Perfect Storm

Eleven

Luciano storms out to Cashmere's balcony, his fingers digging into the railing as he stares out into the night. His body is tense, his breath coming out in sharp, controlled bursts. He's pissed—not just at the situation, but at himself for dragging Cashmere into this mess. The reality of the night sinks in.. he could lose her, and that thought gnaws at him more than the pain in his arm.

He steps back inside, his eyes locking onto Cashmere. Her tears have dried, but the hurt in her expression lingers. He fights against the wave of anger crashing through him for a moment. He wants to yell, to demand why she would end things when he had tried so hard to keep her safe and happy. But he reins it in, his voice low and steady instead.

"You think I wanted this?" he says, slowly approaching her. "You think I wanted you to see me like this? To pull you into this?"

Cashmere looks away, wiping her eyes. "I don't know what to think, Luciano. All I know is I asked you a simple question, and you lied. Now I'm stitching you up after a fucking shootout."

The hurt in her voice twists the knife in his chest. He moves closer, gently cupping her face in his hands. He tips her chin up until she meets his gaze, the anger in his eyes softened by a deep vulnerability he rarely shows anyone.

"You're right," he admits quietly. "I lied to you. I thought I could protect you by keeping you away from this part of my life. I didn't want you to look at me the way you're looking at me now."

Her breath hitches, her anger wavering under the weight of his confession. "Why didn't you just tell me the truth from the start?"

"Because I wanted you to see me as the man I am with you, not the man I have to be out there," he says, gesturing vaguely to the city beyond the windows. "But I see now that keeping you in the dark was a mistake. I never wanted you to be involved, but that doesn't mean I'm ashamed of who I am or what I do."

He steps back, giving her space as he rolls up the sleeve of his uninjured arm, revealing a tattoo that snakes down his forearm—something she hadn't noticed before. It's intricate, and detailed, a symbol of something deeper than just ink on skin.

"You see this?" he says, his voice rough but steady. "This is my family's mark. I was born into this. It's not just about money or power—it's about loyalty, about protecting what's ours. My brother...he's a fuck-up, but he's my blood. And when things got messy tonight, it was about keeping my family safe. I'd do it again if I had to and I'd do the same about you."

He takes a slow breath, calming the storm within him before continuing. "I don't do petty crimes. I don't run the streets like some thug. I handle the business deals, the negotiations, the shit that keeps everything from spiraling into chaos. I'm not innocent, but I'm not a monster either. I make sure things run smoothly, that people get paid, and that unnecessary bloodshed is avoided."

Cashmere's face softens slightly, the confusion still evident but mingled with a new understanding. She searches his eyes, looking for a lie but finding none.

"I didn't want you to see this side of me because I knew it could change everything. You'd run before even giving this a chance." he continues. "But if we're going to move forward, you need to know all of me. I can't hide anymore."

Her silence stretches, the weight of his words sinking in. She takes a shaky breath. "And what if I can't handle it?"

He swallows hard, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Then I'll let you go. If that's what you want, I won't force you to stay. But I need you to know I've never lied about how I feel about you. I lied to keep you safe. The more naive you are, the better."

Tears well up in her eyes again, but this time, they're not just from fear. There's a tenderness, an understanding she hadn't allowed herself to feel before.