“Marco’s handling it personally,” Luca said. “Your sister will have protection until the debt is cleared. No one will touch her.”
“How much do I owe you?”
Luca’s expression went dangerously flat. “Emma.”
“I’m serious. I won’t let you—”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“It is now.”
Emma’s hands shook. “Why?”
Luca stood. Rounded the desk. Stopped close enough that Emma could see the exhaustion in his eyes.
“Because when Camille insulted you, I wanted to break her wrist.”
The confession hung between them like a live wire.
“That’s not a good reason,” Emma whispered.
“I know.”
“That’s not—”
“I know.”
Emma should have left. Should have walked away. Should have remembered that Luca Moretti was dangerous in ways that had nothing to do with guns or power or family legacy.
Instead, she stayed exactly where she was.
“Your grandmother thinks we’re real.”
“Yes.”
“She’s going to expect us to act like it.”
“Yes.”
“Dinners. Events. Family gatherings.”
“All of it.”
Emma’s pulse was a drumbeat in her throat. “And when it ends?”
Luca’s gaze dropped to her mouth, then back to her eyes.
“When what ends?”
The question was a trap and a promise and a dare.
Emma didn’t answer.
She left before she could do something reckless.
But as she walked back to her small room on the third floor, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d already done something far more dangerous than lying to Teresa Moretti.
