Elena woke to the quiet weight of Lucian's presence beside her.
He hadn't moved all night—not even to take off his shoes. He lay on top of the covers, eyes open, one arm bent beneath his head, the other resting lightly on his chest.
Still.
Unmoving.
Watching her like she was the last thing in the world that made sense—and the first thing that could destroy it.
"How long have you been staring at me?" she asked, voice rough from sleep.
"Long enough to know your jaw clenches before you wake."
"You study me like a subject."
"I study threats. It's a habit."
"And I'm a threat to you?"
He looked at her fully then. "No. But you're a threat to yourself."
Elena pushed off the blankets. Her skin was cold, her body stiff from sleeping too close to someone she still didn't fully trust. And yet… she hadn't felt alone.
And that terrified her more than the dark.
She stood and walked to the balcony, barefoot across the rug. The morning was gray, the garden below glazed with dew. A guard paced the perimeter, gun visible beneath his jacket. She knew every corner of this house now. Every shadow it pretended not to have.
Lucian joined her, his hand brushing the small of her back briefly as he passed.
"You're not caged, Elena."
"That's a lie."
"You're watched. That's different."
"Oh, I feel so reassured."
He didn't rise to the sarcasm. Instead, his gaze settled on the far edge of the estate.
"Massimo reached out this morning. He wants to meet."
Elena's stomach tightened. "Why?"
"Because he knows I'm hiding something. And I need him to think that thing isn't you."
"You want to use me again."
Lucian turned to her. "I want to protect you. Sometimes those things require the same strategy."
She folded her arms. "I'm not dressing up and pretending I don't feel like prey, Lucian."
He stepped closer, voice quieter now. "Then don't. Come as you are. The girl who saw too much and still stood her ground."
Her throat tightened at the words.
And damn him for knowing just how to say them.
-
Rosa helped her dress.
Black slacks. Blouse. Low heels. Sharp without being fragile. Her hair pulled back into a braid tight enough to hold together the fury rising in her.
Lucian stood waiting near the car.
He didn't offer his hand.
But when she sat beside him, his knee brushed hers, and for a moment—just that—she didn't pull away.
-
They met Massimo in a quiet restaurant just outside the city. Private dining room. Curtains drawn. Security visible at every exit.
The Don sat with two of his men, a bottle of red wine already breathing at the table's center.
Lucian didn't speak as they entered.
But Massimo smiled the moment he saw Elena.
"Well, well. The bride finally leaves the tower."
"I needed sunlight," she said coolly, sitting across from him.
"Careful," Lucian murmured under his breath. "He likes women who bite."
"I bite harder."
Massimo chuckled, tapping his glass. "She's clever. I see the appeal now."
"Keep your compliments," Lucian said, voice like frost. "We're not here to flirt."
"No," Massimo agreed. "You're here to convince me your house isn't crawling with Bratva ghosts."
Lucian's eyes narrowed. "Is it?"
Massimo leaned back, swirling his wine. "I think it is. And I think the girl beside you has blood that's starting to attract attention."
"She's under my protection."
"Until you can't protect her anymore."
Elena spoke before she could stop herself. "You sound almost hopeful."
Massimo's smile sharpened. "Not hopeful, my dear. Just realistic. You're the only wild card he's ever played without calculating the odds first."
Lucian said nothing.
And that silence said everything.
Massimo poured himself another glass. "If I were you, I'd start asking questions about your mother's siblings. About who in the Volkov line didn't die when the house fell. Because the ones still breathing? They don't want peace. They want inheritance."
Elena's heart twisted.
"I'm not their heir," she said.
"Doesn't matter," Massimo said. "You have her face. Her blood. That's enough for someone desperate."
He stood, leaving his untouched wine. "I'll be in touch."
As his guards followed him out, Elena leaned back, tension shaking her spine.
"You didn't warn me," she said to Lucian.
"I didn't know what he'd say."
"But you knew there was more. You always do."
Lucian turned to her. "I can't tell you what I don't have. And I can't keep pretending this ends with just keeping you alive."
-
They returned to the estate in silence.
Only when they stepped back into the foyer did Elena speak again.
"Do I have other family?"
Lucian didn't answer right away.
"I've been looking," he admitted. "Records are incomplete. There's mention of a brother. Possibly an uncle. But no confirmed sightings since 2008."
"And if he's alive?"
"He's dangerous."
"More dangerous than you?"
Lucian's jaw tensed. "He doesn't have rules. I do."
That was the closest thing to reassurance she'd get.
-
That evening, Elena wandered the west wing. Not searching. Just thinking.
Until she found herself outside the room Lucian had once forbidden her from entering—the one beside his office. The door was ajar now. A quiet invitation.
She stepped inside.
It was a study.
But different from his main one. This room felt older. More lived-in.
Photos framed in leather sat on the desk. One was of a woman.
Not Claire.
Younger. Laughing. Brown hair.
Elena leaned in.
Lucian's sister?
The door creaked behind her.
She didn't turn.
"You never told me you had siblings."
Lucian's voice came from the doorway. "Because I don't."
"Then who's this?"
He stepped beside her.
"My cousin. Marina."
"She's beautiful."
"She died when she was seventeen. Overdosed. Party I should've stopped. People I should've killed before they got to her."
Elena looked at him then.
"You carry everyone, don't you?"
Lucian's eyes were darker than usual. "They left me."
"Maybe they didn't have a choice."
He turned to her. "Neither do you."
"I do. You just don't like it when I use it."
The space between them pulsed—tense, fragile.
Then Lucian stepped closer. "Tell me what you want."
She blinked. "What?"
"I can keep protecting you. I will. But if you want out—if you want space—say it. Now."
She searched his face for a trap.
Found none.
"I want to stop feeling like a prisoner."
His voice was quiet. "Then stop."
He reached out. Not grabbing, not forcing.
Just… waiting.
And for once, she didn't pull away.