All Chapters of The Bodyguard’s Siren: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

I stay.That’s the decision.I don’t leave the house. I don’t disappear into old habits or safe distances or places where no one expects anything from me. I sleep in the same bed. I make coffee in the same kitchen. I answer when Cara says my name.From the outside, it probably looks like I chose her. But inside? Inside, I don’t stop second-guessing it. The press doesn’t slow down. It sharpens. The stories get more confident, like repetition turns rumor into fact. I stop reading them, but it doesn’t matter — the words still find me. In the way people look at me longer. In the pause before they speak. In the subtle shift when I enter a room.I know what they see. A man with a history. A man who learned violence fluently. A man standing too close to someone who already survived too much.And the worst part? Some days, I agree with them. Cara deserves a life that doesn’t come with footnotes. She deserves peace that doesn’t require strategy. She deserves someone whose past doesn’t have te

The bookstore smells like coffee and paper and bad financial decisions. I stand near the front counter pretending to read the back of a romance novel while my leg bounces like it’s powered by anxiety and poor life choices. Matteo watches me from behind the register for a full thirty seconds before he finally sighs. “Either you’re about to confess to a crime,” he says, “or you’re waiting for the building to explode.” I don’t look at him. “Do you know how many ways a day can go wrong?” “Buddy,” he says cheerfully, “I own a bookstore. I specialize in disappointment.” I drag a hand down my face. “Cara is out today.” “So?” “So,” I snap, “she’s out with Sofia.” Matteo freezes. Slowly. Like a man realizing he’s walked into traffic. “…Oh.” “Yeah.” He leans his elbows on the counter, eyes lighting up. “Wow. Okay. Fun. So. Which scenario are we worried about first?” “I’m not doing this,” I warn. “Oh, we’re absolutely doing this,” he says. “Option one: they bond so hard So

The house is quiet in the good way.Not the tense quiet that presses in on your ears or makes you hyperaware of every sound, but the gentle kind, the kind that settles around you like a blanket. Gio left for the bookstore a few hours ago, coffee barely touched, jacket thrown over his shoulder like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. He’d kissed my forehead before he left, lingering just a second longer than necessary. Like he always does when he’s trying to carry me with him.I sit cross-legged on the living room floor, notebook open, guitar resting against my knee. The new house still smells faintly like fresh wood and paint, but it already feels lived in its warm, imperfect, and most importantly ours. Sunlight spills across the floor in lazy stripes, catching dust motes in the air like they’re dancing just for me.I write the title at the top of the page again.SeenI stare at the word for a moment longer than necessary. Some songs come easily. Catchy hooks, polished lines, thin

Giovanni doesn’t come home angry.That’s the first thing I notice.He comes home tired—shoulders slightly slumped, jacket draped over his arm instead of worn, like he peeled it off the second he crossed the threshold. The house is dim, lit only by the soft lamps I left on, and when he sees me on the couch, his expression shifts.Relief. Always relief.“Hey,” he says, voice low.“Hey,” I reply, standing.He meets me halfway without thinking, arms coming around me automatically. I tuck my face into his chest, breathing him in. He smells like coffee and paper and the faintest trace of city air.For a moment, neither of us speaks.“How was your day?” he asks finally.I pull back just enough to look at him. His eyes search my face, cautious. Like he’s bracing for something.“It was… productive,” I say carefully.That makes him frown. “That sounds ominous.”I huff a soft laugh. “Come sit with me.”He does, sinking onto the couch beside me, one arm draped along the back, the other resting on

I’m already tired when I pull up in front of Sofia and Luca’s place.Not the physical kind. The other kind. The kind that settles in your bones and makes you feel older than you are.Cara’s text is still open on my phone.Running late. Work thing went long. I’ll explain later, promise.I believe her. I always do. But it doesn’t stop the quiet disappointment from flickering through me anyway. I’d hoped—stupidly—that tonight might just be the two of us. No cameras. No whispers. No versions of me I have to defend.I shove the thought away and get out of the car.The bookstore lights are on downstairs. Through the glass, I spot Luca behind the counter and Matteo leaning against a shelf, arms crossed, talking animatedly with his hands like he always does. Luca notices me first and lifts his chin in greeting, casual. Normal.Too normal.I step inside, the bell above the door chiming softly.“Thought you were closing early,” I say.Luca shrugs. “Changed our minds.”Matteo grins. “You look mi