Chapter 7:HOME
1988 Words
The hallway outside the safe house smelled like smoke.
Elias’s hand was still in mine.
Warm. Solid.
Not letting go.
We stepped over broken glass.
Past the bodies I tried not to look at.
Past the blood that wasn’t his.
He walked like nothing happened.
But I felt it.
His thumb rubbing slow circles on my knuckles.
Like he was checking I was real.
“Keys,” he said to someone down the hall.
A man in black tossed him a key fob.
Elias caught it without looking.
The SUV was parked right outside.
Black. Tinted.
The same one from the car ride.
He opened my door first.
No words.
Just waited till I slid in.
Then he walked around, got in the driver’s seat, and locked all the doors.
Click.
The sound made my shoulders drop.
For the first time since the gunshots, I could breathe.
Elias didn’t start the engine right away.
He sat there.
Hands on the wheel.
Staring at the windshield.
“You’re bleeding,” I said.
His sleeve was still dark.
“It’s not mine,” he said.
But he pulled the sleeve up anyway.
A long cut. Fresh.
He didn’t flinch when I reached for it.
I tore a piece of my shirt.
Pressed it to the cut.
He watched me do it.
Didn’t speak.
His eyes were on my face, not the wound.
“Why?” I asked.
The word came out small.
“Why what?”
“Why did you come back? Why me?”
Elias leaned back in his seat.
The streetlight cut across his jaw.
Hard. Sharp. Tired.
“Because you didn’t run,” he said.
“You stood there. In that steel room. With two armed men at your door.”
His voice dropped.
“And you waited for me.”
My chest got tight.
“I fired you on day one,” he said.
“I thought you were a liability.”
He turned to me fully now.
“I was wrong.”
Wrong.
Elias admitting he was wrong.
That felt bigger than the gunshots.
He started the car.
The engine was quiet. Expensive.
“Home,” he said again.
Not a question.
We drove in silence.
Lagos at night blurred past the windows.
No one followed us.
For once.
Twenty minutes later, the gates opened.
Not a mansion.
A smaller place.
Modern. Glass. Lights on.
“This is mine,” he said.
“Not the company. Not the office.”
“Yours,” I repeated.
He parked in the garage.
Killed the engine.
“Rule 1 is canceled,” he said.
“You don’t stay inside anymore. Not if I’m with you.”
“Rule 2?”
“You answer the door. Only to me.”
I almost smiled.
He got out, came around, opened my door.
Offered his hand again.
I took it.
Inside, the house was quiet.
No staff. No guards.
Just us.
White floors. Black furniture.
Minimal. Clean.
Like him.
He led me to the kitchen.
Poured water.
Handed me the glass.
“Drink.”
I did.
Then he did something I didn’t expect.
He sat on the floor.
Right there.
Back against the cabinets.
Like the boss, the gun, the steel door didn’t exist.
“Sit,” he said, patting the tile next to him.
I sat.
Shoulder to shoulder.
No space between us.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he said.
Soft. Honest.
“Protect someone without pushing them away.”
“You’re doing it,” I said.
He looked at me.
Really looked.
“You didn’t hide,” he said.
“You let me run to you.”
And then he reached out.
Slow.
Giving me time to pull back.
I didn’t.
His hand cupped my face.
Thumb brushed my cheek.
No blood. No gun.
Just Elias.
“I’m not good at this, Amina,” he whispered.
“But I'm not letting go.”
My breath caught.
He didn’t kiss me.
Not yet.
He just stayed there.
Forehead against mine.
Like if he moved, I’d disappear.
And for the first time since day one…
I was home.
And his.
He didn’t move.
Neither did I.
The kitchen was quiet.
No guns. No rules. No running.
Just his forehead against mine.
And for the first time in my life…
I didn’t want to be anywhere else.
His hand slipped to my back.
Steady. Grounding.
Like I was the only thing in his house that mattered.
“Stay,” he said.
Not a command.
A request.
So I stayed.
The tile was cold under us.
I didn’t care.
Elias’s arm was still around me.
Like armor.
Like a promise.
“I don’t do this,” he said.
His voice was quieter now.
“Sit. Talk. Let someone close.”
“Why me?”
“Because you looked at me in that steel room,” he said.
“Not the gun. Not the boss. Me.”
My throat burned.
He tilted his head.
Watched me like I was something fragile.
Something he couldn’t break again.
“You’re not fragile,” he whispered.
“You survived me. That’s stronger.”
I laughed.
Small. Broken.
But real.
“You shot a man for me,” I said.
“That’s not normal, Elias.”
“No,” he agreed.
A ghost of a smile touched his mouth.
“Normal died the day you walked into my office.”
He brushed his thumb under my eye.
No tears. Just tired.
“I don’t know how to be soft,” he said.
“So I’ll be yours instead.”
Mine.
The word landed in my chest.
Heavy. Warm. Final.
I leaned into his hand.
Because I believed him.
His hand didn’t leave my face.
If anything, it held tighter.
The kitchen light was soft.
No one was coming for us.
No phones. No blood. No orders.
Just this.
Just us on the floor.
“I’m keeping you,” he said.
Simple. No warning.
“Good,” I whispered.
