Chapter 7 - The Safehouse
With Vale Tower compromised, Marcus—bandaged and swearing—drove them to a secure penthouse safehouse hidden inside an unassuming brownstone in Lincoln Park.
Adrian sat shirtless on the edge of a mahogany table while Emma cleaned his wound.
The bullet had taken a flesh furrow across his bicep. Emma’s hands were steady, her training from caring for her sickly father taking over. She applied antiseptic, stitched the edges with medical thread, and wrapped it in sterile gauze.
Adrian watched her face the entire time, ignoring the sting of the needle.
“You should have run,” he whispered.
“I don't run from people who protect me,” Emma replied softly, wiping away a smear of blood from his collarbone.
Adrian caught her wrist, pulling her gently between his knees. His gaze dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes.
“Do you know what you do to me, Emma?” he asked, his voice low and vulnerable. “For ten years, I’ve lived in a cage of concrete and paranoia. Everyone wanted something from me. My money. My power. My life. Then you walked into my world, smelling of vanilla and roasted beans, and you hit hitmen with fire extinguishers to keep me alive.”
Emma’s heart beat so hard she thought it would burst. “Adrian…”
“I’m not letting you go,” Adrian whispered, his fingers tangling into her soft curls. “When this is over, you aren't going back to a drive-thru. You belong here. With me.”
Emma leaned in, unable to fight the magnetic pull between them any longer. “Show me.”
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Adrian pulled her down into a deep, desperate kiss. It was electric, possessive, yet filled with an aching tenderness that completely shattered the myth of the ruthless mafia boss. In the quiet of the safehouse, with the storm howling outside, Emma gave herself to the man who ruled the city—and discovered that beneath his armor, he belonged entirely to her.
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