Page 35 of The Assassin’s Captive (The Roma Syndicate #5)

LORENZO

T he blood pools darkly against the floor in the entrance, thick enough to reflect light from the chandelier above.

I keep one hand on Serena's shoulder as she sits in the high-backed chair, her breathing finally steady after the chaos.

The office door locks behind us while outside, sirens wail closer, but the sound doesn't reach us here—not through these walls, not with Emilio's men already moving.

"Don't move from this spot." I check the deadbolt twice before turning back to her. "I need to see how bad this got."

She nods without looking up. Her hands rest flat against her thighs, fingers spread wide as if she's trying to ground herself to the chair.

The black slacks she wore tonight have a tear near the hem of one leg where she scraped against the doorframe when I pulled her inside.

Blood—not hers—dots the fabric across her shoulder where she brushed against me.

I crack the door and peer into the hallway.

Three of Emilio's soldiers move past, their footsteps muffled by expensive carpet.

One carries a mop and bucket. Another hauls what looks like surveillance equipment in a canvas bag.

They don't even glance in my direction, too busy following protocol to worry about who's watching them.

The main floor of the club stretches beyond the hallway, and I can hear voices—Emilio's people work fast when they need to, and this afternoon they needed to work faster than ever.

A shooting at Il Cerchio could bring unwanted attention from every direction—prosecutors, journalists, rival families.

The kind of attention that gets people buried.

I close the door and turn back to Serena. She's staring at her hands now, flexing her fingers like she's testing whether they still work.

I don't tell her that Emilio's men caught one of the attackers three blocks away. She doesn't need to know what happened in that alley. "They won't be coming back," I reassure her, but she doesn't look up.

The room falls quiet except for the distant hum of voices through the walls. Serena runs a hand through her hair, disturbing the careful arrangement she pinned up earlier. Dark strands fall loose around her face, softening the sharp angles of her cheekbones.

"This was about me?" she asks softly, and I hear the fear in her tone.

"Yes."

"The Bianchi family?"

"Most likely." I push off from the door and move to the window. Through the heavy curtains, I can see flashing lights in the distance. Police getting close. "They've been watching you for weeks. Today was their move."

She's quiet for a long moment. When she speaks again, her voice carries an edge of anger. It's good. That'll help motivate her where her fear keeps her stuck.

"How long before they try again?"

"They won't." I turn from the window to face her. "Not after tonight."

"You sound certain."

"I am."

She studies my face, searching for something I won't give her. Doubt, maybe. Fear. She won't find either. I've been doing this too long to second-guess myself now. The Bianchi family made their play and failed. In this world, failed attempts don't get second chances.

A knock at the door interrupts the conversation. Three short raps, then two long ones. Emilio's signal.

I open the door to find him standing in the hallway, his white shirt still immaculate despite the chaos that erupted less than half an hour ago.

Not a wrinkle, not a stain. His gray hair is combed back perfectly, and his expression carries the same calm authority it always does.

Behind him, the hallway is empty now. His men have finished their work.

"Lorenzo." He steps into the room without waiting for an invitation. His eyes find Serena immediately, taking in her disheveled appearance, the torn clothes, the way she holds herself in the chair. "Are you hurt?"

She shakes her head. "No."

"Good." He moves to the desk at the far end of the room and settles into the leather chair behind it.

Emilio runs his fingers along the edge as he speaks.

"The immediate situation is contained. Surveillance footage has been corrupted.

Staff members have been reminded of their discretion.

The press will report a gas leak that required evacuation. "

I remain standing by the door. "And the bodies?"

"What bodies?" Emilio's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "There was a minor explosion in the kitchen. Unfortunate, but these old buildings have such outdated gas lines."

Serena shifts in her chair. "The police?—"

"Will find exactly what they expect to find." Emilio leans back, steepling his fingers. "A mechanical failure, quickly contained. No casualties. The club will reopen next week after repairs."