“Because I’m not going anywhere.”
He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for years.
Like my answer was the only one that mattered.
“Then stay close,” he said.
His thumb brushed my lower lip.
Careful. Reverent.
Like I might disappear if he touched me too hard.
“I won’t run,” I promised.
“Not from you. Not again.”
Elias closed his eyes for half a second.
When he opened them, the walls were down.
No CEO. No killer.
Just a man.
Tired.
Mine.
“You’re safe here, Amina,” he whispered.
“This house. Me. Both of us.”
And for the first time since day one…
I was home.
And his.
And safe.
And wanted.
He didn’t let go.
Not even when my eyes got heavy.
The floor was hard.
His shoulder wasn’t.
I rested my head there.
Listened to his heart.
Fast. Then slow.
Matching mine.
“No more running,” he said.
Into my hair.
I didn’t ask questions.
Not tonight.
Elias’s fingers combed through my hair.
Slow.
Like he was memorizing me.
“You’re shaking,” he said.
“Because I’m here,” I whispered.
“With you. Alive.”
He pulled back just enough to see me.
His eyes were dark.
No mask. No cold CEO stare.
“Thank you,” he said.
“For staying.”
I reached up.
Touched his jaw.
Rough. Real.
“Thank you,” I said.
“For choosing me.”
He didn’t answer with words.
He just held me closer.
Until the world outside stopped existing.
The kitchen tiles were cold.
But his body was warm.
I tucked my face into his neck.
Breathed him in.
Steel. Soap. Something darker.
Him.
“You’re heavy,” I mumbled.
“Good,” Elias said.
“You should feel me.
You should know I’m real.”
His hand moved to my back.
Tracing slow circles.
Not possessive.
Anchoring.
“I’ve killed men,” he said.
Voice low.
“For less than this.”
I didn’t flinch.
“Then kill for me again,” I whispered.
“If anyone tries to take this.”
He went still.
Then his forehead dropped to mine.
“You won’t have to ask,” he said.
“Ever again.”
Outside, the city was quiet.
Inside, we were loud.
In the way two broken people are
when they finally find home.
His fingers found mine.
Laced them.
Held like he was scared I’d vanish.
“I don’t sleep,” he said.
Against my temple.
“I know,” I said.
“But here,” he paused.
“Here I could.”
The words hit me hard.
Elias Russo.
The man who owned half of Lagos.
Telling me he could sleep with me in his arms.
“Then sleep,” I whispered.
“I’ll watch the door.”
He laughed.
Low. Tired. Real.
“You’re not a guard, Amina.”
His thumb brushed my knuckles.
“You’re the reason I don’t need one.”
Silence settled.
But it wasn’t empty.
It was full.
Of us.
Of breath.
Of the sound of a man letting his guard down.
“My mother,” he said suddenly.
“She used to say home isn’t a place.”
A beat.
“It’s a person you’re not afraid to be quiet with.”
I turned my face up to his.
“Then you’re home too, Elias.”
He didn’t answer.
He just kissed my forehead.
Long. Slow.
Like a vow.
And outside, Lagos kept breathing.
But in here…
We did too.
His fingers were still in mine.
Warm.
Like he wouldn’t let go even if Lagos burned.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he said.
Voice rough. Honest.
“Do what?” I asked.
“Stay soft,” Elias said.
“When everything in me wants to be steel.”
I lifted our joined hands.
Pressed a kiss to his knuckles.
“Then be steel for the world,” I whispered.
“And soft for me.”
He looked at me then.
Really looked.
No CEO mask. No danger.
Just a man.
Tired.
Home.
“You’re killing me, Amina,” he said.
“But in the best way.”
“Good,” I smiled.
“Because you’re rebuilding me too.”
The kitchen was quiet.
No footsteps. No threats.
Just the sound of us breathing.
Together.
He shifted.
Pulled me closer until my head was on his chest again.
“Close your eyes,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because I’m watching,” he answered.
“And nothing’s touching you. Not tonight.”
So I did.
And for the first time in years…
I slept without locking the door.
I woke to heat.
His heat.
Elias hadn’t moved.
His chin was resting on my head.
His arm still locked around me.
Like I was something precious he couldn’t afford to drop.
“Morning,” he said.
Voice gravel. Morning-rough. Real.
“You didn’t sleep,” I said.
Not a question.
“No,” he admitted.
“But I wasn’t afraid.”
I turned in his arms.
Faced him.
Dark circles under his eyes.
But his gaze was clear.
“Look at you,” I whispered.
“The devil of Lagos.
Terrified of losing sleep.
But not terrified of losing me.”
His jaw ticked.
Then he kissed me.
Not hard. Not hungry.
Slow.
Like a man learning how to be gentle.
“You’re my home now,” he said against my lips.
“If the world falls apart…
I’m staying in this kitchen with you.”
I laughed.
Teared up.
Both at once.
“Then we’re not going anywhere,” I said.
Outside, Lagos woke up.
Cars. Noise. Life.
Inside…
It was just us.
No guards. No secrets.
Just Elias.
Just me.
Just home.
And for once…
It was enough.
Elias pulled me close.
And didn’t let go.
- Writer
