CHAPTER 10 — The Shape of Protection
1436 Words
Night falls differently here.
In Amara’s old life, night meant quiet streets and flickering lamps and the hum of normality. Here, night arrives like a command. Lights shift. Guards change. Doors lock with a finality that makes her chest tighten every time.
She stands by the window again — she’s starting to hate that she always ends up here — watching the estate sink into darkness broken only by soft amber lights along the paths.
Somewhere below, engines murmur.
She knows Matteo is still awake.
The thought settles in her chest in a way she doesn’t know how to unpack.
A knock sounds at her door. Firmer than earlier. Still controlled.
“Amara.”
She opens it.
This time, it isn’t Matteo.
It’s Elena.
Amara straightens instinctively. Elena doesn’t raise her voice. She doesn’t need to. Everything about her is sharp — her posture, her dark suit tailored perfectly to her frame, her silver-streaked hair pulled back tight. Her eyes are assessing, intelligent, and very aware.
“Elena,” Amara says carefully.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Elena replies, already stepping inside. The door closes behind her.
Of course.
Elena glances around the room, taking in the details with quick precision. The books stacked on the desk. The untouched dinner tray. The window that Amara always gravitates toward.
“You haven’t eaten much,” Elena observes.
Amara lifts her shoulders. “I wasn’t hungry.”
“Elena” hums softly. “That’s what people say when they don’t feel safe enough to relax.”
Amara meets her gaze. “Why are you here?”
Direct. Bold.
Elena’s lips curve faintly. “Matteo has always liked that about you.”
That makes Amara’s pulse jump — annoyance and something warmer tangled together.
“I’m here,” Elena continues, “because my brother is making decisions that ripple outward. And you’re at the centre of them.”
Amara crosses her arms. “I didn’t ask to be.”
“No,” Elena agrees. “But you are nonetheless.”
Silence stretches.
Then Elena speaks again, more measured.
“You should understand something, Amara. Protection in this world is never free.”
Amara’s jaw tightens. “Is this where you tell me I owe him something?”
Elena studies her closely, then shakes her head.
“No,” she says. “This is where I tell you that you already matter to him.”
The words hit harder than Amara expects.
She lets out a breath. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“It shouldn’t,” Elena says calmly. “Caring is dangerous here.”
Amara laughs quietly, sharp and humourless. “You think I don’t know that?”
Elena tilts her head, reassessing.
“You’re not naïve,” she says. “That’s good. But you are still human. And Matteo has spent most of his life pretending he isn’t.”
Amara’s chest tightens.
“So what do you want from me?” she asks.
Elena’s eyes harden slightly. “I want you to be careful with him.”
Amara blinks. “Me?”
“Yes. You.”
She steps closer, lowering her voice.
“You soften him. You make him hesitate. And while that may sound romantic, hesitation gets people killed.”
Amara’s hands curl at her sides. “He’s not a monster.”
Elena’s expression doesn’t change. “No. He’s worse. He’s capable of love.”
The words linger long after Elena turns toward the door.
Before leaving, she pauses.
“For what it’s worth,” she adds, “if he had brought the right woman into this world, I’d have taught her how to survive it.”
Then she’s gone.
Amara sinks onto the edge of the bed, heart racing.
Great.
Now even the warning feels personal.
She doesn’t sleep.
Again.
Instead, she lies on her back, staring at the ceiling, replaying every conversation, every look, every shift in Matteo’s voice.
By morning, exhaustion presses heavy behind her eyes.
She’s halfway through brushing her hair when her door opens without a knock.
Matteo steps inside — and immediately freezes.
“You should knock,” she says dryly.
He blinks once. “You usually expect me.”
She pauses.
That’s… true.
“Did you sleep?” he asks.
She snorts. “Do I ever?”
His gaze softens slightly. “Elena came to see you.”
Not a question.
“Yes,” Amara replies. “She warned me.”
His jaw tightens. “About me.”
“About caring,” she corrects.
He exhales slowly, rubbing a hand over his face.
“She shouldn’t have put that on you.”
“She didn’t put anything on me,” Amara says. “She just told me the truth.”
Matteo looks at her, searching.
“And?” he asks quietly.
“And it doesn’t change how I see you.”
Something shifts in his expression — not relief, not anger. Something more complicated.
“I need you to come with me today,” he says.
Her pulse jumps. “Where?”
“A meeting,” he replies. “Public. Neutral ground.”
“That doesn’t sound reassuring.”
“It’s safer if you’re visible,” he says. “Luca won’t move if others are watching.”
Amara hesitates. “You want me there as… what? Proof? Leverage?”
He steps closer, voice low.
“As someone under my protection,” he says firmly. “And because I don’t trust leaving you here today.”
Her stomach flips.
“Okay,” she says, surprising herself with how steady her voice sounds.
The car ride is tense but quiet.
Amara sits in the back, watching the city unfold beyond tinted glass. The estate fades into narrow streets, busy intersections, places that feel alive in a way the house never does.
Matteo sits across from her, posture alert, eyes scanning reflections in the windows.
He looks different outside his territory.
Sharper. More dangerous.
The café they stop at is expensive but understated. Neutral colours. Discreet security. People who mind their business.
They take a corner table.
Almost immediately, eyes flick toward them.
Amara feels it — the weight of attention.
Matteo leans in slightly. “Ignore them.”
“Easy for you to say.”
He studies her for a moment, then shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over the back of her chair.
“Then let them see,” he murmurs.
Her breath stutters.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” she accuses.
“Yes,” he admits calmly.
Footsteps approach.
Luca.
Amara recognises him instantly — tall, smiling, polished. He wears charm like a weapon, all smooth edges and bright eyes that don’t quite reach warmth.
“Brother,” Luca says, spreading his hands. “You look tense.”
“And you look alive,” Matteo replies coolly. “Careful.”
Luca’s gaze flicks to Amara, lingering.
“So this is her.”
Matteo’s hand moves — not touching her, but close enough that she feels the heat of it.
“Don’t look at her,” Matteo says softly.
Luca chuckles. “Still territorial, I see.”
Amara lifts her chin. “I can speak for myself.”
Both men turn to her.
Interesting.
Luca’s smile sharpens. “I like her.”
Matteo’s eyes darken. “That’s your second warning.”
The tension coils tight around the table.
Luca leans back, hands raised. “Relax. I came to talk.”
“Then talk,” Matteo snaps.
Luca sighs theatrically. “You’re making waves. Choosing sentiment over strategy.”
He nods toward Amara. “That worries people.”
Amara’s heart pounds, but she refuses to look away.
“She’s not a weakness,” Matteo says. “She’s a line.”
Luca laughs. “Everyone bleeds.”
Matteo leans forward, voice dropping.
“And everyone dies,” he says. “Pick your next words carefully.”
Silence crashes down.
Luca studies Matteo for a long moment, then stands.
“This isn’t over,” he says lightly. “But for now… enjoy your coffee.”
He leaves.
Amara exhales shakily.
Only then does Matteo turn to her.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
She nods, then pauses.
“No,” she admits. “But I’m not scared of you.”
Something in his gaze shifts — something dangerously close to tenderness.
“That,” he murmurs, “might be the bravest thing you’ve said.”
As they leave the café together, Amara realises something terrifying.
She isn’t just under his protection anymore.
She’s chosen a side.
And there’s no pretending she doesn’t know which one.
- Writer
