Maya’s POV

I didn’t sleep.

Not because the bed isn’t comfortable — it’s absurdly soft. But every time I close my eyes, I feel him.

His presence presses through the wall like heat, like danger refusing to stay contained.

…I am safe.

But only because he is dangerous.

When the first sliver of sunlight bleeds into the room, I give up on rest completely. I find the bathroom, splash cold water on my face, and stare at the stranger in the mirror.

A woman who's part terrified…

part curious…

and part something she doesn’t want to name.

Eventually, I gather enough courage to open the door.

Ethan is already awake — seated at the kitchen island, dark shirt sleeves rolled, forearms tense as he types something encrypted and lethal-looking into a laptop.

He lifts his gaze the second I step out.

Like he felt me coming.

“You should still be in bed,” he says quietly.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

He studies me with that intense, unreadable gaze that feels too intimate. Too knowing.

“I’ll make you something,” he says, standing.

“You don’t have to—”

“I do.”

The finality in his tone ends the argument.

He moves around the kitchen with sharp efficiency — cracking eggs, heating a pan — a man who has commanded armies and ended lives… making me breakfast.

I don’t know whether to laugh or tremble.

“You cook?” I blurt out, because silence with him feels dangerous.

A ghost of a smirk touches his lips. “When necessary.”

I slide onto a stool across from him, trying to maintain distance, but the room feels too small for his presence.

“Are you always like this?” I ask.

His head tilts. “Define ‘this.’”

“Controlling. Intense. Commanding. A little… scary.”

He doesn’t deny it. He just plates scrambled eggs and sets them in front of me before leaning on his palms across the counter.

“Fear keeps people alive,” he says. “Especially in my world.”

“And me?” I ask quietly. “Do you want me afraid of you?”

His answer is immediate.

“No.”

Then slower… like it costs him:

“But I need you to understand why others should be.”

Our eyes lock, and the air grows thick.

I take a bite to break the tension — and freeze.

It’s good. Really good.

His smirk returns, stronger this time. “Told you.”

I hate that it makes my heart skip.

We finish mostly in silence — but it isn’t uncomfortable anymore. It’s… dangerous in a different way.

When I stand, I stumble slightly — lack of sleep catching up. Ethan is instantly there, his hand wrapping my waist, steady and protective.

Electricity shoots through me.

His breath brushes my cheek.

“You should rest,” he murmurs.

“I said I’m fine.”

He leans closer, voice dropping:

“You don’t have to prove you’re unbreakable.”

My chest tightens. “And what if I am broken?”

His hand — big, warm — lifts to brush a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“Then I’ll hold the pieces together.”

For a moment, he isn’t the mafia prince.

He is a man who has lost too much.

A man who fears losing again.

“I shouldn’t be here,” I whisper.

His grip subtly tightens.

“But you are.”

A knock at the door breaks the moment. A guard steps in.

“Sir. Intel on the tracker.”

A folder is handed over.

Ethan’s entire demeanor shifts — softness slammed behind steel.

His eyes flick to me.

“You’re not leaving this room without me,” he orders — not unkindly, but undeniably as a man who commands an empire.

I follow him down the hall, pulse racing.

Before he opens the briefing folder, he hesitates. His fingers brush mine — not dominance this time… reassurance?

“They’re watching the neighborhoods you walk,” he says. “They know your routine.”

My breath catches.

“All of this…”

I gesture to the guards, the locks, the risks.

“It’s because of who you are.”

“No.”

He turns to face me fully.

“It’s because of what you are to me.”

Silence drops — heavy, startling, fragile.

“What am I?” I ask. The question leaves my mouth before I can stop it.

His voice is low.

Sure.

Devastating.

“Someone I can’t afford to lose.”

My heart stutters — wanting something dangerous.

Because losing me shouldn’t matter to a man like him.

And yet… it does.

And that — more than guns or gangsters or threats in the shadows —

is the most terrifying thing of all.