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Dark lashes rest against pale cheeks, splotched faintly with the last remnants of her fever. Her lips, parted slightly in sleep, still carry the ghost of the moan she made when I bit her ear. I can see the faint arch of her brow, the way her nose curves delicately like it was shaped from porcelain.

Too fucking soft for this life.

She shifts with a little whimper, her hand fisting weakly in the fabric of my pants. Instinctively, my hand moves to soothe her. I run my fingers through her hair, pushing the messy strands away from her face, and press a kiss to her forehead. Her skin is warm, but not burning.

I pull away—slowly. Gently.

Fingertips brushing her arm. A breath held as I shift her from my chest onto the pillow. Her lips twitch, but she doesn’t wake.

I slide out of bed, pad barefoot toward the inner chamber. My body feels wired, my chest too tight, like something’s clawing beneath my ribs.

I collapse onto the couch and bury my face in my hands.

“What the fuck are you doing, Vieri?”

I drag my hands down my face. I sit forward, elbows on knees, staring at nothing.

She was supposed to be a pawn. Not wrapped around me like I’m her protector. Not making me feel like I have something to lose.

I push her out of my mind. Bellandi is becoming bolder. I have to handle him quickly. I'll put Alfio on that, send him a nice warning too.

I snatch my burner off the table and dial without thinking.

Bugatti answers. “Boss.”

“Where the fuck have you been?” I snap.

“Club was busy—”

“I don’t give a shit about your club. You’re supposed to be updating me.”

Bugatti clears his throat. “Right. Right. Sorry, boss.”

I breathe hard through my nose. “Lapo might know something.”

He asks, “Do I bring him in?”

I rub the back of my neck. Lapo’s a fool, but a fool with connections. Rattle him and it would echo through every Don I’m still trying to win back.

“No. Not yet. Bring in someone close to him. Someone we can scare, if we need to.”

“Got it,” Bugatti says. “I’ll make the call. Give me a few hours.”

“I’ll be at your club in thirty.” Just before I hang up, I ask, “And the lady. Carmela Fiore?”

“She’s been making noise,” he says. “Going to police stations, saying her granddaughter was kidnapped. I’ve got guys running interference. No station’s touching her case.”

Guilt flickers in my chest. I shut it down.

“She doesn’t stop, handle it.”

“Yes, boss.”

I end the call.

I stay on the couch for a long minute, listening to the muffled sound of Lunetta’s breathing from the bedroom. When I walk back in, the light from the hallway throws her body in soft contrast. She’s curled into herself now, clutching the blanket, her face peaceful.

I remember Enzo’s words.