Page 22 of The Assassin’s Captive (The Roma Syndicate #5)

SERENA

I find Lorenzo on the rooftop terrace at two in the morning, standing motionless against the stone railing.

Rome spreads out below us in pools of amber light, the ancient city breathing in its sleep.

The night air carries the scent of rain moving in, but Lorenzo's posture is locked in place, like he's lost in thought, not moving.

The last time I saw a man with that look was a serial killer I prosecuted as he stood waiting for his sentencing.

He's changed clothes since I last saw him. The black shirt is crisp, unmarked, but his shoulders carry a rigidity that wasn't there before. His hands rest on the railing, knuckles scarred and steady. Whatever happened tonight, he returned with blood on his conscience.

I don't ask. He wouldn't tell me, and I'm not sure I want to know.

The silence between us has evolved from hostility to understanding. We're both trapped in this situation, both pawns in Emilio Costa's game. The difference is Lorenzo chose his cage years ago while mine was built around me without warning.

"Couldn't sleep either?" I step beside him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body.

"Sleep is a luxury I can't afford right now." His voice carries a growl of frustration but it's soft around the edges, like he doesn't want to be that way with me and he's restraining himself. "Not with what's coming."

"What's coming?"

Lorenzo turns to face me, and the moonlight reveals the exhaustion etched around his eyes. "The truth you've been avoiding. Someone inside the courts is leaking information about your identity. Court clerks, administrators, maybe even judges. The other families know who you are."

My stomach drops. "How many?"

"Three confirmed. Probably more by morning." He runs a hand through his hair. "They're positioning themselves to take you before Costa can consolidate his advantage."

"Take me how?"

"Kidnapping. Ransom. Political leverage. Or they'll kill you to deny Costa the benefit of having cleaned up his mess while letting their rotting shit stink up the town." His gaze holds mine. "I don't know how long I can keep us ahead of it."

The old Serena would have argued, demanded a plan, insisted there had to be a legal solution.

The woman standing on this terrace at two a.m. knows better.

The law can't protect me from this. The system I've devoted my career to building is compromised, infiltrated, useless against the reality of my bloodline.

I move closer, drawn by the steady presence he represents in a world that's tilted off its axis. "How long do we have?"

"Days. Maybe less." His jaw tightens. "They'll move fast once they decide on a strategy."

The fight drains out of me all at once, leaving behind exhaustion and the strange comfort of his proximity. I've spent two weeks raging against this situation, trying to find escape routes and legal loopholes. But there are none. This is my reality now.

I reach out and touch his arm, feeling the muscle tense under my fingers. He doesn't pull away, but he doesn't welcome the contact either.

"You're different tonight," I say. "More distant."

"Tonight reminded me what I do for a living." His voice is flat, professional. "What I am."

"And what are you?"

He looks at me with something close to pity. "A killer, Serena. A man who puts bullets in people's heads and sleeps soundly afterward."

I study his face in the moonlight, searching for the man who held me against the shower wall, who promised I wouldn't die, who kissed me with desperate hunger. "You're more than that."

"Am I?" His laugh is bitter. "Two hours ago, I killed two men in an alley. Clean shots, efficient execution. I burned their blood off my clothes and went back to watching you sleep."

The confession should terrify me. Instead, it confirms what I already suspected—that Lorenzo Santoro operates by different rules from the civilized world I used to inhabit.

Rules that might be the only thing keeping me alive.

Rules that, given the chance a month ago, I'd have used against him, and now I'm feeling grateful he lives by them.

"Did you kill them to protect me?"

"I killed them because they were going to kill us." He turns back to the city. "Everything I do now is about keeping you breathing long enough for Costa to decide your fate."

I climb onto the stone ledge beside him, bringing myself to his eye level. "Is that all this is to you? A job?"

"That's what it was supposed to be." His voice drops lower. "Extract information, then eliminate the target. Should've been clean and simple."

"But?"

"But nothing is simple anymore." He meets my eyes. "You were supposed to be dead weeks ago."

I reach up and trace the scar down his cheek, feeling him go very still under my touch. "Why am I not?"

"Because you're Emilio Costa's daughter."

