8

Vincenzo's POV

“Calm down.”

Raella’s panic was expected, but it wasn’t helpful. There was no time to indulge it.

I glanced over at Lorenzo, who stood by the mess we’d just made. “I need you to—”

“I’ll handle this.” Lorenzo’s nod indicated Raella. “Take her out of here.”

It was one of the reasons we worked so well together—an unspoken rhythm, a shared understanding. As he crouched to move the lifeless body from where it had collapsed, I turned back to Raella. She was pressed against the stainless steel counter in the dingy kitchen, her complexion drained of color.

“Come with me,” I said firmly, stepping closer.

She flinched as I reached for her, shrinking against the cold metal behind her. Her knees buckled slightly, and she seemed ready to collapse.

I grabbed her just above her elbows, steadying her before she could hit the ground. “Raella, focus.”

Her gaze darted around me, landing on Lorenzo as he worked. She was spiraling, losing herself in the shock of what she’d just witnessed.

“Look at me.” I cupped her chin and tilted her face toward mine, forcing her wide, green eyes to meet my own. “Raella.”

It wasn’t just her name—it was something that felt more real, more her than any alias she might have used before. The name carried a melody, soft and sharp all at once.

Her lashes fluttered as my words reached her, grounding her just enough to speak. “You—you killed him.”

“And he was trying to kill us,” I replied, my tone calm and measured. “It was either him or us. I made the better choice.”

Her face twisted as she processed that. “You shot him. In the head.”

“Yes. It was quick, which is more than he deserved. The people who sent him wouldn’t have been as kind.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, then slammed a fist against my chest. “Who the hell are you?”

A smirk tugged at my lips. “Funny, I was just about to ask you the same thing.”

Her cheeks flushed, the pale green of her panic giving way to color. “You killed a man at my job, Vincenzo! What is this—what the hell is going on?”

When she raised her hand to hit me again, I intercepted it mid-air, pinning her wrist above her head against the oven. Leaning in, I brought us face-to-face. “You need to stop.”

Her breath hitched, the warmth of it brushing against my skin. “You think you can do whatever you want and no one will push back?”

“I haven’t hurt you,” I said, my voice low. “And I won’t. But don’t mistake my restraint for weakness.”

Her eyes searched mine, and whatever she found there made her body lose its tension. She stopped resisting, her weight settling against me in reluctant surrender.

“Good,” I murmured, releasing her wrist. “Now, come on.”

This time, she didn’t argue. I led her out of the kitchen and into the dining room, where broken glass crunched beneath our shoes. Shards littered the booth I guided her toward, and I swept them off before she slid into the seat.

Raella dropped her face into her hands. “This is officially the worst day of my life.”

I leaned back across from her, keeping my tone light. “First time being shot at?”

She peered at me through her fingers, glaring. “I want to leave. I don’t want to be a part of…whatever this is.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“Yes, I do,” she snapped, her voice lower as she leaned in. “The guy’s dead. It’s over.”

I leaned in, mirroring her intensity. “No. The one who hired him isn’t dead. They’ll send someone else.”

Her face paled again as realization sank in. She leaned back, shaking her head. “Why would anyone want me dead?”

“You tell me.” I flicked a piece of glass off the table, meeting her confused stare. “Who’d you piss off?”

Her lips parted, then closed again, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “You think this is because of you and me? Because we…we…”

“Had sex?” I offered bluntly.

She grimaced. “Because we slept together? Is someone mad because they think I’m…I don’t know, after you?”

Feigning offense, I placed a hand over my heart. “Harsh, Raella. That almost hurt.”

“Can you take this seriously?” she snapped.

“I’m serious,” I replied, smirking. “If I stopped joking every time I killed someone, I’d be a miserable man.”

Her glare intensified. “I thought you were some financial criminal—embezzlement, fraud, stuff like that. This is way out of my depth.”

“Well, now you know. And it’s too late to walk away.”

She pushed up from the booth, intent on leaving despite my warning.

I planted my foot on the seat, blocking her path. “Sit down.”

“And if I don’t?” she shot back. “What, are you going to chain me up?”

Her words sparked an idea. A terrible, reckless idea.

I leaned back, crossing my arms. “Actually, no. You’ll be the chain.”

She frowned. “What does that even mean?”

“It means,” I said, my tone steady and final, “you and I are getting married.”