Page 28 of The Assassin’s Captive (The Roma Syndicate #5)

LORENZO

I let Serena climb off my lap, her skin still flushed from our joining, eyes heavy with satisfaction and exhaustion.

She moves with careful grace, legs unsteady as she finds her balance.

The sight of her—rumpled and marked by my hands—sends a fresh wave of possession through me that I force myself to ignore.

"Lie in bed and wait for me," I tell her in a gruff voice.

She nods, too spent to question the command, and settles back onto the sheets she lay curled in earlier.

The curve of her spine catches the dim light filtering through the curtains, and I have to turn away before the temptation to rejoin her overwhelms my discipline.

The bathroom door closes behind me, sealing me away from her warmth.

The tiles feel cold beneath my bare feet as a sharp contrast to the heat we generated moments ago.

I relieve my bladder quickly, the mundane necessity grounding me in physical reality after the emotional storm that preceded our coupling.

The mirror above the sink reflects a man I barely recognize.

My hair stands at odd angles from where her fingers raked through it.

Scratches mark my shoulders—evidence of her nails digging deep when I brought her to the edge.

My lips look swollen from kissing her, and there's a darkness in my eyes that speaks of lines crossed, boundaries obliterated.

I turn on the faucet, cupping cold water in my palms to splash across my face.

The shock of it clears some of the haze from my thoughts, brings back the sharp focus I need for any threats that might crop up.

The soap smells sterile compared to the lingering scents of sex and Serena's perfume that cling to my skin.

I wash methodically—face, neck, chest, everywhere she touched me with reverent hands. The evidence of our union swirls down the drain, but the memory of her body beneath mine, her gasps against my ear, the way she arched when I?—

Focus .

I dry myself with the hotel's thick towel, rough terry cloth abrading skin still sensitive from her caresses.

My reflection looks more familiar now, the mask of control sliding back into place.

But something fundamental has shifted. The man who entered this bathroom was one person.

The one who stands here now is someone else entirely.

My phone sits on the counter where I left it hours ago, screen dark and silent.

Three missed calls from numbers I don't recognize, two text messages that can wait until morning.

But the call I need to make won't wait. Emilio expects regular updates, especially now that the situation has evolved beyond our original parameters.

I dial the number from memory, digits I've pressed countless times over the years. It rings once before his voice fills the small space.

"Lorenzo."

"Don Emilio." The formal address comes automatically, years of conditioning overriding the intimacy of the past few hours. "I have an update."

"Go ahead."

I lean against the counter, organizing my thoughts into the clinical report he expects. "The woman has agreed to cooperate. She understands her position and what's required of her."

"Elaborate."

The word carries weight, expectation. Emilio wants details, wants to understand exactly how I achieved compliance from someone who spent weeks resisting every attempt at persuasion.

How do I explain that she surrendered not to threats or violence, but to promises of protection?

That her cooperation comes with conditions that challenge everything he believes about power and control?

"She was reluctant at first," I begin, choosing each word carefully. "Concerned about what usefulness means in our world. I explained the alternatives—other families who would show less restraint in extracting information or ensuring loyalty."

"And?"

"She recognizes that association with the DPP makes her a target regardless of her choices. Every organization in Rome has reason to want her, either as an asset or eliminated as a threat. She's accepted that her safest option is cooperation."

"What kind of cooperation?"

The question I've been dreading. How do I tell him that her compliance comes with strings attached? That she's negotiated terms that give her power over me, that make me responsible for her wellbeing in ways that compromise my effectiveness?

"She'll provide legal counsel, insider knowledge of prosecutorial techniques, intelligence on ongoing investigations.

Her expertise makes her valuable for anticipating and countering law enforcement strategies.

" Serena said none of this, but leaving it up to Emilio's interpretation will put her at a disadvantage. Right now, I’m controlling the narrative and that's a good thing.

"Good. When can you bring her to me?"

My grip tightens on the phone. "There are complications."

Silence crackles on the line, loaded with disapproval. Emilio doesn't appreciate complications, especially not from men who are supposed to solve problems rather than create them.

"Explain."

