What the Morning Didn’t Say

Morning arrived without ceremony.

Soft light filtered through the curtains, pale and almost polite, as if the house itself was trying not to wake them too abruptly. The suite was quiet. No guards’ radios. No footsteps. No voices carrying orders down hallways.

Bella moved easily through the kitchen, wrapped in a light robe, hair loose, bare feet silent on the marble. She cooked without rushing. Eggs. Toast. Coffee strong enough to count as strategy.

She placed everything neatly on a tray, balanced, intentional.

When she returned to the bedroom, Luca was awake.

Not alert-awake. Just… there. Propped slightly against the pillows, eyes open, watching the ceiling like a man pretending he hadn’t already been thinking for ten minutes straight.

She stopped just inside the doorway.

“You’re up,” she said.

“Define up,” he replied, voice steady enough to pass inspection.

She raised an eyebrow, walked over, and set the tray down on the nightstand. “Breakfast.”

His gaze dropped to the tray. Then lifted. Slowly. Thoughtfully.

“You know,” he said, “I was hoping for a different kind of breakfast.”

Bella didn’t even blink.

“Oh?” she said, tone neutral, dangerous. “That’s unfortunate.”

Inside, Luca felt it. That faint weakness he didn’t like. Not pain. Not dizziness. Just the sense that his body hadn’t quite caught up with his confidence yet.

He ignored it. Obviously.

“I’m just saying,” he continued, calm as ever, “this looks excellent, but I had something more… specific in mind.”

Bella stared at him for a long second.

Then she smiled.

Not sweet. Not amused.

“Fair,” she said.

And without hesitation, she picked up the tray.

Luca frowned. “Wait.”

Too late.

She turned away, robe swaying lightly as she carried the tray back toward the door. “If that’s the case,” she said over her shoulder, “you don’t get this breakfast.”

He pushed himself up a little more. “Bella.”

She stopped and looked back at him.

Still smiling.

His mouth curved despite himself. “You’re punishing me.”

“I’m feeding you,” she corrected. “There’s a difference.”

She left the tray just outside the bedroom, out of reach, then returned and leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed.

Luca studied her, taking in the robe, the bare confidence, the way she controlled the room without raising her voice.

“You enjoy this,” he said.

“Yes,” she replied easily. “But mostly I enjoy that you’re still pretending you’re in charge.”

He laughed under his breath, then paused, hand briefly pressing into the mattress as if grounding himself.

Bella noticed.

Of course she did.

“You alright?” she asked, casual. Watchful.

“Fine,” he said immediately. Too fast. “Just didn’t sleep much.”

She accepted that. For now.

Luca watched her cross the room, slow and deliberate, the kind of movement that wasn’t rushed because it didn’t need to be. When she reached the bed, she untied the robe without ceremony and let it slip from her shoulders, folding herself back into the space beside him as if that had always been her place.

“Just so we’re clear,” she said quietly, settling against him, “that breakfast wasn’t only for you. And I know what you want. I was just teasing you.”

His arm came around her instinctively, pulling her closer. “You just enjoy provoking me. Later we can eat it properly.”

“Yes,” she admitted. “It’s one of my few remaining hobbies.”

They both laughed softly and then she kissed him, unhurried, familiar now in a way that still felt unreal. No urgency. No secrecy. Just warmth, closeness, the kind of touch that said we survived the worst part.

For a while, nothing else existed.

Across the city, Don Giovanni Valenti stood alone in his study, phone pressed to his ear, expression darkening with every word.

“Say that again,” he said.

The voice on the other end repeated itself. A shipment intercepted. Clean execution. No mistakes. No survivors.

Giovanni closed his eyes briefly.

“Where?”

He listened, then nodded once. “That route was classified.”

That was the problem.

He ended the call and stared at the city through the tall windows. This wasn’t chance. This wasn’t luck. Someone had handed the Morettis information they shouldn’t have had.

He picked up the phone again.

“Vittorio,” he said when the call connected. “We have a breach. I want a meeting. Today. At the estate.”

A pause.

“Yes,” Giovanni added quietly. “I think it’s internal.”

He hung up just as the door opened.

Marco stepped inside, already reading the tension in the room. “You look like someone just confirmed your worst suspicion.”

Giovanni turned. “A shipment was hit. Precisely. No guesswork.”

Marco’s jaw tightened. “Then someone’s talking.”

“Yes,” Giovanni said. “And I intend to find out who.”

Back in the suite, Bella lay half over Luca’s chest, her fingers tracing slow, absent patterns along his shoulder. Luca’s breathing was even now, controlled again, though he was acutely aware of the effort it took to keep it that way.

“You’re quiet,” she murmured.

“I’m enjoying this,” he replied. “Try not to ruin it by overanalyzing.”

She smiled against his skin. “You hate when I’m right.”

Before he could respond, his phone vibrated on the nightstand.

At the exact same moment, Bella’s did too.

They froze.

Then, almost reluctantly, both reached for their phones.

They answered at the same time.

“Father?” Luca said.

“Marco?” Bella said.

A beat. Then both of them straightened.

Luca’s expression hardened first. “When?”

Bella exhaled slowly. “We’ll be there.”

They hung up, silence settling between them again, different now. Heavier.

“Valenti estate,” Bella said.

“Something went wrong,” Luca replied.

He leaned in and kissed her anyway, slow and deliberate, as if refusing to let the moment end on someone else’s terms. His hand lingered at her waist, his forehead resting briefly against hers.

“If I stop first,” he said quietly, “you’ll accuse me again.”

She smiled, but this time she was the one who pulled back, just slightly.

“Work’s waiting,” she said softly.

He studied her for a second, then nodded.

Bella swung her legs off the bed and crossed the room, already shedding the last traces of sleep. She opened the wardrobe and reached for dark, tailored clothes. Practical. Unremarkable. The kind that didn’t draw attention and didn’t restrict movement.

Luca followed, slower but steady. He dressed in layers, movements precise, controlled. The jacket came last. Structure. Armor disguised as elegance.

Only then did Bella open the bedside drawer.

She took her gun, checked the magazine with one smooth, practiced motion, and secured it against her body, hidden, accessible, exactly where it always belonged.

Luca did the same. His movements were quiet, automatic. No tension. No drama.

When they were both ready, they stopped.

Their eyes met.

No questions.

No reassurance.

Understanding.

In their world, danger didn’t announce itself. It waited. Watched. Moved when you weren’t paying attention.

Bella slipped on her earrings and fastened her watch, the final details locking her into place.

Luca adjusted his cuff, then stepped closer. Not a kiss. Just a brief touch, forehead to forehead. Grounding. Familiar.

“Later,” he said.

“Later,” she answered.

They left the suite together.

Fully dressed.

Fully armed.

And wide awake.