The efficiency of it shouldn't surprise me anymore, but it does. Emilio has been cleaning up messes for thirty years. He could orchestrate a cover-up in his sleep.

"We need to discuss your situation," Emilio continues, his attention focused entirely on Serena now. "This attack changes everything."

She straightens in the chair. "How?"

"Your identity is no longer a secret we can protect through hiding.

" He stands and moves to the window I'd been watching from earlier.

The police lights are gone now, leaving only the usual glow of Rome's streetlamps.

"Every family in the city knows you exist. They know what you mean to me.

Hiding you accomplishes nothing except making you an easier target. "

"So what are you suggesting?"

Emilio turns from the window. "That we stop hiding."

I can see Serena processing the implications, her legal mind working through possibilities and consequences. She's quick—quicker than most people Emilio deals with. But she's also stubborn, and stubborn people make mistakes when they're cornered.

"I won't be a puppet," she says.

"I'm not asking you to be." Emilio returns to his chair, settling back with the ease of absolute confidence. "I'm offering you power."

"Power?"

"A position. Official recognition. Resources.

" He counts off each point on his fingers.

"The Costa family needs legal representation.

Real representation, not the bought prosecutors and compromised judges we've relied on for years.

We need someone brilliant, someone clean, someone who can navigate the system because she understands it from the inside. "

Serena's eyes narrow. "You want me to be your lawyer."

"I want you to be our lawyer. The family's legal defense strategist. Publicly aligned, fully resourced, operating with my complete backing." Emilio leans forward slightly. "No more hiding in small apartments. No more working alone. No more pretending you're not who you are."

"And if I refuse?"

The question comes out quietly, but it fills the room. I find myself holding my breath, waiting for Emilio's response. I've seen him handle defiance before. It doesn't usually end well.

But when he speaks, his voice carries something I rarely hear from him. Affection, maybe. Or respect.

"Then you refuse. But you won't survive alone out there." He gestures, and she shudders.

"Is that a threat?"

"It's reality." Emilio spreads his hands wide.

"Tonight proved that hiding you is impossible.

Every family in Rome will come for you now, some to use you against me, others to eliminate a threat they can't control.

You have two choices—accept my protection and the responsibilities that come with it, or face them alone. "

She looks at me then, searching my face for something I'm not sure I can give her. Reassurance, maybe. Or confirmation that she has other options. But we both know she doesn't.

"What responsibilities?" she asks, turning back to Emilio.

"Legal counsel. Strategy. Defense of family interests through legitimate channels." He pauses. "And complete loyalty."

"To you."

"To the family."

The distinction is important, though I doubt Serena catches it.

Emilio is the family, but the family is bigger than Emilio.

It's history, tradition, a way of life that existed before him and will exist after he's gone.

Loyalty to the family means loyalty to something larger than any one person's ambitions.

Serena is quiet for a long time. When she finally speaks, her voice is steady.

"And Lorenzo?"

Emilio glances at me, then back at her. "Lorenzo will be your primary protection. Bodyguard, enforcer, whatever the situation requires." His eyes find mine across the room. "She becomes your sole priority. You protect her with your life, because she might just be the one who saves yours someday."

The words hit me hard. I've been protecting Serena for weeks now, but always with the understanding that it was temporary. A job with a defined end point. His appointing me to this task shifts the boundaries of what is happening between us.

"Understood," I say.

Serena turns in her chair to look at me. "And you're okay with that?"

Her question catches me off guard. No one asks me if I'm okay with orders. Orders are orders. You follow them or you face the consequences. But there's something in her voice—concern, maybe—that makes me consider the question seriously.

Am I okay with it? With making her my sole focus, my primary responsibility? With tying my life to hers in a way that goes beyond professional obligation?

"Yes," I tell her. And I mean it.

She nods slowly, then turns back to Emilio. "I have conditions."

His eyebrows rise slightly. "Go on."

"You don’t touch my parents. Not even a threat."

"Agreed," he says, nodding.

