Zara didn't sleep that night.
Not because of nightmares.
But because of him.
Because of the words he said.
She is mine.
The sentence replayed in her mind like a thread looped through her chest pulling, tightening, loosening, then pulling again. It should have felt like captivity.
It didn't.
It felt like being seen.
And that was far more dangerous.
The moonlight spilled across her ceiling as she lay awake, the room too quiet to hide from thoughts. Her heartbeat wasn't racing — it was steady.
Steady in a way it had no right to be.
She hadn't felt steady in years.
And that, more than anything, terrified her.
She had learned to survive storms.
She had not learned what to do with calm.
---
A soft knock.
Not demanding.
Not cautious either.
Just there.
Zara sat up. "Come in," she said before she could think to hesitate.
The door opened.
Lorenzo stepped inside.
Not dressed like a mafia heir. No suit. No polished image. No cold mask.
Just sweatpants. A black T-shirt. Hair a little messy.
Human.
He didn't come closer.
He just leaned against the doorframe, watching her the way someone watches the sky before choosing to walk into the storm.
"Did you sleep?" he asked quietly.
Zara shook her head.
"Did you?" she returned.
He didn't answer.
And that was answer enough.
Silence stretched between them — not tense, not sharp — just… full.
Lorenzo exhaled slowly. Not frustrated. Not tired.
Just honest.
"I meant what I said."
Zara's fingers curled around the blanket.
"Which part?" she whispered, though she already knew.
His eyes found her and didn't look away.
"All of it."
Zara's breath trembled.
"You said I'm yours," she said ,the words gentle, not accusing.
Lorenzo nodded once. A quiet, steady truth. "Yes."
Her voice broke around the edges. "What does that mean?"
He didn't move from the doorway.
But something in him shifted ,softened, unarmored in a way that was almost painful to look at.
"It means," he said slowly, "that I don't want you to go through anything alone anymore."
Not You belong to me.
Not You can't leave.
Not I own you.
Just that.
A promise with no chains.
Zara looked down ,because looking at him felt like stepping too close to an edge.
"Lorenzo… I don't know how to be someone who stays."
His voice was almost a whisper.
"I don't know how to let anyone stay," he answered.
That was the thing.
The dangerous thing.
They were both learning something new.
Together.
Zara looked at him again.
And he wasn't the heir.
He wasn't the son of a Don.
He wasn't a weapon.
He was a man.
Trying.
And it was too much.
Her voice came out softer than she meant it to.
"So what do we do now?"
Lorenzo didn't think.
Didn't consider the consequences.
Didn't measure the moment.
He walked to her bed and sat beside her not touching her — close enough that their shoulders shared the same air.
And in the quiet — in the space where confessions had no language yet
He said:
"We learn."
Not together.
Not apart.
Just we.
Zara closed her eyes.
Not to escape.
But to stay.