12. Fiamma

TWELVE

Fiamma

The soft chirping of a bird pulls me from sleep, and I blink against the pale light filtering through the window. A red bird sits perched on the branch just outside, its bright feathers standing out against the snowy backdrop. For a moment, everything feels so still, like the world outside has paused, letting me appreciate the beautiful scene Mother Nature painted over the night.

I shift slightly, careful not to wake Luca, who's sleeping beside me. His face is relaxed, his breathing steady, and I can't help but marvel at how peaceful he looks. It's strange to think that just a few days ago, I was running from him, seeing him as the enemy, when he's anything but.

I almost laugh to myself, remembering how determined I was to escape from him that first night here. Now, here he is, lying next to me, the only person who's ever made me feel like I could trust someone completely. He's the opposite of an enemy—he's my protector, someone who has been able to touch a piece of me no man before him has .

I glance out the window, the snow-covered trees sparkling under the faint light of the morning as my friend flies away. Christmas is creeping closer by the hour, but it feels like it is a time of joy for other people. It's almost like something happening in a story I'm reading, but not experiencing directly.

Still, the holiday season is upon us, quietly present. The snow and stillness add to the sense of warmth and intimacy in the room.

Luca stirs beside me, but he doesn't wake. I take a moment to watch him, feeling something stir deep in my belly. It's a strange, warm feeling—something I haven't let myself feel before.

Love.

Is that what this is?

I've always felt like I was under someone's thumb. Elio, my brother, God bless him, always thinks he knows what's best for me. Massimo is the same, and before him, my father, who died far too young in a tragic accident.

I was only nine at the time. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, I've never had any shortage of strong male figures ready to step in and do what they thought was necessary to protect me.

Maybe that's why all the men in my life feel like they have to be a father figure to me, because my father was so domineering and then gone in the snap of a finger. Most young girls who lose their fathers look for a replacement. I've always wished I didn't have so many.

I think it's why I've always rebelled, why I've always done things my own way, no matter the consequences, and tested the limits of the boundaries set for me. I have always felt smothered, controlled.

But with Luca… it's different. Being with him doesn't feel like he's treating me like an unruly child. It feels like I can finally let go. Relax. Lean into him. It's almost as if we could forge a path together, a contrast to me always feeling like I have to push against something.

I can't believe I'm feeling this way, especially after everything that's happened. Being kidnapped, working together with him to take down Marco… It's all brought us closer in a way I didn't expect. I never thought I'd find myself here, lying next to this man, feeling something so real, so intense in such a short time.

I watch him sleep, his chest rising and falling with each breath, and I wonder… Is there a future for us? Can there be, in the world we live in? Or is that just a fantasy, something I shouldn't even let myself hope for?

Then my stomach growls, breaking the silence, and I can't help but grin. Or maybe it's because I didn't eat dinner last night.

Typical.

I let out a soft laugh, careful not to disturb Luca, and lean back against the pillows. Things are getting heavy, sure, but humor has always been my way of keeping it together. Right now, I need that lightness—something to keep me from overthinking what all of this means.

Christmas is coming, the snow outside looks like a scene from Miracle on 34th Street , and I'm lying here beside the man who just helped me take down one of the most dangerous people I've ever met. A man who told me to my face that he would use me as a pawn and then kill me when I was no longer useful. If that's not a strange twist in my life, I don't know what is.

I glance over at Luca again, my chest tightening in a way that's both exciting and terrifying. Maybe this is what love feels like, or maybe I'm just finally letting myself admit that I want something more than merely surviving.

I want this—him. Whatever it is we're becoming, I want to see where it leads.

But first, I really want breakfast.

The sizzle of eggs and bacon fills the air as I move around the kitchen, taking comfort in the simple act of cooking. After everything that's happened, it feels grounding, normal, almost.

I crack another egg into the pan, the smell of breakfast mixing with the faint scent of pine from the balsam fir in the living room.

Suddenly, I hear footsteps behind me, and before I can turn around, Luca's deep voice cuts through the quiet.

"Your cooking drew me out of bed," he says, his voice low and teasing. "Smells amazing."

