Chapter 9: The Stolen Kiss

The ride back to Manhattan was silent except for the low hum of the sedan's engine and the occasional vibration of Julian's phone, which he ignored completely. Elara sat pressed against the passenger door, her mind reeling from everything that had happened in Helena's study. Vincent's threats, Julian's protection, the casual admission of murder—it all felt surreal, like she'd stepped through the pages of Eterno and into a world where love stories came with body counts.

"Where are we going?" she finally asked as Julian navigated through traffic that was growing heavier as evening approached.

"Somewhere safe. Vincent won't make another move tonight—he's too smart for that. But we need to regroup, figure out our next steps."

"Our next steps?" Elara turned to study his profile, noting the tension in his jaw, the way his hands gripped the steering wheel like he was holding onto control by sheer force of will. "Julian, I can't ask you to—"

"You're not asking. I'm telling you." His voice was flat, final. "Vincent made this personal the moment he threatened you in my grandmother's study. You're under my protection now, whether you like it or not."

The words should have reassured her, but instead they sent a flutter of something that felt dangerously like excitement through her chest. This was insane. She was developing feelings for a man who'd just admitted his family had connections to organized crime, who carried a gun like other people carried business cards, who looked at her like she was either the most fascinating or the most foolish person he'd ever encountered.

But God help her, when he'd stepped between her and Vincent's gun, when he'd risked his life to protect hers without hesitation, something inside her chest had cracked wide open.

Julian pulled into the underground parking garage of a building that looked like it had been designed by someone who believed architecture should intimidate people. Glass and steel and angles that suggested serious money and serious security.

"This is my building," he said, killing the engine. "Penthouse. Best security system money can buy, and Vincent won't risk making a move here—too public, too many witnesses."

The elevator ride to the top floor was silent, but Elara was acutely aware of every breath Julian took, every subtle shift of his body. The confined space seemed to amplify everything—the expensive scent of his cologne, the controlled power in his movements, the way his dark eyes kept finding hers in the polished steel reflection of the elevator doors.

His penthouse was exactly what she'd expected from a billionaire CEO—floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city, minimalist furniture that probably cost more than her annual rent, artwork that belonged in museums. But there were unexpected touches too: well-worn books scattered on side tables, a guitar leaning against one wall, family photographs mixed in with the expensive décor.

"Nice place," Elara said, moving to the windows to look out at the glittering cityscape below. "Very... intimidating."

"That's the point." Julian shrugged out of his suit jacket and loosened his tie, and the casual gesture somehow made him look more dangerous, not less. "Most people who come here are meant to be intimidated."

"Most people?"

He moved to a bar cart in the corner, pouring amber liquid into two glasses. "Business associates. Rivals. People who need to understand exactly what they're dealing with when they sit across from me at a negotiation table."

"And me?" Elara accepted the glass he offered, their fingers brushing in the exchange. The contact sent electricity up her arm. "What am I supposed to understand?"

Julian studied her face for a long moment, his dark eyes unreadable. "You're supposed to understand that you're safe here. That no one can hurt you while you're under my protection."

The words were meant to be reassuring, but there was something in his tone that made her pulse quicken. She took a sip of the whiskey—expensive, smooth, burning warm all the way down—and tried to process everything that had happened in the past few hours.

"I can't stay here forever," she said finally. "I have a business to run, a life to get back to."

"What life?" Julian's voice was sharper than she'd expected. "Your struggling bookstore? Your blog that three people read? Your apartment that Vincent's people are probably watching right now?"

The brutal assessment stung because it was true. Her life before Eterno, before Julian, had been small and safe and ultimately forgettable. She'd been hiding behind books and other people's love stories instead of living her own.

"At least it was mine," she said quietly. "At least I knew who I was."

"And who were you?" Julian moved closer, close enough that she could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. "A woman who was so afraid of real intimacy that she preferred fictional romance? Someone who'd rather research other people's passion than risk experiencing her own?"

The words hit like physical blows, accurate and devastating. "That's not—"

"It is. You've spent your whole life waiting for a love story like the one Helena wrote, but you've been too afraid to actually live one." His voice softened, became more dangerous in its gentleness. "Until now."

Elara set down her glass with trembling hands. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that maybe Helena's story found you for a reason. Maybe you needed to discover what it really means to choose love over safety, passion over predictability."

