By sunrise, the storm had passed, but the tension inside the cabin hadn't.
Luciano sat up straighter on the couch, watching the sun bleed through the wooden slats of the window blinds. His side throbbed beneath the fresh bandages Grace had silently applied, but he didn't wince. Pain, to him, was familiar—almost comforting. A reminder that he was still alive.
Grace moved quietly in the kitchen. She hadn't said a word since waking up. No "good morning," no sarcastic remarks, no threats of kicking him out. Just the soft clink of mugs and the smell of bitter coffee.
He hated the silence. It gave him too much space to think.
And thinking led to weakness.
"You're brooding," Grace said suddenly, her voice slicing the quiet like a scalpel.
Luciano arched a brow. "I don't brood."
"You absolutely do. You've been sitting there for the past fifteen minutes like you're plotting someone's death."
He tilted his head. "I usually am."
She turned, coffee in hand, and leaned against the counter. "You're lucky I've dealt with trauma patients before. Otherwise, I'd think you were actually joking."
"I don't joke."
"No, but I do." Her eyes narrowed. "Want to hear one?"
Luciano smirked. Just a little. "Do I have a choice?"
"Nope." She sipped her coffee. "Here's the joke: I let a gunshot mafia man sleep in my living room because I thought he needed help. Punchline? Now I have a target on my back and a stranger in my house who won't tell me the truth."
He stared at her. "You're not funny."
"You're not grateful."
Silence.
Grace put the mug down and crossed the room slowly. She knelt in front of him, eyes serious now.
"I meant it when I said we need rules. But let's get one thing straight, Luciano—or whoever you are—I'm not some wide-eyed girl playing nurse for thrills. You step out of line, I'll call the cops. Or worse."
His smirk faded. "Worse?"
She leaned in slightly. "I'll walk away. And leave you here to bleed out the next time someone comes knocking."
Their faces were inches apart now. His eyes darkened.
"You think that scares me?"
"No. But I think deep down, you don't want to die. And you sure as hell don't want to be alone when your world finally catches up to you."
He leaned back, lips curling into something sharp. "You're a lot colder than you look, Grace."
"And you're a lot more human than you pretend to be."
They stared at each other, neither flinching, until finally, Luciano nodded once.
"Fine. You want rules? Let's start with this one—you don't ask questions you're not ready to hear the answers to."
Grace stood slowly. "Then answer this one."
He arched a brow.
"Who's Dante?"
He froze.
Every muscle in his body locked tight, and for a heartbeat, the air felt like it had turned to ice.
Grace didn't press.
"I'll wait," she said softly. "But not forever."
She turned and walked away.
Luciano didn't say a word, but inside, a storm began to build again. Because Dante wasn't just someone from his past.
Dante was the reason blood was on his hands.
The reason he no longer believed in family.
The reason Grace would never be safe.
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