13. Luca

THIRTEEN

Luca

The cold hits me as I step out of the back door, the crisp mountain air nipping at my skin, but it's the last thing on my mind. I pull a cigarette from my pocket, lighting it with a quick flick of my zippo lighter. The flame glows briefly before I take a drag, the smoke filling my lungs and slowing the chaos in my head.

What the hell just happened in there?

A few minutes ago, we were laughing, teasing each other over burnt bacon and weak coffee. I even went out to get her favorite cappuccino because, hell, I wanted to make her happy. And I return and she's done a one-eighty, acting like I did something wrong. It didn't last long, her retreat from the same bratty, immature behavior she greeted me when she landed in this town.

I take another drag, my jaw clenching as the smoke billows out into the cold air. Maybe I'm overthinking it. This is just who she is, always running, always pushing buttons .

But as I stand here, watching the snow-covered landscape, something shifts. This is where she was taken. This lodge, this place—it's not just a quiet, snowy retreat. It's the place where she was ripped out of safety and dragged into danger.

That thought pulls me out of my anger.

It makes sense she is going through some shit. A lot has happened in the last day or so.

I flick the cigarette to the ground, grinding it out under my boot. Maybe she's got something going on in her head that I can't figure out. But I can't pretend like this doesn't affect her. Everything she's been through… it's got to weigh on her, no matter how tough she tries to act.

I've been so caught up in the heat of the moment, in the way she looks at me, the way she makes me feel, that I let myself forget what my real job is here. Whatever is going on with her, it serves as a reminder that I crossed a line and I need to pump the brakes.

I exhale, the tension in my chest easing just a little.

No. I can't go back in there. Not now. Not after this.

I turn and head back into the lodge, my footsteps quiet as I make my way down the hall toward her suite. I glance at the door, the same one I just stormed out of in a haze of frustration, and I sit down, my back pressed against the wall just outside.

I still have a job to do. Just because Marco's dead doesn't mean my responsibility is over. Fiamma's still under my watch. And as much as I want to take off and do my own thing, I can't. What I also can't do is go back in that room. I know I can't let my guard down with her again .

Not like that.

So I'll sit here, and I'll do what I'm supposed to do. Protect her. Keep her safe. That bullshit of playing house with her is over. It's time to get back to reality.

I lean my head back against the wall, closing myself off for just a second. The hallway is quiet, and despite the chill that seeps through the air, I keep my body alert.

The soft click of the door behind me pulls me out of my thoughts. I glance up just as Fiamma steps out of the suite, clearly not expecting to see me sitting there. Her expression widens in surprise, and for a moment, she just stares at me.

"I thought you left," she says, crossing her arms over her chest. "Why are you sitting on the floor out here?"

"I didn't leave. I went out for a smoke." My voice is steady, though her presence rattles me. "I'm sitting here because this is my job, remember? I don't get the luxury to leave on a whim."

Her expression stiffens, and I can see the spark of anger flare up inside of her. "Is that all I am to you? A fucking job?"

I push myself to my feet, frustration creeping in. "That's not what I meant, and you know it. Stop acting like a child."

Her face flushes with anger, and she takes a step closer, her eyes blazing. "And you stop treating me like one."

We stand there, tension buzzing in the air between us. This is what we've been doing since I got back from Frost, circling around each other, never quite saying what we need to say. And now, it's all coming to a head .

"You want to know what this is?" I ask, my voice low but firm. "It's about keeping you safe. That's my job. That's what I'm here for. Period. Full stop."

Fiamma shakes her head, her frustration clear. "I hate you."

I clench my jaw, fighting the urge to shout back. "Super mature, Fiamma. I don't care if you hate me. In fact, if you do, then I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing, which is saving you from yourself. I'm not here to be your friend."

She stares at me, her chest rising and falling with the force of her emotions. But instead of responding, she just turns on her heel and starts walking down the hallway, her footsteps quick and sharp against the floor.

I exhale sharply, running a hand through my hair. "Where are you going?"

She doesn't answer.

Damn it.

I follow her down the hall, my steps falling into pace with hers. I don't care where she's going or how mad she is—I'm not letting her out of my sight.

Not again.

Fiamma storms ahead, her boots crunching against the packed snow, her breaths coming fast and harsh in the cold air. She doesn't look back, but I'm right behind her, my footsteps a steady beat on the icy path. I know she's pissed—hell, I'm pissed, too—but that doesn't mean I'm letting her out of my sight. Not for a second .

The town is abuzz, people obviously excited about the holiday. The snow is still falling in light flurries, but the tension between us feels like it's choking out all of the happiness around us.

She's walking fast, her head down, probably too determined to clear her mind to care about where she's headed. I keep my distance, knowing she needs space, not wanting to be too close to her myself. But I'm not going anywhere.

Her pace quickens, and I can tell she's fuming. She doesn't see the patch of black ice just ahead, doesn't notice the slick sheen of danger until it's too late. Her boot hits the ice, and her body slips out from under her like someone yanked the ground away.

She crashes down hard, a gasp escaping her as she hits the ground, her legs sliding awkwardly beneath her.

