Chapter 5– Freedom, with Conditions
The morning sun spilled across Venice like liquid gold, glinting off the canals and historic rooftops. For Emma, stepping out of the villa onto the cobblestone streets felt like tasting freedom for the first time in weeks.
But reality hit immediately.
Three men, impeccably dressed, hovered discreetly nearby, watching her every step. Not too close, but close enough to make her feel suffocated.
"Lorenzo, this is ridiculous," she muttered under her breath as they silently followed her down a narrow alley. "I'm not a child. I'm not fragile. I—"
"Careful," Lorenzo's voice came from the shadows behind her, smooth and controlled. "One wrong step, and they're there."
Emma rolled her eyes. One wrong step? The entire street seemed ready to bow down to him at the slightest threat.
By the time she reached a small café along the canal, she had counted at least half a dozen bodies subtly positioned—one at the door, one near the waiter, one across the street.
She pointed at the pastries, already tense. "I'll have a cappuccino and a croissant."
Within moments, a waiter approached nervously, and the street outside seemed to empty itself. Pedestrians scattered. Boats slowed as if waiting for her order. She raised an eyebrow. "Really? For one cappuccino?"
"Precaution," Lorenzo said, appearing beside her from nowhere, dark coat brushing the chair as if he had materialized from the shadows. "No one gets in your way."
Emma pressed her hands to her temples. "Or out of my way. If I so much as hit a stone on the street, the entire alley is probably tiled, isn't it?"
He didn't answer immediately, only lifted one dark eyebrow. "Better safe than sorry."
The day continued in absurd perfection. She went to a small boutique to look at scarves, and within ten seconds, the store emptied. The shopkeeper looked like he'd just survived a small earthquake.
Emma threw up her hands. "Seriously? I just wanted to look at a scarf! Did the entire shop need to be evacuated?"
Lorenzo's expression softened, though the protective intensity remained. "We cannot take chances. You are… too important. Too irreplaceable."
"Too important?" Emma shouted, a mix of frustration and humor spilling out. "I'm not made of porcelain! I'm not going to break if a pigeon lands on me!"
Lorenzo finally sighed, the faintest flicker of a smile tugging at his lips. "You underestimate the world."
"I underestimate the world?" she shot back. "I'm trying to live! I'm trying to eat, shop, breathe without feeling like the entire city needs to shut down because I sneeze!"
He leaned closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear, dark eyes glinting in the Venetian sun. "You frustrate me, Emma."
"I'm aware!" she snapped, finally letting herself vent. "And you frustrate me! Every time I try to do anything, it's like the world itself bends to your will just to keep me safe. I can't live like this, Lorenzo! I can't!"
He studied her for a long moment, then reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You can try to live," he said softly, "but I will never stop protecting you."
Emma groaned, leaning back, exasperated and laughing through her frustration. "I know! I know! But can you at least… make it feel like I'm allowed to live my life without… a small army shadowing me?"
Lorenzo smirked faintly, his hands still near her, protective yet intimate. "I'll try… but no promises."
Emma let out a long breath, shoulders sagging as she leaned against him. The absurdity of the situation collided with the warmth of his presence. She wanted to yell, to push him away, to tell him she could take care of herself—but part of her also wanted him exactly where he was: guarding her, watching over her, never letting her go.
And that… thought made her chest tighten.