CHAPTER SEVEN
The Shape of Want
War did not arrive with noise.
It arrived with precision.
By morning, the estate had transformed. Guards doubled. Routes changed. Weapons checked and rechecked. Every man moved with purpose sharpened by fear. Rome was no longer a rumor. It was a direction.
Seraphina watched it all from the balcony of the west wing, arms folded tight against the cold. Fog drifted low over the grounds like breath held too long. Somewhere below, engines idled. Men murmured. Orders passed hand to hand.
She felt it in her bones.
They were coming for her.
Not to kill her.
To use her.
The door behind her opened.
You will freeze out here, Alessandro said.
She did not turn.
I am already cold.
He stepped beside her, close enough that his warmth bled into her space. He wore black. Always black now. The color clung to him like intent.
You should not stand where you can be seen.
I wanted to see first.
He followed her gaze. The gates. The road beyond.
Fear looks like preparation, she said quietly.
Fear looks like control, he replied.
She glanced at him. You are afraid.
A pause.
Yes.
The honesty startled her more than any lie could have.
Of losing the ledger.
He looked at her.
Of losing you.
The words landed harder than any threat.
She swallowed.
Do not say things like that if you do not mean them.
I never say what I do not mean.
She turned fully now.
Then why does it sound like goodbye.
Because it might be.
Silence wrapped around them.
She stepped closer.
Do you regret this.
He shook his head.
Do you.
She thought of fire. Of gunshots. Of blood on stone. Of his body over hers when death came looking.
No.
Good.
He reached out, then stopped himself.
We cannot afford distraction.
She laughed softly.
You kissed me last night.
That was not distraction.
What was it.
A mistake.
She raised an eyebrow.
You do not look like a man who regrets it.
His jaw tightened.
That is the problem.
She closed the distance herself.
I am not afraid of this, Alessandro.
You should be.
I am afraid of losing myself to it, she admitted. To you.
That made his breath hitch. Just slightly.
I will not pretend this is safe.
I am not asking for safe.
Her hand came up. Touched his chest. Felt the steady dangerous rhythm beneath.
I am asking for honest.
He covered her hand with his.
Then hear this.
His voice lowered.
I do not know when this stopped being strategy.
I do not know when you became necessary.
But if they take you from me, there will be nothing left worth ruling.
Her heart slammed hard against her ribs.
That was not obsession.
That was something worse.
Something like love dressed in violence.
She leaned in before she could think better of it.
The kiss was slower this time.
No collision. No desperation.
Just choice.
His hand slid to her waist. Drew her in. Not claiming. Asking. Her fingers curled into his shirt. Anchoring.
The world narrowed.
The taste of him was familiar now. Smoke. Heat. Control barely held together. She felt it unravel under her mouth.
She kissed him back harder.
His breath broke. A sound low in his chest that made something dangerous bloom inside her.
When he deepened the kiss, it was with restraint that hurt more than hunger. His thumb brushed her jaw. Her pulse. Like he was memorizing her.
She felt it then.
The shift.
Not fear. Not thrill.
Attachment.
It terrified her.
She pulled back abruptly.
We should stop.
He did not argue.
That scared her more.
Say it, she demanded.
Say what.
That this is a mistake.
His eyes searched hers.
I cannot.
Her chest tightened.
Then say you do not feel this.
I feel it.
She turned away, gripping the railing.
This is how people die in my world.
This is how people live in mine.
She laughed bitterly.
You think this ends well.
I think it ends honestly.
He stepped behind her. Close but not touching.
You are already in danger, Seraphina. Loving me does not increase the risk.
It increases the cost.
He was silent.
That was answer enough.
Later, she sat alone in her room, replaying the moment like a wound she refused to bandage. She pressed her fingers to her lips. Still felt him there.
This was not supposed to happen.
Love was leverage.
Love was weakness.
Love was what got her father killed.
A knock came.
She opened the door to Matteo.
We are moving you tonight, he said. Temporary location. Safer.
Where is Alessandro.
On his way.
She nodded once.
The car waited in the underground garage. Black. Unmarked. Engines low.
Alessandro helped her in himself.
They drove in silence.
She watched the city slide past, lights blurred by rain. Milan looked indifferent. As it always had.
Halfway through the drive, the car slowed.
Too suddenly.
Gunfire cracked the air.
The driver swore. Tires screeched.
Alessandro pulled her down just as glass shattered. Bullets punched metal. Shouts echoed.
Stay with me, he ordered.
She did.
She felt his hand tight in hers. Solid. Real.
They crashed through a barrier and sped forward.
Minutes later, silence returned.
Breath came back in pieces.
They did not speak until they reached the safe house.
Inside, walls thick and bare, Alessandro checked her for injuries with hands that shook only when he thought she was not watching.
I am fine, she said.
He pulled her into him without warning.
Held her like he had already lost her once.
Her face pressed to his chest. His heart thundered.
This is not strategy anymore, she whispered.
No.
This is not survival.
No.
She looked up at him.
Then what is it.
He cupped her face.
This is the part where I am no longer careful.
She kissed him again.
Harder. Deeper.
This time, she did not pull away.
This time, she let herself feel it.
The terrifying undeniable truth.
Somewhere between fire and blood and control, she had fallen for the devil who refused to let her burn alone.
And for the first time since her father died, Seraphina Moretti wanted something more than revenge.
She wanted him.
Even if it destroyed them both.