Keeper, Not Lover

Just as I was about to turn off my phone, a call came in from Luca, Rocco’s right-hand man.

"Miss Vance, the Boss will be at the apartment shortly. Please… prepare yourself."

Prepare myself.

The words were a bitter joke.

Was he not satisfied after his heroic rescue?

Or was his frightened little rabbit, Vivienne, now unwilling to fulfill his needs?

I looked at my packed suitcase and laughed at myself.

Fine.

Let this be it.

A proper ending.

I shoved the suitcase deep into the back of the closet, hiding it behind a row of couture gowns I had no intention of taking.

Then, I changed into the black lace nightgown he had just sent me. The one that screamed what he wanted.

Half an hour later, Rocco arrived.

To my surprise, he wasn't angry or demanding.

He was carrying several takeout boxes from Le Bernardin.

Lobster and black truffle risotto.

My favorite.

"I remember you didn't eat much today."

He threw his coat, still cold and smelling of gunpowder, onto the sofa. He ordered his men to set the table.

He even lit candles.

A sudden, bizarre candlelight dinner.

"Boss, what is all this?" I asked, completely lost.

Rocco poured two glasses of red wine and sat down, his eyes dark and intense as he looked at me.

"About this afternoon… I was in a hurry. I shouldn't have left you like that."

Was that an apology?

Rocco Moretti never apologized.

This was the closest he would ever get.

He took a sip of wine. "The Rosetti family went too far. Five years ago, they were the ones who staged the car crash that killed my brother, Leonardo. For them to attack the gallery today… I had to teach them a lesson."

"Boss."

I cut him off, my voice calm and gentle. "You don't have to explain anything to me. I understand."

I raised my glass to him. "As the Don, it's your duty to protect your family. And it's only right that you protect the future Mrs. Moretti."

Rocco looked at me, a flicker of surprise in his eyes, as if he couldn't believe how "understanding" I was being.

He reached across the table and took my hand, his thumb stroking the back of it.

"Clara, you've always been so good. That's what I like most about you."

The candlelight flickered.

In the dim light, he caressed my cheek and then leaned in to kiss me.

The kiss was soft, tasting of wine. It wasn't brutal like in the car, but held a tenderness I had never felt from him before.

His hand slid down to my waist, and when his fingers brushed against the thin lace, the lust in his eyes flared.

"You're wearing it," he murmured, his voice husky. "Beautiful."

This time, he was gentle.

No rough taking, only a slow, deliberate pleasure.

As if he wanted to make this moment last forever.

But I knew what it was. A man's guilt after an outburst of violence.

Or maybe a guilty conscience for the trip he was about to take.

Afterward, he held me, his fingers twirling my hair.

"It's my birthday the day after tomorrow," he said suddenly.

"I know," I whispered, my head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. "Are you going to Sicily, Boss?"

It was his ritual.

Every year for his birthday, he went back to the family estate in Sicily. To visit his brother's grave. To spend time with Vivienne and the family elders.

It was a sacred Moretti place. A place I was not allowed to go.

"Yes. For a few days."

He kissed my forehead. "Wait for me to get back. When I do, I have something to tell you."

Something to tell me?

That you're getting married? That our game is over?

It didn't matter anymore.

"Okay."

I looked up and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"Happy birthday, Rocco. In advance."

It was probably the last time I would ever say it to him.

Rocco seemed pleased with my obedience. He rolled over, pinning me beneath him, his eyes hazy with desire.

"Clara, you've been so fucking good lately. Tomorrow… I'll have a surprise for you tomorrow. A reward."

The next morning, I woke up to an empty bed.

A note was on the nightstand: "Wait for me tonight."

I couldn't help but smile bitterly.

Tonight?

By tonight, I'd be on the other side of the Atlantic.

I got up without a second thought.

I crumpled the note and threw it in the trash.

I pulled my small suitcase from the back of the closet.

I changed into a simple pair of jeans and a hoodie, and pulled on a baseball cap.

I glanced at the phone on the table, the one that was still blinking with missed calls from him. The private phone he gave me.

I left it there, right next to the charger.

Goodbye to this five-year-long, ridiculous dream.

I rested a hand on my stomach, whispering to the life inside.

"Baby, Mommy's taking you away from here."

Then, I pulled open the door and walked out into the New York dawn.

And I didn't look back.