"In here. Move!" I hissed, shoving him toward a rusted green door tucked behind a mountain of wooden crates.
I swiped a hidden key from the top of the doorframe—old school, no biometrics for Moretti to hack—and threw us inside. I slammed the deadbolt home just as the sound of screeching tires echoed in the street outside.
The apartment was small, smelling of dust and the lavender soap I used to buy when I was here. It was a one-room walk-up with a single window facing an alley and a mattress on the floor. It was the polar opposite of the Vanguard penthouse.
Kyle stood in the center of the room, his chest heaving, his midnight-blue suit torn at the shoulder and smeared with lime dust. He looked around the cramped space with a look of utter bewilderment.
"What is this place?" he rasped, his voice cracking.
"It's called a safehouse, Kyle. A real one," I snapped, throwing my hoodie onto the lone wooden chair. "Not a gilded cage with a private chef. Sit down before you bleed out on my only rug."
I saw it then—a dark, wet patch blooming on his thigh where a piece of stone or a stray bullet must have grazed him during the sprint.
The arrogance tried to flare up in his eyes, but he was losing steam. He sank onto the edge of the mattress, his head falling back against the peeling wallpaper. "You... you were in the car. I saw the GPS move."
"I left the phone in the seat," I said, walking over to a small cabinet and pulling out a first-aid kit and a bottle of cheap brandy. "You're a brilliant businessman, Kyle, but you're a predictable hunter. You expected me to run because that's what a 'thief' does. You forgot that I'm a thief who knows exactly what you're worth."
I knelt between his legs, my hands steady as I began to cut away the fabric of his trousers to get to the wound.
"Don't," he muttered, his hand reaching out to stop mine. His fingers were shaking, but his grip was still firm. "I don't need your pity, Val."
"It's not pity. It's an invoice," I countered, looking up at him. I leaned in, my face inches from his, forcing him to see the fire in my eyes. I reached out and slapped his hand away, replaced it with my own palm flat against his chest. "Look at where we are. You're in my house now. My rules. My air. If you want to survive the night, you drop the 'King of Milan' act and you do exactly what the 'urchin' tells you to do."
Kyle's breath hitched. He looked around the tiny, dim room, then back at me. For the first time, he didn't look like a master. He looked like a man who had finally realized he was lost.
He let out a low, rumble breath and slumped back, his hands falling to his sides. "Fine. Fix me, then."
I worked in silence, the only sound the distant sirens of the city. I cleaned the graze—it was shallow, but it stung. When I poured the brandy over the cut to disinfect it, Kyle didn't cry out. He just grabbed the edge of the mattress, his knuckles turning white, his eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
"Why did you stay?" he whispered, his voice a raw thread of silk. "You had the key. You had the car. You could have been gone."
I finished bandaging him and didn't pull away. I stayed right there, kneeling between his knees, my hands resting on his thighs. I looked at the diamond collar reflected in the dim light of the streetlamp outside.
"Because if I let you die, I'd never get to see the look on your face when you realize I'm the one who saved you," I said, my "loud mouth" softening into something more dangerous.
I reached up, my thumb tracing the line of his jaw, wiping away a smudge of soot. The physical touch was different here—not a claim, not a punishment, but a slow, burning recognition.
Kyle didn't push me away. He didn't order me to stop. He reached out, his hand sliding into my hair, pulling me toward him until our foreheads touched.
"You're a terrible investment, Valentina," he breathed, his hand tightening at the back of my neck.
"And you're a bankrupt king," I whispered back.
He pulled me into a kiss that wasn't about power or boardrooms. It was desperate, fueled by adrenaline and the terrifying realization that for the next twelve hours, we were the only two people left in the world.