"That's not why." I lean closer, close enough to see the conflict in his hazel eyes. "That's the excuse you tell yourself, but it's not the reason."

Lorenzo's hand covers mine, pressing my palm against his scarred cheek. "What do you want me to say, Serena? That I couldn't pull the trigger because you reminded me of something human? That watching you fight for your life made me remember what it felt like to care about someone?"

"Is that the truth?"

"The truth is you were a job until I fucked you that night after having drinks." The words come out rough but honest. "Then it got complicated."

Heat flushes through me at the memory, at the way he's looking at me now. "Complicated how?"

"You know how." His thumb brushes across my cheekbone. "Don't make me say it."

I shift closer, sliding my arms around his waist. His hands find my hips automatically, steadying me. "If I'm not a job anymore, what am I?"

"I don't know." The admission seems to cost him. "To Costa, you're an asset. A tool he can use to legitimize his empire or leverage against his enemies. To the other families, you're a threat to be eliminated or a prize to be claimed."

"And to you?"

Lorenzo's grip on my waist tightens. "To me, you're a complication I can't afford and can't eliminate."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only answer I have." His voice is strained. "I've never had to define what someone means to me beyond their use as a target or an ally. I don't have vocabulary for whatever this is."

I understand that admission in a way that surprises me. My entire adult life has been built around the law, around clear definitions and documented precedents. There's no legal framework for what exists between us, no case law to guide me through the ethics of falling for my captor.

"Maybe we don't need definitions," I say. "Maybe we just need honesty."

"Honesty?" He tilts his head. "You want me to be honest about what I think when I watch you sleep? About what I imagine doing to anyone who tries to take you from me?"

The possessiveness in his voice should alarm me. Instead, it sends heat spiraling through my core, especially when his grip grows firmer. "Yes."

"I think about killing them." His hands slide up my ribs in a possessive motion. "All of them. Every family, every rival, every threat. I think about ending this the only way I know how—with bullets and blood and bodies in shallow graves."

"And then what?"

"Then I remember you wouldn't forgive me for that. You'd see the monster instead of the man." His forehead touches mine. "So I try to think of another way."

The confession breaks something open in my chest. This dangerous, violent man is restraining his nature because of how I might react. Because my opinion of him carries weight he can't quantify but can't ignore.

I kiss him softly, and he returns the gesture with such tenderness, I feel surprised. He tastes of coffee and cigarettes but his mouth is gentle against mine.

When we break apart, he keeps his eyes closed.

"Why?" he asks.

"Because you're the only ally I have in this game.

" I'm letting my hand show, but I feel like it's the right thing.

Something is changing between us. "My old life is gone—my career, my reputation, my safety—all of it compromised.

If I'm going to survive what Costa has planned for me, I need someone on my side. "

"And you think that's me?"

"I know it is." I run my fingers through his hair, feeling him lean into the touch. "You could've handed me over to him the moment you learned who I was. You could've let those men find me and kill me instead of protecting your informant meeting. But you didn't."

"That doesn't make me trustworthy."

"No," I agree. "But it makes you mine."

Lorenzo's eyes search my face, looking for doubt or deception and finding neither, because I’m sure of myself.

"If I'm yours, then you're mine," he says slowly, "and I'm responsible for more than keeping you alive. For keeping you whole. That's not a job I can walk away from."

"I don’t want you to do that…" I trace the scar on his face and sigh.

"You should." His hands frame my face, thumbs tracing my cheekbones. "I'm not a good man, Serena. The things I'll do to protect you will horrify you."

"Then don't tell me about them." I lean into his touch. "Just do what you have to do."

He kisses me again, with the desperate edge of a man accepting a burden he can't carry but won't abandon. I lose myself in the taste of him, in the solid reality of his body against mine, in the promise of protection wrapped in violence and moral compromise.

When we finally break apart, the sky has begun to lighten in the east. Dawn is coming, and with it, new threats to navigate.

But for now, we have this moment on the rooftop, this fragile alliance built on honesty and desperate need. It's not love—neither of us is naive enough to call it that. But it's connection, and in the world we're about to enter, that might be enough.