Chapter 17: Shadows Between Us

The light came in slowly, pale and soft, filtering through the sheer curtains like a whispered promise. The villa was quiet — the kind of quiet that only comes after chaos. Siena stirred in the armchair beside the hospital-style bed, her limbs stiff from hours of half-sleep. A blanket had slipped from her shoulder. Her neck ached. But she didn’t care.

Lucia lay still in the bed, her tiny chest rising and falling with even rhythm. No coughing. No fever. Just peace.

Siena exhaled shakily, letting her head fall back against the chair. Her eyes closed for a beat, not in exhaustion this time — but in fragile relief.

She’s okay. For now.

Her fingers brushed against Lucia’s small hand on top of the blanket. Still warm, but not burning. The doctors had done something last night — transfusion, antibiotics, oxygen therapy. Siena had barely listened to the terminology. All she’d cared about was the moment Lucia finally stopped shivering.

And now…

Now she was afraid to hope.

She sat upright again, straightening the blanket over her daughter, smoothing the edges with trembling fingers.

It was only then — in the stillness, in the space where fear had lived — that something else crept in.

She thought of Adriano.

Of his voice when he gave orders — sharp, unwavering.

Of his face when they told him Lucia needed intervention — pale, clenched.

Of the way he hadn’t left the hallway for hours, even when the doctors said they’d call him in only if something changed.

He hadn’t spoken much.

But his silence had been louder than any vow.

Siena leaned back, eyes fixed on the child who had changed everything.

How had it come to this?

How had she gone from hiding Lucia from him… to falling asleep in a chair inside his home, trusting that he’d protect them?

Because that’s what it was now. Trust.

Not complete. Not blind. But there.

And maybe that’s what terrified her more than anything else.

She didn’t love him.

She couldn’t.

But she remembered.

And remembering was its own kind of danger.

Her hand curled into a fist on her lap.

Because the more Adriano Valtasari stopped being the monster in her memory…

…the more real he became.

And real things could break you in ways fantasies never could.

---

Siena followed the quiet sounds of movement down the hall — soft clinks of metal, the low hiss of steam. The villa was hushed, still wrapped in the gentleness of early morning. She didn’t know what she was expecting. A butler. A maid. Maybe Zara, already arranging the day.

What she didn’t expect was him.

Adriano stood at the sleek espresso machine in the corner of the villa’s open kitchen, his sleeves rolled up, hair still slightly tousled from sleep. There was something startlingly human about the image — the mafia king making his own coffee in the glow of morning light.

He glanced up when he heard her steps but didn’t speak right away. Just nodded once and returned to his task.

She hovered near the door, unsure.

He gestured toward the chair by the breakfast bar. “Sit.”

It wasn’t a command this time. More… an offer.

Siena hesitated, then crossed the room and lowered herself into the chair. She folded her hands in her lap, unsure of the rules in this strange new version of their world.

He placed a cup of coffee in front of her without a word.

She blinked. “You remembered how I take it.”

A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Some things don’t fade.”

The silence that followed wasn’t tense. Not like before. It felt oddly bearable. Comfortable, even. Like the space between them had finally stopped vibrating with heat and hate.

Adriano leaned against the counter, sipping his own coffee.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she murmured, eyes on the steam rising from her cup.

He nodded. “Me neither.”

Another pause.

Then, quietly, he asked, “She’s better?”

Siena nodded. “Sleeping. Her fever broke sometime around dawn.”

Relief flickered in his eyes. Just for a second.

“I had the chef prepare something light,” he said. “Toast. Eggs. You should eat.”

She looked at him for a long moment.

And then — perhaps against her better judgment — she nodded. “Okay.”

He turned toward the fridge without another word.

And for the first time since Geneva, Siena let herself breathe.

Not because everything was fine.

But because, in that small moment, nothing was broken.

---

The smell of coffee lingered between them, rich and grounding, but Siena couldn’t shake the unease curling in her stomach.

She took another sip, then turned her eyes toward the tall windows that overlooked the garden.

“This place,” she said quietly. “Why Geneva?”

Adriano didn’t answer immediately. He poured more coffee into his own cup, his movements slow and deliberate.

Siena continued, her voice calm but pointed. “The clinic wing. The staff already in place. The security. It’s not temporary, is it?”

His shoulders stiffened slightly.

“You didn’t just bring us here in a panic,” she said. “You were ready. You were planning this. Maybe not out loud. Maybe not even fully in your own head. But somewhere… you were waiting.”

Adriano looked at her over the rim of his cup. For a moment, he said nothing.

Then, voice low: “Some wars you prepare for without realizing it.”

Siena blinked. “Is that what this is? A war?”

His jaw tightened. “It was. When I lost you. And now…” He let the words trail off.

Silence stretched.

Siena studied his face. The slight tension around his mouth. The flicker of something in his eyes. Guilt? Regret? Or something else entirely?

She leaned back in her chair, unsure if she wanted the answer.

But he wasn’t finished.

“I bought this villa five years ago,” he said at last. “Built the clinic. Hired the team. Told myself it was just a safehouse. Just business.”

“But it wasn’t,” she said softly.

His gaze dropped to the marble countertop, then slowly rose to meet hers again.

“No. It wasn’t.”

His eyes lingered — just a second too long.

Siena felt it. That burn beneath the surface. The weight of every unsaid word.

And yet… she didn’t look away.

---

The last bite of toast had long gone cold on her plate, untouched.

Siena stood slowly, the chair scraping softly against the stone floor. “I should check on Lucia,” she said, reaching for her cup, just for something to hold.

Adriano nodded but didn’t move. He remained seated, one hand around his cup, the other resting loosely on the table.

She turned, already halfway to the door, when —

He reached out.

Just his fingertips grazing her wrist. Barely a touch.

But it stopped her.

She froze, lips slightly parted, breath catching in her throat.

There was no force behind it. No demand. No command. Just… the gentlest ask.

Her skin tingled where he touched her. And what scared her most wasn’t the contact itself.

It was that she didn’t flinch.

That she didn’t want to.

She slowly turned back toward him.

His hand fell away, and in its absence, the warmth lingered.

Adriano’s voice was barely above a whisper. “You stayed.”

The words hung between them — not as an accusation, but as something far more fragile.

A confession.

Siena didn’t answer.

But she didn’t walk away either.

---