"I choose my own cases. If the family needs legal help, I'll provide it. But I won't suppress evidence or obstruct justice for anyone."

Emilio considers this. "Within reason."

"No. Without exception." Her voice hardens. "I won't compromise my ethics, even for you."

The room goes quiet. I can hear my own heartbeat in the moment that stretches between them. Emilio could end this conversation right now. He could have her removed, disappeared, forgotten. Instead, he smiles.

"You have backbone. I respect that." He stands and extends his hand across the desk. "Welcome to the family, Serena."

She looks at his outstretched hand for a long moment before reaching out to shake it. Her grip is firm, her eyes steady. When she releases his hand, something has changed in the room. The dynamic, the balance of power, the way forward.

"There will be a formal announcement next week," Emilio continues. "Press conference, interviews, the full presentation. By then, you'll have new living arrangements—secure, appropriate for your position. Lorenzo will coordinate the transition."

I nod and ask, "When do we move her?"

"Tonight. The apartment near the Forum is compromised now." He looks at Serena. "Pack what you need. Everything else will be replaced."

She opens her mouth to protest, then seems to think better of it. Smart woman.

"Lorenzo will show you out, Serena." Emilio moves toward the door, then pauses. "One more thing… From now on, you don't go anywhere without protection. Lorenzo or one of his men, always. No exceptions, no arguments."

"Understood."

He nods and leaves, closing the door behind him. The room feels different without his presence—smaller, quieter.

Serena slumps back in her chair, the careful composure she maintained throughout the conversation finally cracking. She runs both hands through her hair, destroying what's left of the careful arrangement.

"This is really happening," she says.

"It is."

"My life as I knew it is over."

I move away from the door and take the chair across from her. "Your life as you knew it was never going to last. Too many people knew the truth. Tonight just forced the issue."

She looks at me with those dark eyes that seem to see more than they should. "And you? How do you feel about being stuck with me permanently?"

The question is casual, but I can hear the uncertainty underneath it. She's asking if I resent the assignment, if I see her as a burden I've been saddled with against my will.

"I've had worse assignments," I tell her.

She laughs, and the sound surprises me. It's the first time I've heard her laugh since the shooting, maybe the first time all night.

"High praise from someone like you."

"Someone like me?"

"A professional killer who probably considers babysitting duty beneath his skill set."

She's not wrong. A month ago, I would've considered this assignment exactly that—babysitting duty for someone too important to kill but too dangerous to leave unprotected.

But that was before I got to know her. Before I saw how she handles pressure, how she refuses to break even when everything around her is falling apart.

"You're not babysitting duty," I tell her.

"No?"

"No. You're…" I pause, searching for the right words. "You're the most dangerous person I've ever been assigned to protect."

Her eyebrows rise. "Dangerous how?"

"You make people want to be better than they are."

The admission comes out before I can stop it, and I immediately regret the words. Too honest. Too revealing. But Serena doesn't laugh or dismiss what I've said. Instead, she leans forward slightly, studying my face.

"Is that what I do to you?"

I could deflect it, change the subject, retreat behind the professional distance I've maintained for most of my adult life. Instead, I find myself answering truthfully.

"Yes."

She nods slowly, as if she's processing something complex. "Good."

"Good?"

"Because you make me want to be braver than I am."

Serena Barone is one of the bravest people I've ever met. She's faced down killers, challenged crime bosses, and refused to surrender her principles even when surrender would have been easier. The idea that she needs to be braver seems impossible.

"You're already brave."

"No," she says. "I'm careful. I'm controlled. I minimize risk and plan for every contingency. That's not the same thing as brave."

"What's the difference?"

"Brave people take chances on things they're afraid of." She meets my eyes. "Even when they don't know how it will end."

We're talking about more than courage now, more than professional obligations or family loyalty. We're talking about the thing that's been building between us for weeks—the connection neither of us has acknowledged, the pull that gets stronger every time we're in the same room.