The ride back from the warehouse was a blur. The Don's men drove, but I barely noticed them. All I could feel was the warmth of his hand covering mine, heavy, steady, as if anchoring me to the world. I wanted to pull away, but I couldn't.
Back at the mansion, he didn't let go until we were inside his private suite.
"Sit," he ordered softly, guiding me to the edge of the bed.
I shook my head. "I'm not broken."
His jaw tightened. "You were almost killed tonight. You don't get to pretend that means nothing."
"It does mean something," I whispered, hugging myself. "It means I'm still alive."
He crouched down in front of me, eye-level now, his eyes sharper than the dim lamplight above. "Alive because of me."
I flinched. "So what, I should thank you?"
"Not thank me," he said quietly. "Trust me."
My chest tightened. "That's the one thing I can't do."
"Why not?"
"Because trusting you means handing over my heart. And you'll crush it without even blinking."
