“Touch me again, and I swear I’ll kiss you just to ruin you.” He was supposed to guard me—not make me feel like burning. After a near-fatal poisoning, mafia heir Renzo D’Amico wakes up trapped in a countryside safehouse under the watch of a mute, brooding bodyguard with a face carved from stone and eyes that never look away. Bram Hale doesn’t speak. He doesn’t smile. And he definitely doesn’t care—until he does. Renzo’s used to playing with fire, but Bram? He is the fire. Cold. Controlled. Deadly. They clash. They burn. And somewhere between survival, secrets, and stolen glances… a line gets crossed. But someone still wants Renzo dead. And this time, his heart might not survive the fallout.
View MoreRENZO POVArms wrapped around me, stopping me mid-fall.One second I was falling, bracing for hardwood and humiliation. The next, my face slammed into something solid. Hard. Warm.A chest.A broad, unmoving chest.And then—God—my lips hit skin.Warm skin.My eyes flew open, breath caught in my throat. My mouth was pressed against his neck. Bram’s neck. I could feel the pulse beneath his skin, steady and indifferent, like mine wasn’t thundering like a damn war drum.I gasped and shoved myself back, heat crawling up my spine as I stumbled out of his grip.He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. Just stared down at me like he’d caught a leaf falling out of the sky. Like it meant nothing.I cleared my throat, stepping away quickly. “I would’ve said thank you,” I said flatly, like my heart wasn’t still racing, “but you’re paid to protect me.”No reaction. Of course not.I turned and stormed outside, needing air, distance, anything but the static buzzing under my skin.The cars were already parked
RENZO POVIt’s another fucking day with me stuck with Brian with Bram.I’m so fucking bored I could scream. There’s nothing to do here except rot in front of the TV watching movies and play video games like a damn princess locked in a tower. I used to have clubs. Late nights. Good drugs. Great sex. I used to have people around me.Now? Nothing. No calls. No visits. Just me, Bram, and the walls closing in.The doctor left yesterday, which was the last bit of interaction I had with an actual human being who didn’t make me feel like I was one wrong move away from getting body-slammed. And no offense, but I was hoping she’d stay longer. At least she had great tits.Now the only thing keeping me sane is porn and my right hand. And even that’s losing its charm.I was sprawled on the couch, staring at the stupid screen like it might suddenly entertain me better if I glared hard enough, when Bram walked in and turned the TV off. No warning. Just walked in and—click.I sat up, scowling.“What
RENZO POVThe morning tastes like stale bitterness and quiet rage.Bram’s already awake, as always. I hear him in the kitchen—quiet movements, efficient. No wasted sound. Just the dull clink of a spoon in a mug and the low hum of the fridge closing.He’s always up before me. Always dressed, always armed, always silent. Like he doesn’t sleep. Like he’s some kind of automaton built to ruin my goddamn sanity one blank stare at a time.I roll to my feet and stretch, spine cracking.He doesn’t look at me when I walk into the kitchen shirtless and barefoot, the morning light catching on the faint scars across my ribs. Old things. Razor-thin memories of old betrayals.“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” I mutter.He sets a steaming mug down on the counter—his own—and sips. His eyes flick to me once, unreadable, before returning to whatever silent thought process is happening behind those eyes.Not a single word.“You’re really committing to this silent brute act, huh?” I say, leaning on the
RENZO POVThe silence was starting to feel personal.Three days. That’s how long it had been since I woke up in this stupid safehouse, suffocating hell of a mansion, with Bram Hale shadowing my every step like a grim reaper who’d traded his heart and mouth for a fit body..The man was a robot. Stoic. Controlled. Unshakable. He didn’t talk. Didn’t smile. Barely blinked. He just watched—always watched. Like he was studying me for weaknesses.Which, fine. Most people did. But with him, it wasn’t about gossip or gain.It felt like he was deciding whether I was worth saving at all.I leaned back against the red armchair in the corner of my room, legs spread, the tablet he used to “communicate” propped up on the nightstand like an unwanted therapist.The countryside stretched out in dark, quiet hills, scattered with a few distant lights. It was probably beautiful, but I couldn’t bring myself to careHe was seated by the door, as always, arms crossed like a statue molded out of quiet judgmen
BRAM POVI stared at the Don’s heir sprawled on the bed, barking orders like he still ran the world from a mattress.I didn’t respond. Just handed him the tablet and turned away.“The fuck is this?” he snapped, holding it up like it was foreign tech.Wild. Reckless. No sense of boundaries. If I didn’t owe Marc Moretti, I would’ve walked away the moment I saw this trainwreck in silk sheets. But I had a debt—and I needed access. The truth I was chasing sat somewhere in this house, and Renzo Moretti might unknowingly lead me to it.“You’ll regret this, Bram,” he spat.I didn’t blink. Just typed.Ping.He looked down at the screen.Me: I hate noise. Don’t provoke me. I’m not your parent.His eyes widened as he read. He swung his legs off the bed like he planned to charge at me—only to crumple halfway up.“Fuck,” he groaned, catching himself against the mattress.“Can’t you help me, you—what the hell?” he snapped, glaring like I was the reason gravity existed.Another message.Me: I’m your
RENZO POV“He’s awake.”The voice sounded far away like it had to cut through thick water to reach me. My head throbbed, not just with pain, but with pressure. Like my skull was full of gunpowder and someone had already lit the fuse.My throat was dry. My chest felt heavy. And every inch of my body screamed like I’d been hit by a damn truck.Everything hurts.Not the sharp kind of pain you scream from. This was dull, deep, rooted in places pain shouldn’t belong. Like it had settled into my bones and unpacked a suitcase.I blinked.The room swam into focus slowly—soft light pouring in through long white curtains, walls a calming shade of cream, a fireplace in the corner I didn’t recognize. Too polished. Too quiet.Not a hospital. But definitely not home“Where… where am I?” My voice came out hoarse, barely a whisper.“Renzo,” my mother’s voice broke as she rushed to my side. Her hand gripped mine tightly, and for the first time in years, I saw fear in her eyes. Real fear. “Baby, you’re
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