The engine hasn’t even cooled beneath us before I speak.

“Can you drop me in town?”

Ares’s brows draw low behind his shades. “Why?”

“I told Bianca I was going shopping. If I come back empty-handed, she’s going to know I lied.” I hop off the bike, brushing my fingers through my hair. “I don’t want to give her any more reason to get suspicious.”

His hands fist like I’ve just suggested setting myself on fire. “You’re not walking around town alone, Jordyn.”

“I’ll be fine,” I say, but it’s weak, and we both know it.

His head tilts. “You’re not fine.” He presses. “I’m not leaving you alone. Not when we don’t know what threat is lurking around the corner or who’s watching. I’ll call Dante, he can come with you.”

My stomach tightens. “Ares, I’m not going to be long. I just need to pick up a few things.”

He’s not convinced; I can see it. He exhales hard through his nose, and that damn muscle in his jaw starts ticking again. I can see the war inside him, the need to protect me battling with the part that knows he can’t cage me forever.

“Then I’m coming with you.”

I blink. “What?”

“You want to shop? Fine. But I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

I cross my arms. “You’re going to follow me around while I pick out underwear?”

His expression doesn’t change, but I swear something flickers in his eyes.

“You’re shopping for underwear?”

I smirk, just a little. “That’s the plan.”

A beat of silence stretches between us. Then he swings one leg back over the bike and gestures with his head. “Get on.”

I do, settling behind him, my arms wrapping around his waist as I lean in close.

“I’m thinking something lace ,” I whisper into his ear, just to mess with him. “Or maybe satin.”

His entire body tenses beneath me.

This is going to be fun.

The boutique is small, elegant, and tucked between a florist and a gelateria.

The kind of place with lace draped over satin hangers and soft jazz playing low through hidden speakers.

Ares shouldn’t belong here, not with his leather jacket and don’t-fuck-with-me energy, but he owns the space the second he walks in.

He doesn’t browse. Doesn’t pretend to look at anything else. Just leans against the back wall, arms crossed, shades hooked on the front of his shirt as his eyes track my every move like a predator watching prey.

I pluck a few things from the racks, a black lace set, a pale pink one, something red and daring, and disappear behind the velvet curtain of the fitting room. My heart’s pounding, but not from nerves...from the thrill.

I take my time with the first set, letting the silk slip over my skin, smoothing down the straps. Then, I pull the curtain back just enough to peek out.

He’s still there. Still watching.

My voice is a whisper. “Ares, I need a hand with the laces. Can you help me?”

He wipes his hands on his jeans, even though they weren’t dirty, but he pushes off the wall, crossing the boutique in two slow, deliberate steps. The curtain slides open further as I let him in.

I step back a couple of steps as his eyes rake over me, hungry and dark.

“What do you think?”

Ares doesn’t answer right away. His eyes drag up to mine, dark and ravenous.

“I think...” he murmurs, voice deep and lethal, “I want to rip that lace off with my teeth and fuck you against this mirror while everyone outside listens.” My breath catches as he steps in close, fingers ghosting over the lace at my waist.

“This one,” he says, eyes locked to mine. “You’re getting this one.”

“You haven’t even seen the others.”

“Don’t need to.”

His hand brushes the side of my thigh, dragging slow until his thumb hooks just beneath the band of the knickers.

“I’ll buy out the entire boutique if it means seeing you like this again.”

Heat pools low in my belly, and I part my lips when he leans into kiss me.

I barely register the footsteps outside the changing room until they pause near the changing room.

Ares hears it too.

His head tilts, eyes narrowing, not at me, but at the sound. A long silence follows, then the shuffle of retreating steps.

He waits another second before leaning in, brushing a kiss to the side of my mouth.

“Get dressed,” he murmurs. “We’re done here.”

“But—”

“I don’t like being watched.”

I blink. “You think someone was...”

“Not think.” His voice is clipped now, controlled. “I saw him.”

My skin chills, he brushes a knuckle down my cheek again, this time not in lust, but reassurance.

“Hey, you don’t need to be afraid, bambina,” he says. “Not with me.”

Ares doesn’t speak as we exit the shop, his hand tight around mine as if he’s expecting someone to rip me away at any moment.