I glance over my shoulder, and there he is, standing in the doorway, shirtless, his broad shoulders filling the space. His body is a canvas of ink, tattoos sprawled across his strong chest and arms, each one telling a story I want to know more about. My gaze lingers on his abs, the sharp lines of muscle rippling down to his waist, and I feel my heart skip a beat.

God, he's handsome. Too handsome for his own good.

"Thanks," I manage, my voice coming out softer than I intended. "I'm just making a little something for breakfast. A girl's gotta eat."

Luca walks further into the kitchen, his presence commanding, even though he's casual. His tall frame seems to take up the entire room, and I can't help but feel a flutter of something deep inside—something that's been growing stronger since we first got thrown into this chaos together.

"What are you making?" he asks, leaning against the counter, watching me as I move around.

"Just eggs, bacon, and some toast," I say, turning back to the stove. "Pretty basic, but the kitchen's stocked. The Lucianas know how to do holidays right. Whoever put this together really knew how to make sure we didn't go hungry."

Luca smirks, his mesmerizing green eyes twinkling with amusement. "Yeah, well, I think you're underselling yourself. It smells a hell of a lot better than just ‘basic"

I laugh, flipping the bacon. "Breakfast will be ready soon."

Before I can say anything else, Luca walks up behind me, his hand lightly brushing against the small of my back. I can feel the heat of him, his body so close to mine, and the air between us shifts, thickening with something unspoken.

He leans down, his breath warm against my ear as he whispers, "You know, I think you're my appetizer. "

I laugh softly, my heart racing as I glance up at him. "Is that right? I don't think people order appetizers with breakfast."

He turns me around to face him. His eyes meet mine, and there's a playful gleam in them, something I want to explore.

The aroma of food is still in the air, but it's quickly being replaced by the scent of our desire. Luca's hands are on my waist, his touch sending shivers down my spine. He lifts me effortlessly onto the kitchen counter, the cold marble against my skin a stark contrast to the heat radiating off his body.

"I'm dead serious. I want you now," he says.

I wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer, our lips crashing together in a frenzy of want and need. His hands tangle in my hair, holding me in place as his tongue explores my mouth, owning it, claiming it as his own. I can feel his erection pressing against me, straining against the fabric of his pants, and I can't help but grind against him, desperate for the friction.

His hands move down to my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh as he grinds against me, the rhythm matching the rapid beating of our hearts. I fumble with his belt, my fingers clumsy with urgency, and he helps me, freeing himself with a groan that vibrates against my lips.

In one swift motion, he enters me, filling me completely. The sensation is overwhelming, and I gasp, my nails raking down his back as he begins to move. He thrusts into me hard and fast, the sound of our bodies colliding. It's raw and animalistic, and I can't get enough .

I cling to him, my legs tightening around his waist as he drives into me, each stroke sending waves of pleasure coursing through my body. I can feel the edge approaching, my orgasm building with each powerful thrust.

"You're mine, Fiamma," Luca growls against my ear, his voice a possessive rumble that sends a thrill through me. "Say it."

"I'm yours," I gasp, the words torn from my throat as I explode around him, my body convulsing with the force of my climax.

He follows me over the edge, his body shuddering as he finds his release, his face buried in the crook of my neck. "Fiamma," he groans, the sound of my name on his lips pushing me into another wave of ecstasy.

As we both come down from the high, the shrill sound of the smoke alarm pierces the air. The bacon. I had completely forgotten about it. Luca pulls out of me, and I immediately miss the connection, the feeling of him inside me.

He grabs an oven mitt, his movements hurried but efficient as he tosses the burning pan into the sink and turns off the gas. I can't help but laugh, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins.

"Careful, Luca," I tease, hopping off the counter. "Wouldn't want you to burn your… important instrument."

He smirks at me, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that way that makes my heart skip a beat. "I'll be sure to keep it away from the heat," he replies with a hint of mischief. "At least, the kind in the kitchen. "

We share a look, a moment of understanding passing between us.

This thing between us—it's intense, it's unexpected, but it's undeniably real. And as we stand there, laughing amidst the smoke and the remnants of our passion, I realize that I wouldn't have it any other way.

The plates are empty, save for a few crumbs, and I lean back in my chair, patting my stomach with a satisfied sigh. "Well, I'm not half bad in the kitchen, huh? Except for the coffee. That was a bit weak."

