Chapter 2 - The Key in the Hallway
Milaās hands trembled so violently that she almost dropped her phone as she rushed to the door.
She reached for the deadbolt, her knuckles white, her heart leaping into her throat.
CLICK. CLACK.
She pulled the wooden door open six inches.
Luca Romano stood in the narrow, dimly lit hallway, his towering silhouette completely blocking the light from the overhead fixture.
He didn't look angry. He didn't look amused.
He looked at her with a calm, unyielding intensity that felt like a physical weight pressing against her chest. His dark eyes swept from the top of her messy bun, down the oversized sweater covering her trembling frame, to her bare woolen socks on the floorboards.
"You took seven minutes to answer the door, Mila," Luca spoke, his deep, gravelly baritone vibrating in the quiet corridor like distant thunder.
"Mr... Mr. Romano," Mila stammered, her voice cracking into a high-pitched, breathless whisper. "I... I'm so sorry. The text message... it was an accident. I was having a glass of wine with an old college friend, my finger slipped, and I didn't mean to summon you across town. You shouldn't have driven here."
Luca didn't answer immediately.
He stepped forward, his broad shoulders easily pushing past the door, entering her tiny apartment with the effortless, sovereign authority of an apex predator entering familiar territory.
He closed the door behind him, turning the deadbolt and the secondary chain lock with a solid, definitive thud.
The scent of him filled her living room instantlyādark amber, cedarwood, expensive Italian leather, and the crisp, cold night air clinging to his wool coat.
Luca took off his gloves, slipping them into his coat pocket, his gray eyes scanning the small apartment: the neat bookshelf, the single glass of water on the coffee table, the open laptop displaying a complex financial spreadsheet from work.
He stopped three feet from where she stood shivering.
"You don't drink wine on weeknights, Mila," Luca said softly, his voice dropping into a low, intimate register. "And you have never made a typo in four years of managing my communications."
Luca reached out his right hand, his long, warm fingers gently catching the edge of her chin, lifting her face until her hazel eyes were locked with his.
"Tell me the truth," Luca commanded, his thumb gently brushing across her skin with an unexpected, breathtaking gentleness. "Why did you call me tonight?"
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Mila swallowed hard, a sudden wave of heat rushing to her cheeks.
"I was scared, Luca," she whispered, using his first name for the very first time. "Someone broke into my apartment while I was at the grocery store this evening."
