Chapter 6 - The Lion’s Den
“I can’t go to the Met Gala.”
The words tumbled out of my mouth before my brain could process the sheer absurdity of what he had just suggested.
“Emma, it isn't an invitation,” Luca said quietly, though his tone was devoid of anger. “It’s a strategic necessity.”
“I am a nanny!” I hissed, keeping my voice down so as not to disturb Sofia, who shifted slightly against my ribs, muttering in her sleep before settling back down. “I have one pair of black slacks, two sweaters from Target, and a broken hand wrapped in fiberglass! I do not belong in a ballroom with senators, oil barons, and the woman who broke my bones!”
Luca watched me calmly, his arms crossed over his chest. The henley he wore stretched tight across his shoulders, making him look less like a corporate CEO and more like a warrior taking a brief respite between battles.
“Isabella relies on your silence,” Luca explained, his voice low, steady, and compelling. “Her entire defense rests on the assumption that you are an invisible, disposable servant who will take a cash payout and disappear into the night. She has already briefed the society tabloids that you were fired for theft, and that I fabricated the domestic assault to break our engagement without paying the termination penalty.”
Blood rushed to my ears. “She told people I’m a thief?”
“She did.” Luca’s eyes flashed with lethal amber sparks. “And tomorrow night, Victor plans to take the podium during the charity auction to announce a formal boycott of Moretti Logistics. If you are not there—if you are hidden away like a dirty secret—people will believe them. They will think I am hiding you because I have something to be ashamed of.”
He took a step closer, resting one knee on the edge of the mattress, leaning in until the scent of cedar and dark bourbon surrounded me once more.
“I want you there, Emma. In couture. By my side. Wearing the splint she forced onto your arm. I want five hundred of the most powerful people in this country to look at your hand, look at Isabella, and realize exactly what kind of monster Victor Rossi raised.”
“They’ll tear me apart,” I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. “Society women like Isabella... they know how to destroy someone without ever raising their voice. I won’t survive an hour in that room.”
“You won’t be alone,” Luca said. He reached down, and his warm, rough thumb traced the line of my jaw, tipping my chin upward so I had no choice but to meet his piercing gaze. “You will be with me. And there is not a single person in that building who has the courage to cross me to your face.”
The sheer conviction in his voice washed over me, intoxicating and terrifying all at once. For my entire life, I had been disposable. When my parents died in a car accident during my sophomore year of college, there had been no safety net. No one to step between me and the cold machinery of landlord eviction notices, bank repossessions, and predatory loans. I had learned to make myself small, quiet, and unnoticeable just to survive.
Now, this dangerous, powerful man was telling me to stand tall in the brightest spotlight in New York, and that he would be my shield.
“Why are you risking your empire for this?” I asked, searching his eyes for the truth. “You could settle with Victor. You could pay him off. Taking me there will turn this into a bloodbath.”
Luca’s thumb stroked the soft skin beneath my lower lip, a dangerously intimate gesture that made my breath catch in my throat.
“Because for three years, I’ve played by their rules,” he whispered. “I smiled at their parties, tolerated their greed, and let an empty, vicious woman into my home because I thought it was the price of keeping Sofia’s legacy intact. But seeing you on your knees on that floor yesterday... seeing that bruise on your wrist...”
His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping beneath the stubble.
“It reminded me of who I used to be before I wore tailored suits, Emma. I don't negotiate with predators. I destroy them.”
He pulled his hand back, leaving a burning trail of heat on my skin.
“Tomorrow at noon, a team from Bergdorf Goodman will arrive at the estate,” he said, stepping back toward the door, slipping back into his role of undisputed master of the house. “They will fit you for a gown that accommodates the splint. Sofia will stay here under heavy guard with Mrs. Gable and six armed men. At seven o’clock, my town car leaves for Manhattan.”
He paused at the door, his silhouette framed by the dim hallway light.
May you like
“Get some sleep, Emma. Tomorrow, we go to war.”
***