Luca smirks, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, not bad, if you like burnt bacon."

I throw my napkin on the table and grab the nearest thing, one of the leftover biscuits, and lob it at him. "You're such a jerk."

He laughs, catching the biscuit with one hand. His boisterous laugh booms with amusement. "Hey, I'm just saying. It wasn't your best work. The bacon, I mean. Everything else was exceptional."

I shake my head, but I'm smiling. This lighthearted banter is something I didn't know I needed. "Well, if you're such a connoisseur, why don't you go get us some real coffee? You know I love my cappuccino."

Luca stands, stretching his arms above his head, and I almost melt at how effortlessly handsome he looks. "That's a good idea. I can't drink this mud water."

I narrow my gaze at him. "Is that directed at me? "

"No, I'll give you a pass on that one."

"Hmph," I cross my arms, but he just grins, leaning down to plant a quick kiss on my forehead.

"I'll be back in a few."

"Thanks," I say, my voice softening as I watch him head for the door.

Once he's gone, the suite is too quiet, and I want to busy myself. I glance at the pile of his clothes from the night before, bloodstained from the ambush. It's a mess, and I don't want the maid service getting curious about it. I figure I'll try to loosen that blood stain before it sets in.

I gather up his clothes and head to the bathroom, pulling them apart to toss in the wash. As I reach into his pants pocket, my fingers brush against something—small, crumpled. I pull it out, frowning as I unfold the slip of paper.

It's a receipt. For a necklace.

A women's necklace.

My chest tightens, and I stare at it, my mind spinning. Who's this for? It's dated the day I flew in. The price isn't cheap, and my heart drops a little further. Is this, whatever is happening, nothing but an affair. Is he just cheating with me on someone he has at home?

I try to shake off the feeling, but the doubt creeps in, sinking its claws deeper. I don't begrudge him, nor blame him, for having someone at home. But I do if he is being unfaithful with me.

Of course. Of course a man like him—this fucking hot, dangerous, alpha type—isn't going to settle down with just one woman. What was I thinking? I laugh bitterly to myself, feeling stupid for even letting myself believe that there could be something more between us.

He probably has someone waiting for him back home. Or worse—multiple women. And here I was, letting myself think this was some kind of Christmas love story.

I toss the receipt onto the counter, trying to ignore the sting of disappointment suffocating me. I finish loading the wash, the movement mechanical, but my mind is elsewhere—caught up in the hurt that's now simmering beneath the surface.

When I hear the door open, Luca walks in, all cheery, holding two cups of coffee. "I got your cappuccino. You're welcome."

I glance at him, but the smile I would have given him a few hours ago is nowhere to be found. Instead, I offer a curt nod, taking the coffee from his hand without saying much more than, "Thanks."

Luca's brows furrow slightly, sensing the shift in my mood. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I say, my tone sharper than I intend, not wanting to get into it. It's not my place. He doesn't owe me anything.

He raises an eyebrow, his voice dropping lower. "Fiamma, don't give me that. What's going on?"

I don't answer right away, my fingers tapping against the coffee cup as my mind races. I don't want to ask him outright. I don't want to care.

But I do .

"Nothing," I say again, this time more dismissive. "I'm just tired, I guess."

Luca stares at me for a long moment, and I can see the frustration building in his posture. He steps closer, but I pull back, keeping a little more distance between us.

"Seriously?" he mutters, his jaw clenching. "What the hell? When I left thirty minutes ago we were joking, you were smiling. Now you look like you have a stick up your ass."

I take a deep breath, avoiding his gaze. "Just leave it, okay? I'm not in the mood."

His expression hardens and the easygoing mood from earlier is now gone from his demeanor, too. He watches me for a second longer, then lets out a harsh breath. "Fine. If you want to keep acting like this, that's on you. I won't ask you again."

I don't say anything as he grabs his jacket, pulling it on with sharp, irritated movements. The tension between us is thick, and before I can even think of what to say, he's walking out the door, slamming it behind him.

The room feels colder now, emptier. And I'm left standing here, wondering how something that seemed so right less than an hour ago now feels like it's crumbling apart.