LOGINNancy’s POV
“Watch over me,” I repeated slowly. “You mean… following me?” “Protecting you,” my father corrected. “Following me,” I said again. “Watching me. Stalking me.” My father didn’t argue. Didn’t deny it. My stomach turned. “For three weeks?” My voice rose again. “For three weeks this man has been following me and I didn’t know?” “That was the point,” Zade said. I snapped my head toward him. It was the first time he’d spoken directly to me since my father arrived. “You weren’t supposed to know,” he continued calmly. “I was meant to stay invisible unless there was a threat.” “And tonight?” I demanded. “Tonight there was a threat.” “So you killed them.” “Yes.” Just one word. Yes. Like it meant nothing. Like three lives were nothing. I turned back to my father, my chest tight. “I already have bodyguards. Roberto. Marco. Tony. The others. Why do I need another one? Why do I need him?” I pointed at Zade. “Because Roberto and the others failed,” my father said, his voice turning cold. “They let you walk out of that gallery alone. They lost track of you for fifteen minutes.” He stepped closer. “Fifteen minutes, Nancy. That’s all it took for the Russos to make their move.” “I told you I didn’t want Roberto to drive me home!” I shouted. “I wanted to walk to my car by myself! That’s not his fault!” “It is his fault for losing you.” The sharpness in my father’s voice made me take a step back. “So what?” I said. “You’re replacing all of them? With him?” I gestured at Zade, who still hadn’t moved. Still covered in blood. Still empty-faced. “No,” my father said. My heart started pounding. “I’m sending you away.” I froze. “Somewhere safe,” he continued. “Somewhere the Russos can’t find you. And Zade will be the only security you need.” The world tilted. My heart stopped. "What do you mean, sending me away?" "I have a private island. Off the coast of Greece. Completely secure. No one knows about it except my most trusted people." My father's tone was final. "You'll stay there until this situation with the Russos is resolved." "No." The word burst out of me. "No, I'm not going to some island! I have school, I have my thesis, I have—" "You have your life," my father interrupted. "Which you won't have if you stay here." "You can't just ship me off to Greece!" "Yes, Nancy. I can. And I am." "With him?" I pointed at Zade again. "With a man who just traumatized me? Who I don't know, don't trust—" "You don't have to trust him," my father said. "You just have to let him do his job." "Which is what? Kidnapping me? Scaring me half to death?" "Keeping you alive," my father said. Each word was like a hammer. "That's his job. That's the only thing that matters right now." I stared at him, feeling everything I'd feared my whole life coming true. My father wasn't just controlling my life anymore. He was taking it away completely. "When?" I asked, my voice small now. Defeated. "Tonight. You'll go to the estate, pack what you need, and leave in the morning." "I don't get any say in this?" "No." Just like that. No apologies, no explanation, no room for argument. I looked at Zade, really looked at him. At the blood on his face and clothes. At those empty silver eyes. At the complete lack of emotion. This was the man I'd be trapped with. On an island. In the middle of nowhere. For who knows how long. "What if I refuse?" I asked my father, even though I already knew the answer. "Then Zade will carry you to the car, to the plane, and to the island. Just like he carried you tonight." My father's voice softened slightly. "Please don't make this harder than it needs to be, fiore mio. I'm trying to keep you safe." "By making me a prisoner." "By keeping you alive." I wanted to scream. Wanted to cry. Wanted to run. But I just stood there, trembling, looking at my father's implacable face and Zade's empty eyes. "Fine," I said finally. "But I want it on record that this is kidnapping. Legal kidnapping maybe, but still kidnapping." "Noted," my father said dryly. He gestured to one of the black SUVs parked nearby, its engine still running. “Zade, take her to the estate. I’ll meet you there in an hour. We need to discuss security protocols and the timeline.” His voice was calm. Too calm. Like this was just another meeting. Another problem to solve. “Yes, sir.” Zade’s eyes shifted to me. “Miss Valentino. Please.” He stepped aside and motioned toward the SUV. I didn’t move. The night air felt heavy on my skin. My chest was tight, my hands curled into fists at my sides. Everything inside me screamed no. I didn’t want to be touched. I didn’t want to be moved. I didn’t want him near me. “Nancy,” my father said. There it was. That warning tone. The one that meant I was already on thin ice. I still didn’t move. I knew I was being childish. Bratty, even. But I didn’t care. Zade shifted, clearly done waiting. He took a step toward me. My heart jumped. I remembered the last time he got that close. How fast it happened. How his hands had grabbed me and lifted me like I weighed nothing. How the ground disappeared beneath my feet as he threw me over his shoulder like I was luggage. Like I didn’t matter. “I’m going,” I blurted out quickly. The words rushed out of me before he could touch me. I turned and walked toward the SUV, forcing my legs to move even though they felt weak. Each step was unsteady. My knees shook, and I hated that he could probably see it. Hated that he could see how scared I was. By the time I reached the car, Zade was already there. Of course he was. He opened the door for me, one large hand gripping the handle. I stopped just long enough to look up at him. His face was splattered with blood. Dark stains across his cheek and jaw, some already drying. It didn’t look like his blood. That made it worse. His eyes were cold. Empty. Like nothing that had happened tonight had touched him at all. Something ugly twisted in my chest. “I hate you,” I said quietly. The words barely sounded like my own. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. His expression didn’t change. “I don’t care,” he replied, his voice flat. Emotionless.Nancy’s POVThere was a short pause. I could almost see him standing in his office, or maybe in the study at the mansion, the same worry lines around his eyes.“I worry about you being all alone there,” he said. “France is far. If anything happened—”“Nothing’s going to happen,” I cut in gently. “I’m fine. Really. You don’t have to worry.”The lie sat bitter on my tongue. I wanted so badly to tell him about the baby. The words pressed against the back of my teeth. *I’m pregnant. The father is the man you want dead.* But if I said it, he would be on the next flight. He would arrive with men and questions and guns, and it would not take him long to find Zade. I was not ready for the war that would follow. Not yet.“How are you?” I asked instead.“Surviving.” A quiet breath. “I miss you.”“I miss you too.”We talked for a few more minutes—about the weather in both places, about a business deal he was closing, about nothing that mattered. When we finally said goodbye, I stayed on the edge
Nancy’s POVHe did not wait for more. He turned and walked out. Through the front windows I watched him cross the street and disappear around the corner. The ordinary sounds of the office slowly returned. I stared at the space where he had stood and felt the complicated mix settle over me again—gratitude, residual anger, confusion, and the reluctant warmth that kept growing no matter how carefully I tried to hold it back. I rested one hand against my stomach under the desk. The baby was quiet. I was not. Something in me had laughed with him, really laughed, for the first time in a long while. The sound of it stayed in my chest, tangled up with all the reasons I had given myself not to let him close. I turned back to my computer and tried to focus on the work in front of me. After work, Zade was already waiting outside the building.He stood near the curb with his hands in the pockets of a dark jacket, the evening light catching the hard line of his shoulders. When he saw me com
Nancy’s POVA very small, dry note in his voice almost pulled a smile from me. Almost. We finished the meal more slowly after that. The silence had changed. It was still careful and still fragile, but it no longer felt hollow. Something true had been set down between the plates, and neither of us tried to pick it back up and hide it. When the food was gone he stood and collected the dishes without comment. I remained at the table for a long while, one hand resting over my stomach, turning the name Alexei Sokolov over in my mind the way a person turns a new key. My child would carry pieces of both of us whether I felt ready or not. A Sokolov. A Valentino. Or something that had not been decided yet. From the kitchen came the soft sound of running water and the quiet placement of plates in the rack. He did not return to the table to press for more conversation. He simply finished the work and left me with the new knowledge, giving me the room to sit inside it. I stayed there unti
Nancy’s POVZade didn’t leave the next day. Or the day after that. He simply stayed. The apartment, which had felt so carefully empty when I first moved in, began to hold a second presence. He moved through it with deliberate quiet, as if every step was measured against the permission I had given him. In the mornings he was already awake. I would come out of the bedroom and find the kettle warm, a plate of toast or eggs waiting, the blanket he used on the floor folded neatly on the arm of the couch. He cooked. He cleaned. He washed the dishes and wiped the counters and never once asked me for conversation or gratitude. He only took care of the practical things so I would not have to. On the doctor’s advice I took a three-day leave from the office. The small import company did not ask many questions. I sent a short message that I needed rest after a medical episode, and they accepted it without probing. The freedom from the morning walk and the fluorescent lights and the polite sm
NANCY'S POVFor a second I did not remember where I was. Then the events of the day returned, and with them the knowledge that Zade was in my apartment. I pushed myself up onto my elbows. “Come in,” I said. My voice was rough from sleep. The door opened wider. Zade stepped inside carrying a wooden tray. The smell of warm food followed him—something simple and savory that made my stomach tighten with sudden, sharp hunger. He had found what little I kept in the kitchen and turned it into an actual meal. He stopped a few feet from the bed, as if waiting to see whether I would tell him to leave again. “You need to eat,” he said. His voice was low and even. “You haven’t had anything all day. The doctor said you fainted from exhaustion and low blood sugar. I’m not going to let that happen again tonight.” I sat up fully and leaned back against the headboard. He came closer and set the tray carefully across my lap. There was a bowl of soup that still steamed faintly, a piece of buttered
NANCY'S POVJust that one word at first. Rough. Low. Stripped of any attempt to sound strong. I waited. “I know you don’t want me here,” he continued. His voice stayed quiet, but there was a raw edge underneath it that I had rarely heard from him. “I know I don’t deserve to be let in. I’m not asking you to talk to me. I’m not asking you to forgive anything or pretend the last weeks didn’t happen. You don’t even have to look at me if you don’t want to. I just… I need to be here until you’re steady again. Until I know you’re not going to collapse the moment you’re alone. That’s all I’m asking. Let me stay. Please.” The plea sat between us in the narrow hallway. I stared at him. This was the same man who had once spoken about killing me in a cold, measured voice on a recording. The same man who had escaped a hospital and spent weeks watching me from the shadows without ever announcing himself. The same man who had pulled me out of the path of a speeding car only hours earlier and the







