The Man Behind the Don

The rain came without warning.

One minute, Elana was sitting alone in the garden, nursing a book she hadn’t really been reading, and the next, the sky cracked open like glass, shattering into a thousand drops of cold.

She didn’t move.

Let it soak her. Let it chill her bones.

Maybe then she could drown out the heat that still clung to her skin from that morning’s encounter in the greenhouse.

Why did he have to look at her like that?

Why did she care?

“Are you trying to get sick?”

She looked up, startled.

Luca stood at the edge of the garden path, holding a dark umbrella over his head. His dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up again, as if tailored perfection didn’t quite fit around her.

She stood slowly, her blue dress already clinging to her skin like a second layer.

“You sent your guards away?” she asked, voice light, challenging.

He nodded. “They’re not needed. I knew exactly where you were.”

Elana crossed her arms, ignoring the way her soaked bodice made her nipples visible beneath the thin fabric. If he noticed, he didn’t show it.

“You’re always watching me.”

“It’s my job.”

“No,” she said, stepping toward him. “Your job was to marry me to hurt my father. To make a point. You already did that. So why keep playing this part?”

The air between them buzzed like static.

He held the umbrella steady, even as she got closer. Close enough to see the drops collecting on his lashes. Close enough to smell the sharp mix of rain and cedar clinging to his skin.

“I’m not playing, Elana.”

“Then what are you doing?”

His jaw clenched. A muscle twitched beneath his stubble.

“I’m trying to make this work,” he said finally.

She laughed, bitter. “You think this can work? This—whatever this is—was built on blackmail. I was forced into your house. Your bed. Your world.”

“I haven’t touched you.”

“But you will,” she said, eyes flashing. “Eventually.”

He stared at her, and something in his expression cracked.

Not anger.

Pain.

“I don’t want you like this,” he said, voice low. “Not if you feel owned. Not if you feel afraid.”

She blinked. Of all the things he could have said… she didn’t expect that.

“Then why do this?”

He hesitated. Then, almost reluctantly, he whispered, “Because if I didn’t take you, someone else would’ve. Someone far worse.”

A cold shiver ran through her.

She had heard whispers—men more brutal than Luca, who treated women like disposable currency. Her father had enemies. Many.

“Why protect me?” she asked. “You hate my father.”

“I do,” he admitted. “But I never hated you.”

A silence fell, broken only by the gentle patter of rain on the umbrella above them.

“I don’t know who you are anymore,” she whispered.

“You never did,” he said. “But you could.”

That was it. The invitation she wasn’t sure she was ready for.

Luca held out his hand. Not to pull her in. Not to force her. Just… offering.

She looked at it. Then up at him.

And against every instinct, against the voice in her head screaming to run—she took it.

⸻

The fire crackled inside the private lounge.

Luca poured her a glass of red wine and one for himself, setting the bottle down between them. The room was warm, lit with soft golden lamps and a single painting above the fireplace—something dark and abstract.

“I thought you’d take me to your bedroom,” she said, watching him over the rim of her glass.

He chuckled. “Tempting. But no. This isn’t about sex.”

“No?” she said, eyebrow raised.

“Not yet.”

His voice was velvet and warning all at once. And it made her stomach tighten.

“Then what is this about?”

He sipped his wine. “About the truth. I figure you deserve at least that.”

She leaned back, her fingers curling around the stem of her glass. “Alright. Start talking.”

He didn’t flinch.

“My father was killed when I was sixteen. Shot in front of me by someone your father hired to scare him. A scare tactic that went too far.”

The words dropped like stones.

Elana blinked. “My father—he never told me—”

“Of course he didn’t. That’s how this world works. Buried truths. Quiet vendettas. I rose through the ranks to avenge him, not for glory. And I made a vow—never again. Not to me. Not to the ones I claim as mine.”

Elana sat still, stunned. It wasn’t just a marriage of power. It was a warning to the past. A shield he thought he was offering.

“So I’m your shield,” she murmured.

“No,” he said. “You’re my wife. And maybe someday… you’ll be more than just someone I married out of necessity.”

His words burned her in the best and worst ways.

“I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for this,” she whispered.

“I’m not asking you to,” he replied. “But I won’t stop showing you who I really am.”

She looked at him for a long time.

The Don was dangerous.

But Luca? The man underneath?

He might just be the most dangerous part of all.