"Fiamma!" I'm at her side in an instant, the argument forgotten as I kneel down beside her. She's clutching her ankle, her face contorted in pain, but the stubbornness is still there, trying to push through. "Are you okay?"

She glares at me, pushing my hands away. "I'm fine. I don't need your help. Just leave me alone."

I ignore her and gently touch her leg, checking for any signs of serious injury. She winces, and I know she's hurt, no matter what she says. "You're not fine. You could have broken something."

She tries to stand, but her ankle buckles, and she stumbles back down. I catch her before she hits the ground again, steadying her in my arms. "Stop being stubborn. Let me help. "

"I'm not your problem," she mutters, clearly embarrassed by the fall, by needing my help. But there's a flicker of something else in her eyes—fear, vulnerability, maybe even a little gratitude, though she'd never admit it.

Without another word, I scoop her up in my arms, cradling her against my chest. Her body stiffens, but she doesn't fight me, not this time. The cold bites at us, but the warmth of her against me is undeniable, and I can feel the tension between us shift.

As I carry her back toward the lodge, neither of us says a word. The snow falls softly around us, the world seeming to pause, leaving just the two of us. She leans her head against my shoulder, and for a moment, I feel her relax into me, even if just for a second.

I carry Fiamma into the suite, careful as I set her down on the sofa. She's light in my arms, but there's a weight to this moment—a heaviness that lingers between us.

Quickly I turn toward the fireplace, flipping the switch to light it. The flames crackle to life, and it instantly reminds me of the last time I did this, after she was kidnapped, when all I wanted was to make sure she was okay.

Now, I'm doing the same thing. Trying to protect her, even when she's pushing me away.

"Do you need anything?" I ask, glancing back at her, trying to soften my response to her. I should be more empathetic with her instead of letting her trigger me.

She shakes her head, her lips tight. "No. I'm fine. "

Her voice is cold, and I feel the tension hanging between us. Something's off, but I can't figure out what it is. I take a breath, trying to keep my cool, but she's not making it easy.

She looks up at me, and there's a sharpness in her eyes. "Just leave me alone, Luca. Go smoke a cigarette or sit in the hall. Or better yet, call your girlfriend."

That catches me off guard. "What are you talking about? I don't have a girlfriend."

Her eyes roll, and I feel my patience start to wear thin. "Whatever. Just leave."

I step closer, my arms crossing over my chest. I'm not leaving this alone, not when there's clearly some major misunderstanding. "No. Not until you tell me what you're talking about. You went from hot to cold in a matter of minutes, and now you're throwing out this girlfriend thing. What's going on?"

She's silent for a beat, and I can see her trying to keep it all bottled up, but something cracks. She huffs and finally spits it out. "I saw the receipt."

I frown, trying to figure out what she's talking about. "What receipt? What are you talking about, Fia?"

"The one for the necklace," she snaps. "The expensive one you bought here. You don't have to hide it, Luca. I know. You don't owe me anything, but you might want to think about her, whoever she is."

It takes me a second to process what she's saying. Then it hits me—the receipt in my pocket. The one for the necklace I picked up for my mom. I let out a laugh, completely taken aback by the accusation .

She glares at me, her cheeks flushed with anger. "Why are you laughing? You think it's funny to play with someone's emotions? God, you're just like all the men I know."

I shake my head, the smile still on my face as I sit down on the edge of the coffee table in front of her. "The necklace… it's for my mother."

She blinks, confusion flashing across her face. "What? Nice try. You're quick, I'll give you that."

"It's for my parent's sixtieth wedding anniversary," I explain, pulling out my phone. "My dad asked me to pick it up for her while we're here. He couldn't find one in Vegas he liked, so he asked me to look around here. I was here for two days before you got here, so I had a lot more free time on my hands."

I scroll through my messages and hand her the phone. "Here, look."

She stares at the screen, her eyes scanning the text thread between me and my dad. There are pictures of different necklaces, the back-and-forth about which one to choose, and finally, the one I bought.

She hands the phone back, her face unreadable, but I can see the embarrassment creeping in. I wait for her to say something, but she just sits there, staring at the fire.

I stand up, moving behind the sofa. "You're not going to apologize for snooping and jumping to conclusions?"

She doesn't respond, doesn't even look at me.

I lean over the back of the couch and wrap my arms around her, pulling her close. "I'm not leaving until you apologize. "

"Let go," she mutters, but there's no real fight in her voice.

"Nope," I say, holding her tighter. "Not until you apologize. I walked up hill both ways in the snow to get you coffee only to come to this. I deserve an apology."

I feel her shift in my arms, and then I start tickling her, running my fingers along her sides. She squirms, trying to get away, but I keep going until I hear her laugh.

"Stop!" she gasps, trying to push me off. "Okay, okay!"

"Not until you say you're sorry," I tease, keeping up the tickling.

"Fine!" she laughs, out of breath. "You win. I feel dumb."

I stop, my arms still around her as I lean in. "You're not dumb. You just need to trust me."

She finally relaxes, nodding slightly. "Okay. You're right."

"And…?" I say, giving her one last squeeze before I let her go.

"And, I'm sorry."