HIS SECRET HEIRESS

THE THREAT

CHAPTER 5: THE THREAT

The letter arrived at 3:14 PM.

No envelope. No stamp.

Just a single piece of white paper on a silver tray.

Delivered by one of Lorenzo's men who wouldn't meet my eyes.

Lorenzo was on a call. Arguing in Italian.

He hung up when he saw my face.

"What?" he asked.

I pointed to the tray.

He picked it up. Read it.

His jaw ticked once. That was the only sign.

Then he handed it to me.

`Give us the Laurent girl.

We have unfinished business with her father's debts.

You have 48 hours. Or we take her.`

No signature. They didn't need one.

I read it three times. My hands started shaking.

"Is this—"

"A threat," Lorenzo finished. He took the paper from me.

Ripped it in half. Then in half again. Let the pieces fall to the floor.

"Pack a bag. We're leaving."

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere they can't find you," he said.

He was already moving. Calling his men. "With me."

We didn't go to a safehouse.

We went to his penthouse. 80 floors up.

Bulletproof glass. 6 guards. No visitors.

For the next 3 days, the world shrank to 4000 square feet.

And to Lorenzo.

---

DAY 1: THE GUN RANGE

"Stand like this," Lorenzo said.

He came up behind me in the indoor range.

His chest to my back. His arms around me.

He adjusted my stance. His hands on my hips.

"Feet shoulder width. Elbow locked."

The gun was heavy. Black. Cold.

"If I die," he said in my ear, "you need to know how to finish it.

Understand?"

I nodded. I couldn't speak.

Not with him this close.

He fired first. Three shots. Perfect center.

Then he guided my hand. Helped me fire.

The kick almost knocked me over.

"Again," he said. And he didn't let go.

---

DAY 2: THE COOKING DISASTER

I woke up to the smell of burning.

Lorenzo was in the kitchen. In sweatpants.

Making pasta. Badly.

"Don't," he said when he saw me. "Don't say anything."

"It's smoking," I said.

"I know it's smoking," he snapped. Then sighed.

He turned off the stove. "It's for you."

"You cook?"

"I do a lot of things," he said. He plated the ruined pasta anyway.

Set it in front of me. "Eat."

It was terrible.

But I ate every bite.

Because his eyes were on me the whole time.

Like he was waiting for me to hate it.

I didn't.

---

DAY 3: THE STORM

It started at midnight.

Thunder shook the windows. Rain lashed the glass.

The power went out at 12:07.

I found him in the dark, standing at the floor-to-ceiling windows.

A glass of whiskey in his hand. Lightning illuminating his face.

"Are you scared?" he asked. He didn't turn around.

"Terrified," I admitted. "Of them. Of what happens next. Of you."

Lorenzo turned. In the flash of lightning, he looked ancient.

Tired. Dangerous.

"Good," he said. "Fear keeps you alive."

He crossed the room. Stopped in front of me.

Close enough that I could smell the whiskey. And him.

"Isabella. Look at me."

I did.

"If they come for you," he said. His voice was low. Final.

"I will kill every single one of them.

I will find their families. Their friends.

And I will erase them from this earth."

"That's—"

"Necessary," he cut me off. "This is my world.

And in my world, you don't touch what's mine."

He reached up. Brushed my hair back from my face.

His touch was so gentle it hurt.

"And if I come for you?" I whispered.

Lorenzo's eyes went black.

"Then God help you," he said. "Because I won't.

I will take what I want. And I want you."

The lights flickered back on.

And the threat was still out there.

But for the first time, I wasn't scared to be alone with him.