The sun had set, painting the sky with streaks of crimson and violet as Elena and Goldie made their way home. The day's events still weighed heavily on Elena—the slap, the firing, and most of all, the intensity in Vincenzo's eyes when he nearly announced their relationship to the world.
Her heart was still unsteady when sleek black headlights swept across the dusty countryside road. A familiar car slowed beside them.
The window lowered, and Vincenzo's deep voice drifted out.
"Elena. Get in. I'll take you home."
Goldie's eyes widened, nudging her. "Go on," she whispered with a grin. "Don't make him wait."
Elena bit her lip nervously but obeyed. The door opened smoothly, and she slid into the leather seat, clutching her bag close.
The ride was quiet at first, filled with a tension neither could name. She kept sneaking glances at him—his sharp jawline, his grip on the steering wheel, the faint shadow of exhaustion under his eyes. Yet when their eyes met, he didn't look away.
When they reached her small apartment building, he parked and stepped out, following her to the entrance. "I need to be sure you're safe," he said simply, his tone brooking no argument.
She blushed faintly but nodded, unlocking the gate.
Just as she was about to turn the key into her door, a sudden sound made Vincenzo's instincts flare—footsteps on the roof, the faint scrape of movement above.
"Elena—!"
Before she could react, he lunged, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her sharply aside.
CRASH!
A heavy flower pot smashed onto the ground where she had been standing, shards scattering across the cement.
Elena gasped, clutching his suit jacket, eyes wide with terror. "Oh my God…"
But the world seemed to vanish in that moment, because in saving her, Vincenzo had pulled her so close their lips brushed—soft, unintentional, yet electrifying.
For a heartbeat, neither moved. His arms were still around her, hers clutching him as if he were her only anchor.
Then their lips pressed together fully, sealing into a kiss charged with everything unsaid—fear, relief, longing.
Elena's eyes fluttered shut, her heart racing, as warmth spread through her chest. His kiss was protective yet desperate, as though he couldn't bear the thought of losing her.
But just as quickly, she broke away, her cheeks burning. She stepped back, tucking a strand of hair nervously behind her ear.
"Th-thank you…" she stammered, avoiding his gaze. "For saving me. And for… everything."
Vincenzo's eyes lingered on her, dark and unreadable, his lips still curved with the memory of her taste. He wanted to say she was his, that he'd burn the world before letting anyone harm her. But her shyness, her trembling hands, stopped him.
He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "You don't need to thank me, Elena. Just… stay close to me from now on. Do you understand?"
She nodded quickly, unable to meet his gaze, her heart pounding so hard it hurt.
As he turned his eyes to the shattered pot, his expression hardened. Amara… He didn't need proof to know who was behind it.
But for now, he let it go, his attention softening again as he looked back at Elena.
"Go inside," he said gently. "Lock the door. I'll make sure nothing like this happens again."
Elena whispered a small "Goodnight" before slipping into her apartment, leaning against the door once it closed, her face flushed with heat.
On the other side, Vincenzo lingered in the shadows, his hands clenched into fists.
No one would touch her again.
Not Amara. Not anyone.
And as he walked back to his car, the thought echoed in his mind like a vow:
Elena Rossi will be mine. At any cost.
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