Chapter 6: The Boundary Line

“If you step one inch over that line tonight, Lorenzo, I will put a fork through your eye.”

I tossed a sharp metal butter knife onto the middle of the massive king-sized bed, its silver edge gleaming under the dim ambient lights of Lorenzo’s private master bedroom. I had spent the last twenty minutes taking heavy velvet accent pillows from the leather armchair and piling them into a thick, ridiculous wall directly down the center of the mattress.

Lorenzo stood by the mahogany dressing table, unbuttoning his black silk shirt with slow, agonizing deliberation. His broad, muscular chest came into view, marked by faint pale scars that spoke of a violence I couldn't even fathom. He didn't look angry, or even look mildly annoyed. He just looked at my pathetic pillow barricade, then up at my glaring face, a single dark eyebrow raised.

“A fork?” Lorenzo echoed softly, his deep voice carrying that slow, gravelly weight that made the hairs on my arms stand up. “You brought dinner cutlery to a gunfight, little lion.”

“It's about the principle,” I snapped, folding my arms tightly across my oversized gray sweater. I had stripped out of that suffocating green silk dress the second the bedroom door locked behind us, washing off the heavy makeup until my face was clean and my brown hair was tied back into a practical braid. “This is a contract marriage. Section four said I maintain public appearances. It didn't say I share a blanket with a mafia Don who threatens old men at dinner tables.”

Lorenzo tossed his unbuttoned shirt onto a chair, stepping toward the bed in just his black trousers. The sheer size of him in the dim light was terrifying—six feet three inches of pure, hardened muscle, carrying himself with the fluid grace of an apex predator.

“Section one states you reside in my private quarters,” he said, stopping right at the edge of the mattress. He reached out, his long fingers casually picking up the butter knife I had thrown. He balanced the blade on his thumb before flicking it onto the nightstand with a soft clink. “The estate is crawling with loyal guards, but it is also target number one for every rival family in the state. If my men see you sleeping in a guest room, they talk. If they talk, the Council smells blood. And if Isabella finds out we aren't sharing a bed, she sends hitmen to your father's bar.”

My breath caught in my throat. The mention of my father instantly drained the defensive heat from my chest, replacing it with that cold, heavy knot of reality.

“You use him like a leash,” I whispered, my hazel eyes flashing with pure hatred.

“I use reality to keep you alive,” Lorenzo corrected coldly, rounding the bed. He didn't push down my pillow wall. Instead, he pulled back the heavy duvet on his side and sat down on the edge, the mattress shifting under his weight. He leaned back against the headboard, resting his hands behind his head, his dark, storm-gray eyes locking onto mine in the shadows. “Take your side of the bed, Maya. I don't touch women who don't want to be touched. But do not test my patience with child's games.”

I stared at him for a long, tense minute. He looked completely unbothered, perfectly relaxed, while every muscle in my body was coiled like a spring. Realizing I wasn't going to get a separate room tonight, I swallowed my pride, climbed onto my side of the bed, and pulled the thick duvet up to my chin, keeping my back pressed firmly against the edge of the mattress, miles away from his pillow border.

“I hate you,” I muttered into the dark.

“I know,” Lorenzo replied smoothly from the other side of the wall. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow, your training begins.”

“Training for what?” I asked, turning my head slightly toward the shadow of his silhouette.

“Training on how to stay alive when someone tries to shoot you,” he said simply. “Because starting tomorrow, you are a De Luca. And De Lucas don't hide behind pillows.”

I didn't think I would sleep a single wink, but the sheer physical and mental exhaustion of the last twenty-four hours eventually dragged me under.

When I opened my eyes, the room was bathed in the faint, pale blue light of dawn. The air in the bedroom was freezing cold, the mountain draft seeping through the terrace doors.

I blinked, shifting slightly, only to realize I wasn't cold at all.

In fact, I was burning hot.

My heart slammed against my ribs as my senses slowly came online. The wall of velvet pillows had been utterly destroyed in the middle of the night, shoved off the foot of the bed. I wasn't on my side of the mattress anymore. I was pressed flush against Lorenzo’s rock-hard chest, my head resting directly over the heavy, steady thrum of his heart.

His massive arm was wrapped tightly around my waist, pinning me to him with an iron grip that left zero space between us. His heat was suffocating, his bare shoulder resting against my cheek, the scent of woodsmoke and male skin filling my lungs.

I froze, barely daring to breathe. Slowly, carefully, I placed my hands against his chest, fixing to push myself backward and slide out of his grip.

Before I could even apply pressure, Lorenzo's grip tightened instantly, dragging me an inch closer until my hips were pressed firmly against his.

His eyes were still closed, his breathing slow and heavy, but his dark, raspy morning voice echoed directly against my ear, sending a terrifying shiver straight down my spine.

“If you move, little lion... I won't be responsible for where my hands go next.”