Breakfast should not have felt like a war.
But Zara could feel every second stretch thin , like a thread pulled too tight. Lorenzo sat across from her, silent but not distant. His silence was deliberate, weighted, as if speaking too soon would break something before it had time to form.
She sipped her coffee to steady her hands.
Her eyes drifted to the scar on his left knuckle ,pale, jagged, healed badly. It didn't fit the elegance of him.
"You fight a lot?" she asked quietly.
Lorenzo didn't look up from the plate he was slicing bread on. "I don't start fights."
Her gaze lifted to his face.
"But you finish them," she said.
He looked at her then a flicker of approval, of something like amusement, but sharpened.
"Yes," he replied. "Always."
---
They stepped out into the day like two people learning gravity again.
The mansion grounds stretched in long stone paths and trimmed hedges. Guards were present but subtle. Watching without really looking. The kind of men who could end a life before breakfast finished cooling.
Zara walked beside him, not behind.
Maybe that was intentional.
Maybe it was a message.
To them.
To her.
To himself.
"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice gentler than she expected.
Lorenzo didn't glance at her but she felt him choosing his words.
"To the East Hall," he said. "My father wants to meet you."
Her steps faltered.
Not a stumble.
But close.
"Your father," she repeated.
"Yes."
The air thickened. Heavy. Low pressure before a storm breaks.
"What does he want with me?"
Lorenzo stopped walking.
Turned to face her fully.
"There are two things you need to understand before we go in there," he said.
His voice was no longer soft.
It was steel wrapped in velvet.
Zara's breath caught.
"One," Lorenzo said, eyes locked with hers, "people in that room will try to decide what you are to me. Do not answer them. Let me answer for you."
She swallowed hard.
"And two?"
Lorenzo stepped closer.
Not touching her but close enough that the world narrowed to just the heat of his presence.
"Do not let them believe you are afraid. Even if you are."
Zara's heart clenched.
Because fear was exactly what was crawling up her spine.
"Why?" she whispered.
And that was when he said it.
Slow.
Certain.
Like a vow that had already been lived:
"Because if they smell fear on you, they'll try to take you from me."
Her pulse hit her ribs hard.
"Are you keeping me," she whispered, "or protecting me?"
Lorenzo's jaw flexed — a quiet storm caged in bone.
"Both," he said. "Always both."
---
They entered the East Hall.
The shift was instant.
Conversation stopped.
Eyes lifted.
Power was a scent here ,heavy, sharp, metallic.
At the far end of the table sat Don Vincenzo De Luca, the man whose name could make kings hesitate.
Silver hair. Cold eyes. A presence that felt like winter.
His gaze moved to Zara.
Measured her.
Weighed her.
Without speaking.
Lorenzo stepped closer to her barely an inch, but it felt like a shield slamming into place.
"This is Zara," Lorenzo said.
Not This is the girl.
Not This is someone passing through.
Zara.
His father leaned back in his chair.
"Your choice," the Don said. "Interesting."
Zara expected Lorenzo to tense. To prepare. To defend.
He didn't.
He just looked down at her ,a look that said:
Let them watch.
Let them see.
I am not letting you go.
Don Vincenzo's gaze sharpened.
"Tell me, girl," he said.
Zara lifted her chin, steadying the ground under her own feet.
"Yes?" she answered, voice calm though her blood screamed.
"What exactly are you to my son?"
Silence shattered across the room.
Everyone waited.
Zara could feel hearts that were not hers beating.
She didn't get a chance to answer.
Because Lorenzo did.
His voice was not loud.
But it cut the air clean.
"She is mine."
Not ownership.
Not possession.
Recognition.
The Don studied him truly studied him as if seeing something unearthed and unexpected.
Then, slowly, he nodded once.
A nod that meant war or acceptance or tests yet to come — she couldn't tell.
But Lorenzo didn't look away.
He didn't release her.
He didn't even blink.
And Zara realized something terrifying and tender all at once:
He had chosen her publicly.
In a world where choices were the sharpest weapons of all.
---
Outside the hall, Zara exhaled shakily pressing a hand to the wall to steady herself.
Lorenzo stood beside her, not touching, not invading just there.
"Why did you say that?" she whispered. "Why say I'm yours?"
Lorenzo's voice dropped not dangerous, not defensive.
Just true.
"Because you are."
Zara's breaths trembled.
"And what if I walk away?" she whispered.
Lorenzo's eyes found hers and this time, there was no steel.
Only something unbearably human.
"Then I will walk with you."
Her heart broke.
Not from pain.
From recognition.
From the terrifying comfort of someone staying.
She didn't speak.
She didn't have to.
Because the silence between them was no longer empty.
It was a beginning.
A dangerous one.
But a beginning all the same.