His shoulders are drawn, tension coiled in every step like a fuse has been lit beneath his skin.

I can feel the shift in him, the shift from desire to something lethal. Protective.

The moment we step outside, he lets go of my hand, but keeps me close.

We cross the narrow street, sunlight fractured by the canopy of vines overhead, and I glance up at him.

His jaw is set like stone, eyes scanning every face that passes.

I’ve gotten to know that look. It’s the one he wears when he’s already catalogued threats and chosen where to strike first.

We weave through the narrow streets, the late afternoon sun casting golden light across the cobbled stones.

The scent of sea salt lingers in the air, mixing with the faint sweetness of citrus from a nearby fruit stand.

I keep close to Ares, our fingers occasionally brushing but never locking, not here. Not where someone might see.

He’s quiet. More quiet than usual.

His head turns slightly, eyes sweeping over the street behind us, then forward again. Controlled and focused.

I glance up at him. “What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer. Just angles his body slightly, slipping a protective arm around my waist and steering me toward the next corner. Not possessive, but tactical.

“Ares?” I press, my voice dipping low. “You’re scaring me.”

“That’s because you should be scared,” he mutters under his breath, his tone razor-sharp. “We’re being followed.”

A cold weight settles in my gut.

We round the corner into a quieter alleyway, the buildings tall and shadowed around us. He stops abruptly, grips my shoulders and looks me in the eye.

“Stay here. Don’t move. Don’t speak. You see anyone but me, you scream.”

I nod, my mouth suddenly dry.

And then he’s gone. A blur of black, slipping back around the corner like a ghost in daylight. My heart hammers in my chest. I lean against the stone wall and listen.

Low voices. A scuffle.

Then, I hear him. “Get the fuck against the wall.”

The sound of metal, a gun being cocked.

My pulse spikes. Oh my God.

I creep forward just enough to peer around the corner. Ares has a man pinned, his forearm pressed against the guy’s throat, a sleek black pistol pressed to the man’s eye socket.

“Talk,” Ares growls. “Now.”

“I, I was just?—”

“You think I don’t notice a shadow on my back?” His voice is lethal. “You think I won’t kill you right fucking here?”

“I’m not armed?—”

“That’s not the question.” He shoves harder, and the man gags. “Who sent you?”

The man chokes out a name. “il Don,”

Ares goes still. Dangerously still.

And then, just as fast, he lets the man go, but not before slamming him once, hard, against the wall.

“Listen to me and listen well,” Ares says.

“When you report back to my father, you tell him she was out shopping alone . If you breathe a fucking word to my father or Enzo about seeing me with her, I’ll deliver your heart to your family in a wine box, and I won’t just stop there.

I’ll wipe out your entire lineage. Do you understand me?

I’m sure you know of my repute and what I’m capable of. ”

The man nods, and stumbles off, disappearing into the crowd as Ares turns back toward me.

His expression is unreadable. His hands still flex with tension, his chest rising and falling with every ireful breath.

But when his eyes meet mine, some of that ice melts, just barely.

“You okay?” he asks, quieter now.

I nod, shaken. “You… you were going to kill him.”

“No,” Ares says, tucking the gun out of sight. “If I was going to kill him, I wouldn’t have let you watch.”

He doesn’t stop walking, doesn’t flinch, just says, “We’re leaving.”

“But—”

“Non discutere, Jordyn.” Don’t argue, Jordyn.

I don’t. Not when his voice sounds like that. Not when his grip tightens like he’s holding something far more fragile than my wrist, like he’s holding the thread of his own control.

When we reach the bike, he hands me the helmet and cups the back of my head, pressing his forehead to mine for just a second. Just long enough to whisper, “If I find out someone touched you with so much as a look, I’ll put them in the ground.”

Then he swings onto the bike. And I climb on behind him, arms wrapping around his waist, my heart hammering against his back.

Whoever it was, whoever had the nerve to put a tail on us, they don’t know what they've just done.

Because Ares Russo might lose his temper.

But he never loses twice.

The engine cuts out, and silence rushes in to fill the space between us.

