The tension between them hung like static.
Lina stepped slowly around the coffee table, eyes on Luca the way one might watch a loaded weapon left unattended. He didn't follow her with his body — only his gaze, like he was letting her take space just to see what she'd do with it.
"You think I'm your leverage now?" she asked. "That if I'm angry enough at Navarro, I'll spill whatever secrets you think I know?"
"I don't think anything," Luca said. "I calculate odds."
She scoffed, stopping by the window. "Then calculate this. I'd rather die than play spy for either of you."
"I believe you," he said. "That's why I'm not offering you money."
"Then what are you offering, Romano?" Her voice rose, sharper than before. "Freedom? Safety? You've already shown me what your version of 'safe' looks like."
He didn't flinch. "You're not hurt."
"No," she snapped. "But you drugged me. You put me in a cage with a view."
He studied her for a long, quiet moment.
Then: "Do you want to leave?"
"Yes."
He stepped forward.
Not fast. Not threatening.
Just close.
Too close.
She didn't back down.
He stopped just shy of her shoulder, close enough that she could smell the clean spice of whatever he wore — something custom, subtle, expensive. His breath moved against her jaw when he spoke.
"Then answer this one question."
She didn't turn.
"What?"
"Do you believe he would've stopped them? If they'd taken you and kept going?"
Silence.
Luca stepped past her, moving toward the breakfast table, like the moment hadn't happened at all. He picked up the coffee cup — now lukewarm — and took a slow sip.
"I watched the footage," he said. "Navarro never looked back."
"I know," she said.
Her voice was calm now.
Colder.
He looked over his shoulder. "Then why are you still protecting him?"
"Because the moment I stop," she said, "I'll have no one left between me and men like you."
That made Luca laugh — a soft, disbelieving sound.
"No, Catalina," he said. "When you stop protecting him, you'll finally see who's actually on your side."
He put the cup down.
Then he walked out.
This time, he didn't lock the door behind him.
She didn't move at first.
The silence that followed Luca's exit wasn't peaceful — it was surgical. Like the room had been sliced clean of his presence, but the wound was still fresh.
Lina stood by the window, arms crossed, staring down at the city that used to feel distant and predictable. Now it just looked false — glass and lies arranged into a skyline.
The door stayed open.
She heard nothing outside. No footsteps. No guards.
Just the invitation of freedom, dangling like bait on a string.
Ten minutes passed.
She finally walked to the door.
Outside was a narrow hallway — marble, minimalist, quiet. A single gold-framed mirror on one wall. A soft glow of recessed lights. And at the far end, Luca.
Leaning against the elevator, arms folded.
He looked at her like he was both surprised and not at all surprised to see her come out.
"Ready to go?" he asked.
"You're not going to ask again?" she replied, tone dry.
"I don't repeat myself."
They stood in silence as the elevator arrived.
He stepped aside and gestured her in with a slight nod.
She didn't move.
"You said I was never the target," she said. "That Navarro used me. Fine. I believe you. But don't act like you did this for my benefit."
"I didn't," Luca said.
He didn't blink when he said it.
"I did it because I wanted control of the board again. And keeping you alive does that."
"You mean owning me does that."
Luca tilted his head slightly, like a tiger considering whether a bite was worth the effort.
"No, Catalina. If I owned you, you'd be downstairs in the dark arms tied."
She didn't flinch.
He stepped closer, voice low now. "You're not owned. Not yet. But you're in play. Whether you like it or not."
Then he reached past her and pressed the elevator call button.
"You're free to leave," he said. "But remember this: the next time Navarro lets someone come for you, I might not bring you to a penthouse."
The elevator dinged open.
Lina stepped in.
He didn't follow.
She didn't thank him.
He didn't expect her to.
The doors slid shut between them with the same soft, final whisper of a page being turned.
The elevator moved silently.
No music. No dinging floor numbers. Just the low, weightless hum of descent, as if the city itself were holding its breath while Lina Reyes dropped back into the world.
She adjusted her coat — not hers, she realized. Silk-lined, with a faint scent of Luca's cologne on the collar. Someone had put it over her while she was unconscious. A gesture that felt less like kindness and more like branding.
When the doors opened, she stepped into a private garage carved out of steel and silence. No voices. No cameras she could see. Just a matte-black luxury car waiting in the center, engine already running.
The driver stepped out as she approached.
Tall. Anonymous. Suit, gloves, earpiece. Nothing to identify him except the faint Roman insignia on the car's grille — a symbol so subtle most would miss it. She didn't.
"Miss Reyes," he said, opening the back door for her.
She didn't speak. Just slid in.
The interior smelled like leather and war.
As they pulled out, she glanced back through the tinted glass, up the curve of the tower's glass façade.
He was there.
Far above, framed by steel and skyline, Luca Romano stood on the balcony.
Hands in his pockets.
Watching her go.
Not waving. Not smiling.
Just watching.
And somehow, that was more intimate than either gesture would have been.
He hadn't needed to keep her.
He'd only needed her to know he could.
The car merged into traffic without a sound. No escort. No threats.
Just quiet.
A message sent through motion:
You belonged to him for a night.
And now everyone who matters knows it.
THE NEXT DAY
The air in the lobby of Navarro Corp felt heavier than usual.
Not tense, charged.
Security stood stiffer behind the marble desk. The concierge didn't offer the usual half-smile. Even the elevator music had been turned off, like someone had decided that melody was too human a luxury.
Lina stepped inside wearing navy slacks and a high-collared black blouse, hair swept back into a low, controlled knot. The bruise on her neck from the injection was gone, but it pulsed in memory. She hadn't slept. She didn't need to.
The guard at the elevator barely looked at her before pressing the floor code himself.
"Mr. Navarro's orders," he muttered.
She said nothing.
When the doors opened on the 23rd floor, the air was colder. Glass walls, steel desks, and too many eyes. People looked up from keyboards when she walked by. Some nodded. Most didn't.
The feeling hit her before the sound.
Something wrong. The floor's rhythm — off.
Then she saw it.
The elevator behind her didn't close. It opened again.