wing hallway after the guests cleared out. Sounded like a heated debate.”
Leo’s fork hit the china plate with a sharp, metallic ring. He still did not look up.
“What happened after you two left the balcony?” Micheal asked. He leaned in, his blue eyes darting between Nia and his older brother. The humor was still there, but it was edged with a newfound curiosity that felt like a spotlight.
“Nothing,” Nia and Leo said at the exact same time.
The word hung in the air, heavy and ridiculous. The synchronicity of their denial was more incriminating than a confession would have been. Micheal’s eyebrows shot up toward his hairline, and he let out a low, slow whistle.
“Nothing,” Micheal repeated, his voice dripping with mock belief. “Two people who were ready to tear each other’s throats out an hour before suddenly have nothing to say about their late night stroll in the hallway? That is a very boring story, brother.”
Christian chuckled into his coffee cup, the sound dark and knowing. “Maybe it was not a debate, Micheal. Maybe our dear brother was finally teaching the help some manners.”
“Watch your tongue, Christian,” Leo said. His voice was a low growl, vibrating with a threat that usually made the room go silent. But today, the tension was so thick that even Leo’s authority felt strained.
Lucia, who had been quietly sipping her tea at the far end of the table, looked up. Her dark eyes moved from Leo’s white knuckles to the flush creeping up Nia’s neck. She did not say a word, but her gaze was a weight of its own—perceptive, female, and entirely unconvinced.
The rest of the meal was a symphony of clinking silver and heavy breathing. No one spoke. No one ate much. It was a stand-off disguised as a family breakfast.
When Leo finally stood up, he pushed his chair back with enough force to make it groan. “I have meetings in the city. Matteo, stay with her.”
He left without a single glance in Nia’s direction. It was as if he were trying to erase her presence through sheer force of will.
“Well,” Micheal said, breaking the silence as he reached for a pastry. “That was not awkward at all. I feel like I just watched a silent movie where everyone dies at the end.”