The inside of the Range Rover was a tomb on wheels. The world outside blurred into streaks of light and color, but inside, the air was thick, still, and charged with a thousand unsaid things. The scent of his cologne, the expensive leather, and her own fear created a cloying, intimate perfume.
Sophia pressed herself against the cool window, as far from Alessandro Morano as the spacious back seat would allow. Her entire body trembled, a fine, uncontrollable vibration that felt like it would shake her apart. She stared at him, her eyes wide, her breath still coming in shallow gasps.
He wasn't looking at her. His gaze was fixed out the window, his profile sharp and unreadable in the intermittent light. One hand rested on his knee, the fingers curled slightly, as if they'd recently been holding a weapon. The other was braced against the armrest, his body tense and coiled even in repose. He was a man perpetually ready for war.
"Where are you taking me?" she finally managed to ask, her voice a thin, reedy whisper.
His head turned slowly. Those dark eyes, which had seemed so cold in the market, now looked… tired. The predatory alertness was fading, leaving behind a profound, weary intensity. "Somewhere safe,"he said, his voice low. "Somewhere they won't look for you."
"I was safe!" The words burst out of her, fueled by a surge of adrenaline and anger. "I was at the market! With my people! You dragged me out of there like… like a caveman!"
A muscle ticked in his jaw. "Your people?" he repeated, a hint of dark amusement in his tone. "The ones who scattered like frightened birds when I walked in? The ones who stood and watched while I pulled you away and did nothing? Those people?"
The truth of it was a slap. No one had intervened. No one had even asked if she was okay. They had all seen his power, his intent, and they had bowed to it. They had chosen not to see her fear.
"They were scared of you," she shot back, her voice gaining strength from her fury.
"As they should be," he stated, as if it were a simple fact of nature, like gravity or the sun rising. "Fear is the only language some people understand. It keeps order."
"It's monstrous."
"It is necessary." His gaze swept over her, taking in her trembling hands, her flushed cheeks. "Your world operates on kindness and trust. It is a beautiful world. A fragile one. It shatters the moment real danger appears. My world operates on power and fear. It is an ugly world, but it is durable. And it is the only world that can protect something as fragile as yours."
The speech was delivered not with pride, but with a cold, resigned certainty. He believed every word.
"I don't want your protection," she lied, the words tasting hollow. The memory of the kicking boot was too fresh. "It's your protection that's putting me in danger!"
"The danger was already there!" he snapped, his composure cracking for the first time. A flash of raw emotion—frustration, anger—lit his eyes. "I did not create the Volkovs. I did not make them ambitious and stupid. I am simply the wall standing between their ambition and everything they want to destroy. And now, whether you like it or not, that includes you."
The car fell silent again. Sophia looked away, swallowing hard. He was right, and she hated him for it. The danger was inherent to who he was. By declaring his interest, he had simply painted a target on her back. The only choices he was offering her were to stand behind him or stand in the line of fire.
"The rose," she said suddenly, changing the subject, needing to regain some footing. "Why did you send it?"
He was quiet for a moment, watching her. The anger seemed to drain out of him, replaced by that unnerving, focused curiosity. "You know why,"he said quietly.
"I want you to say it."
He held her gaze, and the air between them grew thick and heavy. "It was an apology. For the door. For the fear." He paused, his eyes dropping to her lips for a fraction of a second before meeting her eyes again. "And it was a promise. That the thorns are only for my enemies."
Her heart stuttered. The directness of it, the raw, unfiltered intention, was more disarming than any poetic ambiguity could have been. He wasn't a man who spoke in hints. He stated his desires as facts.
"I am not one of your possessions," she whispered, the protest sounding weak even to her own ears.
"Aren't you?" He didn't move, but he seemed to get closer, his presence filling the entire car. "You are in my car. You are under my protection. Your safety is now my responsibility. Your fear is my concern. Your breath…" He watched the rapid rise and fall of her chest. "…is something I am acutely aware of. That sounds like possession to me, Sophia."
She had no answer. The logic was circular and inescapable. He had woven a cage around her out of duty, danger, and a terrifying, unwanted attraction.
"What happens now?" she asked, her defiance finally crumbling into exhaustion.
"Now," he said, his voice softening almost imperceptibly, "I take you to a safe house. You will stay there until I am certain the immediate threat is neutralized."
"Neutralized?" The euphemism was chilling.
"Handled," he clarified, his tone leaving no doubt that 'handled' was a permanent and violent solution.
"And then?" she pressed. "I just go back to my shop? Pretend this never happened?"
A slow, dark smile touched his lips. It wasn't a kind smile. It was a promise. "No, mia fioraia," he murmured. "You don't just go back. We have moved past pretenses."
The car began to slow down, turning into the discreet underground garage of a sleek, anonymous high-rise. Their conversation was over. The brief, pressurized intimacy of the car was about to be broken, but the words that had been spoken within it hung in the air, irrevocable.
He had drawn his line. She was on his side of it. There was no going back to her simple world of flowers and fragile trust.
The car stopped. Leo got out to open her door.
Alex turned to her, his expression once again the unreadable mask of the Don. "Welcome to my world, Sophia."