"She's agreed to be useful, but only with certain assurances. She wants guarantees about her safety, her autonomy, the limits of what she'll be asked to do."

"She's in no position to make demands."

"She understands that. But she also understands her value. She's willing to cooperate, but she wants protection from the more… extreme aspects of our business."

Another pause, this one heavier than the last. I can practically hear him calculating odds, weighing benefits against potential complications.

Serena's cooperation could provide advantages he's never had access to—legitimate legal expertise, insider knowledge of law enforcement, the respectability her professional reputation brings.

But accepting her conditions means acknowledging she has agency, power to negotiate rather than simply submit.

"And you believe she'll honor these arrangements?"

"Yes." The certainty in my voice surprises me. A week ago, I would have trusted no one's word without leverage to ensure compliance. Now I stake my reputation on the promise of a woman who should be my enemy.

"Very well. But Lorenzo—she's your responsibility. Any problems she causes, any complications that arise from her presence, they fall on you. Do you understand?"

"Completely."

"Bring her to the estate tomorrow evening. I want to meet my daughter properly."

The line goes dead, leaving me alone with the implications of what I've just set in motion. I've convinced Emilio to accept Serena's terms, at least temporarily. But I've also bound myself to her in ways that make me vulnerable, that create weaknesses my enemies can exploit.

I set the phone aside and stare at my reflection again. The man in the mirror looks tired, worn down by considerations that never troubled him before. Caring about someone other than myself is exhausting, requires constant vigilance and calculation that goes beyond simple self-preservation.

I return to the bedroom, padding across carpet that muffles my footsteps. Serena lies where I left her, curled on her side with one hand tucked beneath her cheek. Her breathing has deepened into the rhythm of approaching sleep, but her eyes track my movement as I cross to the bed.

"Everything alright?" she asks, voice soft with drowsiness.

"Fine. Go to sleep."

I slide beneath the sheets, feeling the warmth she's generated in my absence. She shifts to accommodate me, molding her body against mine with unconscious trust that makes my chest tight. Her head finds its place on my shoulder, hair spilling across my skin in dark waves that catch the moonlight.

This is dangerous territory I'm navigating now.

The words I spoke to her earlier—three words that fundamentally altered the dynamic between us—echo through my thoughts with uncomfortable persistence.

I told her I love her, said it in the heat of passion, in the moment when barriers crumbled and truth spilled out uncensored.

Love makes men weak, makes them vulnerable to manipulation, to threats against the objects of their affection. It creates pressure points that enemies can exploit, leverage that can be used to force compliance or exact revenge. Every relationship becomes a weapon that can be turned against you.

But lying here with Serena's weight warm against my side, breathing in the scent of her hair, feeling the steady pulse of her heartbeat against my ribs—it feels right in ways I can't rationalize or dismiss.

For the first time in my adult life, I have something worth protecting beyond my own survival.

Someone whose wellbeing matters more than my own comfort or safety.

Men will use this against me. Against us both. They'll threaten her to control me, hurt her to punish me, exploit this connection to serve their own purposes. The vulnerability terrifies me more than any physical threat I've faced.

Yet I can't bring myself to regret the admission, can't wish back the words that changed everything between us.

Whatever dangers this creates, whatever complications arise from caring about her, I'll face them.

Because the alternative—returning to the empty existence I maintained before she entered my life—feels pointless.

I curl around her, pulling her closer against my chest, burying my face in her hair. She makes a soft sound of contentment, unconsciously pressing back against me. Her trust is absolute, her faith in my protection complete despite everything she knows about what I am, what I've done.

Sleep begins to claim me, pulling me down into darkness where dreams and reality blur together. In a few hours, we'll have to face Emilio, navigate the complexities of her new role in his organization, deal with the consequences of choices we've made in this hotel room.

But for now, we have this quiet space between one breath and the next. This moment of peace before the storm breaks over us both. I hold her tighter, memorizing the feel of her in my arms, the sound of her breathing, the way she fits against me as if she were made for this purpose.

Tonight, love is enough to protect us from the world we're about to re-enter.

It's a beautiful lie, and I embrace it completely.