Amara couldn't stop thinking about the dinner.
All night, she replayed Luca's words in her head — the way he had said, "I read everything" with that calm certainty, as if he saw right through her. There was something magnetic about him, something that made her want to understand the man behind the cold exterior.
But every time she thought about the softness in his eyes, she also remembered the darkness that followed when his phone rang. The change had been instant — one moment warm, the next… distant, dangerous.
The next morning, she arrived in the kitchen early, hoping to bury her thoughts in work.
Maria was already there, sorting vegetables. She glanced up, her face more serious than usual.
"Rough night?" she asked gently.
"Not exactly," Amara replied, tying her apron. "Just couldn't sleep."
Maria hesitated, then said, "I heard about your dinner with Mr. Moretti."
Amara froze mid-step. "You heard?"
"In this house, news travels fast," Maria said with a faint smile. "I just hope you understand that Mr. Moretti isn't… like other men."
"What do you mean?"
Maria looked as if she wanted to say more but didn't. "Just… be careful. That's all."
Before Amara could ask another question, Enzo entered, carrying a large box of fresh herbs. The conversation ended there, but the warning lingered in her mind like a shadow.
That evening, after dinner service, Amara stayed behind to clean up. Maria and Enzo had already retired for the night. The mansion was unusually quiet. Even the guards in the hallway seemed to have disappeared.
She hummed softly to herself as she wiped the counters, trying to stay focused. That's when she heard it — voices. Low and tense, coming from the hallway just beyond the kitchen.
She paused, listening.
One of the voices was unmistakably Luca's. The other sounded rough, unfamiliar — a man with a heavy accent.
"You said the shipment would arrive yesterday," the stranger said, his tone sharp.
"It was delayed," Luca replied, his voice colder than she'd ever heard it. "My men are handling it."
"This delay costs money, Moretti. You know how our partners react to losses."
"I'll take care of it," Luca said firmly. "You don't threaten me in my own home."
Amara's heart raced. Shipment? Partners? The tone of the conversation wasn't businesslike — it was dangerous.
There was a brief silence, then the sound of footsteps moving closer. Panicked, Amara ducked behind one of the tall storage shelves.
From her hiding spot, she could see part of the hallway through the glass reflection on the oven door. Luca stood there, his posture stiff, his expression unreadable. Across from him was a broad man in a leather jacket, flanked by two others.
"Be sure you do, Luca," the man said quietly. "Because if you don't… it won't just be your money at stake."
Luca didn't move, didn't blink. "You're in my house. Leave."
The men turned and walked out. When their footsteps faded, Luca exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand across his jaw. The mask he usually wore — that calm, controlled presence — slipped for just a moment. He looked… exhausted.
Amara didn't dare move until he was gone.
Later that night, she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Every instinct told her to mind her business. Whatever she had overheard wasn't meant for her ears.
And yet, she couldn't forget the way he'd stood there, unflinching but burdened, like a man fighting battles no one else could see.
The next morning, Luca appeared in the kitchen earlier than usual.
"Good morning," Amara greeted softly, forcing a smile.
He nodded but said nothing at first, just stood there watching her prepare coffee. His expression was unreadable again, the warmth from their dinner gone.
Then, finally, he spoke. "You didn't sleep well."
Her hands froze. "Excuse me?"
"Your eyes," he said simply. "They give you away."
She turned to face him. "Neither did you."
That caught him off guard — his brow arched slightly, as though he wasn't used to anyone speaking to him that way.
"Some nights are longer than others," he said.
Amara hesitated, then replied quietly, "If you ever need something to make the long nights easier… I know a recipe for that."
For a fleeting moment, something like a smile tugged at his lips. "You're too kind, Miss Cole. Just… be careful with kindness. In this house, it can be mistaken for weakness."
He turned and walked away before she could respond, leaving her standing there, heart thudding in her chest.
Maria entered a moment later, looking from Amara to the door Luca had just gone through.
"What did he say to you?" she asked.
"Nothing," Amara murmured. "And somehow… everything."
That evening, as the sun sank behind the hills, Amara stood by the kitchen window, staring at the distant lights from the mansion's guard posts.
She didn't know exactly what kind of world she'd stepped into — but one thing was clear. Luca Moretti's life was far more dangerous than she'd imagined.
And somehow, she was already too close to walk away.