The secondary suite was smaller than the main penthouse, but it felt like a sanctuary. The walls were lined with dark velvet, the air was cool, and the heavy, reinforced door shut out the sounds of the cleaners scrubbing blood from the marble floors outside. Here, in the dim, golden light of the lamps, the chaos of the Moretti attack felt like a distant nightmare. But the smell of gunpowder still clung to my skin, a bitter reminder of the man I had left on the floor of the training room.
Luciano didn't set me down immediately. He carried me to the center of the room, his grip on my thighs so tight it would surely leave bruises. He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving against mine. I could feel the erratic rhythm of his heart, a wild, violent thrum that matched my own.
"Look at me," h
