Safe For Now

Erin’s POV

The morning light felt too calm for what had happened last night.

When I opened my eyes, for a second, I thought it had all been a dream — the gunshot, the rain, the sound of Michele’s voice through the intercom. But then I saw the towel on the table, the small brown stain dried into it, and it all came back.

The house was quiet again, but not the same kind of quiet as before. It was a heavy silence, careful and tired, the kind that came after something no one wanted to talk about.

I sat up slowly and looked toward the window. The rain had stopped completely, leaving the garden slick and shining under the pale sun. Everything looked untouched, as if the night hadn’t happened at all. But I knew better.

Someone had died out there. Someone else had tried to come in.

And Michele had gone into it like it was just another part of his day.

I ran a hand through my hair and exhaled. I hadn’t slept much. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw flashes — his face in the doorway, the bruise on his temple, the quiet weight in his voice when he said I was safe.

Safe.

The word used to sound simple. But from his mouth, it meant something different. It meant guarded, watched, surrounded by danger I couldn’t see.

I got up, washed my face, and changed into a clean shirt. The cold water didn’t help much. My reflection still looked tired.

When I opened the door, the hallway was already awake. Two guards stood near the stairs, straight-backed, their eyes sharper than usual.

One of them nodded at me. “Morning.”

“Morning,” I said quietly.

The smell of coffee drifted from downstairs, mixed with the faint scent of cleaning polish. Someone had already scrubbed the floor near the entrance. I didn’t want to imagine what had been there before.

I walked to Luca’s room first. He was still asleep, curled up under the blanket, his hair messy. Seeing him like that made my chest loosen a little. I closed the door softly and headed down.

In the dining room, breakfast was already set. Fresh fruit, bread, eggs. Michele sat at the head of the table again, reading something from a folder. His suit jacket was draped over the chair beside him, his sleeves rolled up.

He looked like he hadn’t slept either.

“Good morning,” I said carefully.

He lifted his eyes. “Morning.”

His voice was calm, but softer than usual. “Sit.”

I took the seat across from him. The food looked untouched, steam still rising from the coffee pot.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” I said. “A little tired.”

He nodded once, eyes returning briefly to the papers in front of him. “You did well last night.”

I hesitated. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You followed instructions,” he said. “That’s more than most people do when they’re afraid.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

His tone wasn’t cold, but there was something behind it — something that made my heart beat faster. It wasn’t the words. It was the way he said them, low and steady, like he was telling me something else he couldn’t say directly.

He reached for his coffee, and for a moment I caught sight of the bandage under his shirt. It was small, but the sight of it made me stop breathing for a second.

“You should rest,” I said quietly. “You’re still bleeding.”

He looked up at me, eyes unreadable. “I’ve had worse.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

His lips curved slightly, almost a smile, but not quite. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”

I looked down at my plate. “I used to take care of my younger brother. He was always hurting himself. Climbing trees, falling off fences. I got used to patching him up.”

“Where is he now?”

I hesitated. “Not here.”

Michele didn’t ask again. He just nodded, and for some reason that quiet understanding felt heavier than any question could have.

The silence stretched between us again. I picked at the bread on my plate, trying not to stare at him, but failing anyway. There was something about the way he sat — calm, centered, in control of everything around him — that made it hard to look away.

He wasn’t the kind of man I was used to being around. Everything about him felt deliberate. Every move, every word. Even when he did nothing, the air seemed to shift around him.

And maybe that was why it scared me that I didn’t hate it.

I should have been angry, confused, maybe even afraid. But instead, I felt this strange pull that I didn’t understand. Like a part of me wanted to keep watching him, to see if there was something underneath all that control.

I took a sip of coffee to distract myself, but it didn’t help.

After a while, he closed the folder and looked up. “I’ll need you and Luca to stay inside today. No garden, no stables. Until we finish checking the grounds.”

“Alright,” I said.

He stood, buttoning his shirt cuffs. “Enzo will update me when the forensic team arrives.”

“Team?”

He glanced at me. “To analyze what’s left of the tracker and the body. I want to know who sent them.”

The word “body” made my stomach twist.

He noticed. “You don’t need to worry about that part.”

“I’m not worried about that,” I said quietly. “I’m worried about you.”

The words came out before I could stop them.

He paused. His eyes met mine, steady and searching. “About me?”

I nodded, my face heating. “You keep saying you’ll handle everything. But you can’t handle everything alone.”

He stared at me for a moment longer, then said softly, “You sound like Luca.”

“Maybe he’s right too.”

Something flickered in his eyes, something I couldn’t name. Then he said, “Go check on him. Breakfast won’t wait forever.”

That was the end of the conversation. But as I stood and turned toward the door, I could feel his gaze on me.

It stayed even after I left the room.

Luca woke up a little later, cheerful as always, unaware of everything that had happened. I helped him dress, listened to him talk about his dreams, and tried to match his smile.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about Michele.

Every sound from downstairs made me wonder what he was doing, whether he had eaten anything, whether the wound had opened again.

It was stupid. He didn’t need me to worry about him. But I couldn’t help it.

By late morning, the house grew busy again. Men came and went through the side entrance — quiet, dressed in dark suits, their eyes sharp. Luca and I stayed in the living room, watching cartoons, though my attention was somewhere else entirely.

Then, around noon, one of the guards came in, his face tense. He leaned toward another and whispered something I couldn’t hear. The second man left immediately, heading toward Michele’s office.

Something was wrong again.

“Stay here,” I told Luca, standing.

He frowned. “Where are you going?”

“I’ll be back in a second.”

He nodded reluctantly and turned back to the TV.

I walked quietly down the hall, following the direction the guard had gone. The closer I got to Michele’s office, the more voices I could hear.

The door was half open.

“…found it near the fence again,” one of the guards was saying. “Smaller this time. Almost invisible.”

Michele’s voice came next, low but firm. “Bring it here.”

A pause. Then, “It’s clean, sir. No tracker signal active.”

“Good,” Michele said. “That means they’re testing us.”

Testing. The word made my pulse quicken.

I stayed hidden in the corner until the voices quieted. Then, when the door opened, I stepped back before they could see me.

When the men left, Michele stayed behind. I could see him through the small gap in the door. He was standing near the desk, one hand pressed against his side again, eyes closed like he was trying to think through pain.

I didn’t mean to go in, but I did.

He looked up when he heard the door.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said quietly.

“I heard them talking,” I said. “Another tracker?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s not over.”

“No.”

He leaned against the desk, breathing a little heavier than before. I took a step closer. “You need to rest.”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t protect anyone if you collapse.”

His eyes met mine again, sharp and steady, but softer around the edges. “Why do you care so much?”

The question hit harder than I expected.

“I don’t know,” I said honestly.

He studied me for a long moment, his gaze calm but deep enough to make me feel exposed. “You should.”

“I can’t explain it,” I said quietly. “It’s not what I want to feel.”

He didn’t move, but something in the air changed again.

I could hear my own heartbeat in the silence between us.

Then, without another word, he straightened and turned toward the door. “Go back to the boy,” he said.

I nodded, but my legs didn’t move right away. When I finally stepped out of the room, I could still feel his eyes on me, even though the door had closed behind me.