We’re still. The sun hangs low now, casting long shadows across the estate, making the wrought iron gates behind us seem heavier, colder.

I climb off slowly, my legs slightly unsteady, not from the ride, but from everything that’s happened in the last few hours. I tug the helmet off and hand it to him, fingers brushing his as I do.

He doesn’t take it right away. Instead, his eyes hold mine, unreadable.

“Are you okay?” he asks finally, voice low, rough. “Really?”

I nod, then shrug, trying to smile. “Nothing a quiet night and ten hours of sleep won’t fix.” A pulse jumps in his cheek. He doesn’t believe me...he never does.

“You should get inside,” he murmurs, glancing toward the manor in the distance. “Before Bianca starts calling the cavalry.”

I sigh. “She already thinks I’m hiding something. That I’m with you.”

His lips curl faintly. “She’s not wrong.”

I shift toward the gate, but before I can take a step, his hand wraps around my wrist. Firm, unyielding.

“Jordyn,” he says, tugging me back gently. I face him.

“I’ll be over later,” he says, voice low. “To speak with my father.”

My stomach knots. “Is everything okay?”

“No,” he says, too easily. “But I’ll handle it.”

He leans down, brushing his lips against mine, slow and unhurried, like the weight of everything he won’t say is being poured into this kiss. My arms circle his neck, and I step into him, deepening the kiss. He moans, one hand gripping my waist, the other on the curve of my ass.

When he pulls back, he strokes my jaw with the pad of his thumb affectionately.

“If you see me inside, act like nothing’s different. No looks. No hesitation. You understand?”

I nod. “I mean it, bambina,” he says, eyes flicking over my face like he’s memorising it. “You look at me like you did in that boutique, and Luciano will know everything.”

I bite my lip and offer a sultry smile. “I’ll be normal.”

“You’ll be perfect,” he corrects, his voice barely a whisper. “Now go.”

And this time, when I turn to walk, he lets me go.

But I feel him watching me the entire way.

The manor is quiet when I step inside. Save for the staff moving around, dusting, polishing. There’s no sign of Bianca, no inquisition...well, not yet anyway. By the time I push open my bedroom door, my hands are shaking.

I don’t even bother with the lights. I just let the door fall shut behind me and drop the bags onto the floor. They land with a soft thud, lace and silk spilling out of tissue paper I no longer care about.

I make it three steps before my legs give a warning tremble.

Crumpling onto the edge of the bed, I suck in a breath and let it out in a ragged exhale. The room spins slightly. My throat burns.

God, I feel awful.

The nausea that’s been creeping up on me all day suddenly claws its way to the surface, violent and urgent.

I bolt for the bathroom.

Barely make it to the toilet before I’m on my knees, retching.

My stomach heaves again and again until there’s nothing left. Just the taste of bile and the echo of everything I’ve been trying to keep down, the fear, the adrenaline, the image of Ares with a gun in his hand and murder in his eyes.

When it’s over, I slump back against the wall, chest rising and falling too fast, my skin clammy.

I press my forehead to the cool tile, eyes squeezed shut.

It’s not just the pill. It’s everything.

The unbearable weight of the secrets. The lies. The look in Ares’s eyes when he realised someone had followed us. When he pressed that gun to the man’s throat and whispered a promise of death like it was nothing.

He’s dangerous. He’s terrifying. And yet… all I felt was safe. If anything, it made me want him more. And that’s the part that unsettles me.

I must’ve drifted off. It’s dark now, the room hushed, curtains breathing gently in the breeze from the cracked window. My mouth is dry. My head is pounding.

The nausea has faded, but the heaviness in my chest hasn’t.

I sit up slowly, limbs aching, and reach for the bottle of water on my nightstand. My phone lights up beside it.

Unknown number.

I stare at the screen. It rings again. And again.

I don’t move. Not until the fourth time. My thumb hesitates over the green button. Then I answer.

“…Hello?”

Silence. No breathing, no static, just silence.

“Hello?” still no answer.

I start to pull the phone away when a voice, smooth, male, and unhurried finally speaks.

“Presto.” Soon.

The line goes dead.

I sit frozen, the word echoing through the quiet like a curse.

Soon? What the hell does that mean?