POV: Luca Volkov

Elena falls asleep on the leather sofa in the private strategy office — exhaustion catching up with her after hours of meetings and stress.

Luca hadn’t meant to stay.

He’d planned to walk away after their conversation in the conference room.

But when he reached the elevator, something in his chest tightened painfully.

Leaving her used to feel like protection.

Tonight, it feels like abandonment.

So he went back.

He stands across the room, leaning against the bookshelf, arms crossed, forcing himself to keep distance. He watches the way her breathing slows. The way loose strands of honey-brown hair fall across her cheek.

She looks nothing like danger. And yet she is the most dangerous thing that has ever happened to him.

He kneels beside the couch. Not close enough to wake her… but close enough to breathe her in.

Luca: “You still look at me the same way you did five years ago.”

His voice is barely a whisper.

She doesn’t stir.

He gently tucks her hair behind her ear — he swore he’d never touch her again, but he can’t stop himself. Not tonight.

Her eyes flutter open.

For a moment, she’s unguarded.

Soft. Warm. Happy.

Until memory returns.

Their faces are inches apart.

Luca’s heart slams against his ribs.

He tries to pull back — tries to be rational — but her hand catches his wrist.

Elena: “Don’t run.”

One request.

One plea.

One undoing.

He exhales shakily.

Luca: “If I stay any closer, I won’t stop.”

Her breath hitches — not in fear, but in want. God, she has no idea how much that destroys him.

Elena: “Then don’t stop.”

That’s all it takes.

He leans in — slowly, painfully, giving her every chance to change her mind.

She doesn’t. She watches his mouth like she’s starved for it.

Luca’s forehead touches hers.

Nose brushing nose.

Breaths tangling.

Finally — after five years of silence, punishment, longing — his lips almost touch hers.

The moment crackles.

Fire and lightning and history.

His hand slides to the back of her neck, thumb tracing her pulse.

He whispers against her mouth:

Luca: “I never stopped loving you.”

He’s going to kiss her.

He’s going to drown in her.

He’s going to—

The door slams open.

Matteo: “Get the fuck away from her.”

Elena jerks back — startled.

Luca stands immediately, shoulders squared, every muscle shifting into violence.

Matteo Moretti marches inside like a storm, jaw clenched, murder in his eyes. Protective older brother. Eternal enemy.

He stops in front of Luca — chest to chest, height to height — ready to throw the first punch.

Matteo: “She trusted you once and you destroyed her. Try it again and I destroy you.”

Luca doesn’t blink.

Luca: “You think I don’t know what I did to her?”

Matteo laughs bitterly.

Matteo: “You’re doing it again.”

That hits hard because it’s true. Wanting her without giving her a future — wanting her without safety — is hurting her all over again.

Elena rises from the couch, voice shaking:

Elena: “Matteo, please—”

He pulls her behind him.

Matteo: “You don’t need protection from me, Elena. You need protection from him.”

Luca’s control is cracking — not from Matteo, but from watching Elena shrink behind someone who gets to care for her openly when he cannot.

Luca: “I would burn the world before I hurt her.”

Matteo: “You already did.”

Silence.

Matteo takes Elena’s arm gently and leads her toward the door.

She looks back only once.

Not angry.

Not accusing.

Just… hurt.

And Luca realizes something terrifying:

The almost-kiss didn’t satisfy anything.

It only proved how close he is to losing her again.