Bravery is a luxury.
That was the truth I learned that night.
In Luciano De Luca's world, courage didn't look like standing your ground or facing danger head-on. It didn't earn admiration or respect. It wasn't rewarded with freedom or trust.
Bravery was disobedience.
And disobedience was dangerous.
The night crept in quietly, disguising itself as peace.
The mansion was unusually calm after my confrontation with Luciano. Too calm. The kind of stillness that hummed beneath the skin, making every breath feel borrowed. I sat on the edge of my bed long after the lights were dimmed, my thoughts restless, my body tense as if it already knew what my mind was trying to deny.
Luciano hadn't come to see me.
That absence unsettled me more than his presence ever could.
When he was near, I understood the rules. His moods, his silences, his restrained violence-all of it had a rhythm I was learning to read. But when he withdrew like this, the mansion itself seemed to hold its breath.
Something was coming.
I could feel it.
The first sound was distant.
A dull thud. Metal against metal.
I froze.
The second sound was unmistakable-gunfire. Not close. Not yet. But close enough that the walls seemed to tremble in response.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I rushed to the door instinctively, pulling it open before the guards stationed outside could stop me.
"What's happening?" I demanded.
Their expressions were carefully blank, but their hands tightened on their weapons.
"Inside, Miss Michaelson," one of them said firmly. "Now."
"Luciano-" I started.
"He's handling it."
That was supposed to comfort me.
It didn't.
I retreated back into the room, my pulse roaring in my ears. The sounds grew louder now-orders barked sharply, boots pounding marble floors, the unmistakable chaos of men moving with purpose.
This wasn't a drill.
This wasn't a warning.
This was an attack.
I paced the room, every instinct screaming at me to do something. To move. To help. To not sit here like a fragile thing being shielded from reality.
Minutes stretched endlessly.
Then the door opened.
Luciano stepped inside.
He was calm.
Too calm.
Blood splattered one side of his crisp white shirt, vivid and unmistakable against the fabric. His jacket was gone, his sleeves rolled up, revealing inked forearms and clenched fists. His face was hard, expression locked into something lethal and controlled.
My breath hitched.
"You're hurt," I said.
He ignored that completely.
"Sit," he ordered.
"I'm not a child," I snapped. "What happened? Who-"
"Sit," he repeated, sharper now.
I did.
Not because I wanted to.
Because the room seemed to tilt under the weight of his authority, and I knew instinctively that this was not a moment to challenge him.
"They tested the perimeter," Luciano said, pacing slowly. "A small group. Reckless. Amateur."
"They came for me," I whispered.
His gaze snapped to mine.
"They came because they thought they could reach you," he corrected. "They were wrong."
"Did anyone-"
"They're dead."
The word fell flat. Final. Unapologetic.
I swallowed hard.
"And the man at the gallery?" I asked quietly. "Was this because of him?"
Luciano stopped pacing.
Slowly, deliberately, he turned toward me.
"This," he said, voice low and dangerous, "is why you are not allowed to be brave."
The words sliced deeper than any accusation.
"I didn't ask for this," I said, my voice trembling despite my effort to steady it. "I didn't ask to be hunted."
"No," he agreed. "But you stepped into a space where people hunt what they want."
"I won't live locked away forever," I said. "I won't survive if I do."
His jaw tightened.
"You survive because I decide you do."
The room felt smaller suddenly.
I stood, my legs shaky but my resolve stubborn.
"Then let me help," I said. "Let me know what's happening. Let me stand beside you instead of hiding behind locked doors."
His laughter was short. Bitter.
"Beside me?" he echoed. "Elena, men die standing beside me."
"I'm not afraid."
His eyes darkened.
"That," he said, stepping closer, "is exactly what terrifies me."
He reached out, gripping my chin firmly-not painfully, but possessively. His thumb brushed beneath my lip, his touch grounding and suffocating all at once.
"You think bravery will save you," he murmured. "It won't. It will get you killed."
"I won't be weak," I whispered.
"You don't get to choose that," he said quietly. "Not here."
The power went out without warning.
Darkness swallowed the room.
Shouts echoed from the hall.
Luciano reacted instantly, pulling me against his chest, his body shielding mine as he moved us toward the far wall.
"Stay behind me," he ordered.
Another gunshot rang out, closer this time.
I clutched his shirt, my heart racing-not just from fear, but from the terrifying realization that he was the only thing standing between me and death.
This wasn't romance.
This was survival.
The lights flickered back on moments later.
Luciano didn't release me.
His arms were iron around my body, his breathing steady but heavy. I could feel the tension coiled inside him, the violence barely restrained beneath his skin.
"They didn't breach," one of the guards reported from the doorway. "Perimeter secured."
Luciano nodded once.
"Double the guards," he said. "No one approaches her without my permission."
Her.
Not my name.
That was worse.
After everyone left, he finally loosened his grip.
I stepped back slowly, my hands trembling.
"You're afraid," I said softly.
He didn't deny it.
"Yes," he admitted. "Because you don't understand the rules yet."
"Then teach me," I said.
He shook his head.
"No," he replied. "I teach you by keeping you alive."
His gaze softened just enough to be dangerous.
"You are not allowed to be brave," he said again, quieter now. "Because bravery makes you visible. And visibility is a death sentence."
Later, alone again, I lay awake in the dark, replaying the night over and over.
I had wanted to stand strong.
To prove I wasn't fragile.
Instead, I learned something far worse.
Luciano didn't cage me because he underestimated me.
He did it because the world would destroy me the moment I tried to fight it alone.
And the most terrifying truth of all?
When he held me during the chaos, I hadn't wanted him to let go.
Not because I was weak.
But because for the first time, I understood what his obsession really was.
Not control.
Protection sharpened into possession.
And in his world-
Bravery wasn't heroism.
It was suicide.