Chapter Three: The Enemy At The Gate

Morning came too fast.

Sarah woke to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar curtains. For a moment, she didn’t remember where she was.

Then she felt the weight beside her.

Luca had fallen asleep in the armchair. His head was tilted back, mouth slightly open, one hand still stretched toward the bed like he’d been reaching for her in his sleep.

He looked younger like this.

Softer.

She remembered waking up next to him, before. The way his arm would curl around her waist. The way he’d pull her close and bury his face in her hair.

She’d almost forgotten.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Sarah reached for it carefully. Her ribs screamed. Her wrist throbbed. But she needed to see.

7 missed calls from Ashley.

12 texts.

She scrolled quickly.

Sarah where are you

I came to your apartment

There’s blood everywhere

Please answer

I’m calling the police

Sarah typed back: I’m safe. With a friend. I’ll explain later.

The response came immediately.

Who??

Sarah looked at Luca.

He was awake now. Watching her with those gray eyes that saw everything.

“Ashley,” she said. “My best friend. She’s worried.”

“Tell her you’re with me.”

“I don’t think that will help.”

His lips curved. Barely a smile. But it was there.

“Probably not.”

Her phone buzzed again.

Sarah Matthews if you don’t tell me where you are right now I’m tracking your phone

She typed: I’m safe. I promise. I’ll call you tonight.

Then she turned the phone facedown.

“We need to talk about what happens next,” she said.

Luca sat up. The softness faded from his face, replaced by the cold mask she remembered.

“Nothing happens next. You stay here until you’re healed. Then we figure things out.”

“And my ex? The man who did this?”

Something dark passed over Luca’s expression.

“He won’t touch you again.”

“Luca.”

“Sarah.”

“I’m not asking you to kill him.”

“You’re not asking me to do anything.” He stood. Crossed to the window. “But I’m not going to let him walk free. Not after what he did to you.”

“The police—”

“The police won’t help. You know that.”

He was right.

She’d tried the police with Jake before. Restraining orders. Reports filed and ignored. He had friends in the department, connections she couldn’t match.

But Luca had different connections.

“I don’t want his blood on my hands,” she said quietly.

Luca turned.

“It won’t be on your hands. It’ll be on mine.”

“That’s not better.”

“It’s the only way.”

She wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him that violence wasn’t the answer, that she’d spent five years trying to escape this world.

But she remembered Jake’s hands around her throat. His knee on her chest. The way he’d laughed when she begged him to stop.

Some men didn’t deserve mercy.

“Just don’t let me see it,” she whispered.

Luca crossed the room.

He knelt beside the bed. Took her face in his hands. Pressed his forehead to hers.

“You won’t,” he promised. “You’ll never have to see that part of me again.”

She wanted to believe him.

But she’d seen that part of him before. The violence. The darkness. The cold efficiency of a man who’d learned to kill before he’d learned to love.

She’d loved him anyway.

She still did.

---

Six days passed.

Sarah healed. Slowly. The ribs still ached, but the swelling in her wrist went down. The stitches itched. The bruises faded from purple to yellow.

Luca stayed close.

Too close.

Every morning, he brought her breakfast. Every afternoon, he sat in the armchair while she read. Every night, he kissed her forehead and left her alone.

He never pushed.

He never asked.

He just waited.

It was driving her insane.

“You’re staring again,” she said on the seventh day.

Luca didn’t look away from his book. “I’m reading.”

“You haven’t turned a page in ten minutes.”

His jaw tightened.

She knew that tell. He was thinking about something. Something he didn’t want to tell her.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Luca.”

He closed the book. Set it aside.

“I found him.”

Sarah’s blood went cold.

“Jake. He’s been watching your apartment. Waiting for you to come back.”

“How do you know?”

“I have people everywhere.” Luca’s voice was flat. Clinical. “They’ve been tracking him since the night I brought you here.”

“And?”

“And I need to know what you want me to do.”

She should say nothing.

She should tell him to let the police handle it, to walk away, to trust the system.

But the system had failed her before.

“I want him to leave me alone,” she said. “I want him to never come near me again. I want to stop being afraid every time I hear a knock on the door.”

“That can be arranged.”

“Without killing him?”

Luca was quiet for a long moment.

“Without killing him,” he agreed finally. “If that’s what you want.”

“It’s what I want.”

He nodded. Stood. Pulled out his phone.

“Then I’ll make some calls.”

Sarah watched him step into the hallway. Heard the low murmur of his voice. Italian. Fast. Angry.

She should have felt relieved.

Instead, she felt hollow.

Because she knew Luca. Knew that without killing him didn’t mean without violence. It just meant he’d be creative.

She closed her eyes.

She’d made her choice.

Now she had to live with it.

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