"Julian—"

"You want to know why I'm really helping you? Why I'm risking everything to protect a woman I barely know?" He reached up, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw with devastating tenderness. "Because when I watched you stand up to Vincent, when I saw you refuse to back down even with a gun pointed at you, I saw the same fire that my grandmother had. The same courage that made her willing to die for her truth."

Elara's breath caught. "You're not making sense."

"I'm making perfect sense. For the first time in years, I'm making perfect sense." His thumb brushed across her lower lip, and she felt her knees go weak. "You walked into my office three days ago, and you've turned my entire world upside down. You've made me remember what it feels like to want something more than power or control or survival."

"What do you want?" The question came out as barely a whisper.

Julian's answer was to kiss her.

It wasn't gentle or tentative or polite. It was desperate and claiming and absolutely devastating, the kind of kiss that made her understand exactly why Helena had been willing to risk everything for love. His hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer, and she could taste the whiskey on his lips, could feel the barely contained violence that always seemed to simmer just beneath his surface.

This was the kiss from Chapter 18 of Eterno, the scene that had been sanitized out of existence. Raw and hungry and completely overwhelming, the kind of passion that made rational thought impossible.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing hard. Julian rested his forehead against hers, his dark eyes intense enough to burn.

"This is insane," Elara whispered.

"Yes."

"We barely know each other."

"I know enough." His voice was rough, strained. "I know you're brave enough to walk into a lion's den for a story. I know you see beauty in broken things. I know you make me want to be the kind of man who deserves someone like you."

"Julian—"

"I know that Vincent is going to try to kill you, and I know that I'd rather die than let that happen." His hands cupped her face, thumbs stroking over her cheekbones. "I know that somewhere between yesterday and today, protecting you stopped being about honoring my grandmother's memory and started being about something much more dangerous."

The admission hung between them like a confession. Elara could see the truth of it in his eyes, could feel it in the way his hands shook slightly as they held her face.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I'm falling in love with you, Elara Vance. And that terrifies me more than any threat Vincent could make."

The words should have made her happy. Instead, they filled her with a cold dread that had nothing to do with Vincent's threats and everything to do with the sudden, crushing realization of what loving Julian Moretti would cost her.

"We can't," she whispered, stepping back from his touch. "This isn't—we can't do this."

Julian's expression shuttered, the vulnerable man disappearing behind the mask of the dangerous CEO. "Why not?"

"Because this isn't a romance novel, Julian. Because real life doesn't work like the stories I love. Because people like me don't get happily ever after with people like you."

"People like me?"

"People who carry guns to family dinners. People whose uncles order murders over lunch. People who live in a world where love stories end with car accidents and brake failures." Tears were burning behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "I've spent my whole life believing in fairy tale romance, but Helena's story isn't a fairy tale. It's a tragedy. And I won't become another cautionary tale about what happens when ordinary women fall in love with dangerous men."

The silence that followed was deafening. Julian stood perfectly still, his hands at his sides, his face a mask of controlled calm.

"So what are you saying?" he asked quietly.

"I'm saying that as soon as this is over, as soon as Vincent is no longer a threat, I'm going back to my real life. My safe, boring, predictable life." She lifted her chin, channeling every ounce of strength she possessed. "And you're going back to yours."

Julian studied her for a long moment, and she saw something flicker in his eyes that looked like disappointment.

"If that's what you want."

"It's what I need."

He nodded once, sharp and final. "Then that's what we'll do. We'll finish this—we'll make sure Vincent can't hurt you, we'll see that Helena's story gets the ending it deserves—and then you can go back to hiding behind other people's love stories."

The words stung because they were true, but Elara forced herself not to react. This was the right choice. The smart choice. The choice that would keep her heart intact and her life uncomplicated.

So why did it feel like she was making the biggest mistake of her life?

"I should go to bed," she said quietly. "It's been a long day."

"Guest room is down the hall. Second door on the right." Julian's voice was perfectly neutral, giving nothing away. "We'll figure out our next move in the morning."

As Elara walked toward the guest room, she could feel his eyes on her, could sense the weight of everything unsaid hanging between them. At the doorway, she paused and looked back.

Julian was standing exactly where she'd left him, silhouetted against the city lights, looking like a dark angel who'd been cast out of heaven for loving too deeply.

"Julian?"

"Yes?"

"For what it's worth... I'm falling in love with you too."

She closed the door before he could respond, but she heard the sharp intake of his breath, heard the whispered curse that followed. As she leaned against the door, her heart hammering against her ribs, she realized that some truths were too dangerous to keep inside, even when speaking them aloud changed everything.

Especially then.