Chapter Six Luca POV

Morning bled into the penthouse in shades of gray. The city below pulsed, alive and oblivious, while the remnants of last night’s chaos lingered only in my memory. My men had already cleaned up the mess blood wiped away, traces erased but the silence left behind was heavier than any corpse. And then there was her.

Sienna stood by the window, arms wrapped around herself, distant and fragile looking against the hard lines of the skyline. The morning light caught her hair just right, turning it into liquid gold, but there was nothing delicate about her posture. Not really. She radiated tension, awareness, and something else I couldn’t name. Something dangerous.

“You didn’t sleep,” I said, pouring two cups of coffee, the aroma cutting through the quiet like a warning.

Her laugh was brittle, forced. It’s hard to rest when men are trying to kill you.

I leaned against the counter, measuring her, trying to read her, the way I always did. You get used to it, I said. If you don’t, you don’t last long in my world.

Her eyes snapped to mine, sharp and unflinching. That’s the problem, isn’t it? Her tone wasn’t accusatory. It was matter of fact. You’re too used to it. Death doesn’t even faze you.

I shrugged, casual but aware that her words struck too close to the truth. If it did, I’d already be dead.

She studied me, really studied me, peeling back layers I didn’t even show Jory. Last night, you could have let me go, she said softly. Instead, you saved me. And now you’re telling me I can’t leave.

“That’s right,” I said simply.

Her jaw tightened, a spark of defiance lighting her eyes. Then teach me. Show me how to live in this world you’ve dragged me into. Because if you think I’ll be your fragile little secret, you don’t know me at all.

The words hit harder than any bullet could. Outsiders begged for escape. They begged for mercy. She was asking for fire. Desire. And something darker, something I didn’t dare name. I crossed the room slowly, deliberately, closing the distance just enough that the space between us charged with tension.

“You think you can handle it?” I asked, low, almost a growl.

Her chin lifted. Brave. Stubborn. Foolish. I don’t think, she said. I know.

I brushed my hand against her wrist, testing. Her pulse thumped like a drum beneath my fingers, betraying the calm she worked so hard to hold. Then you’ll learn fast, I murmured, or you’ll die trying.

Her breath caught. But she didn’t pull away. Not even slightly.

🔥The first lesson came before noon.🔥

The penthouse gym smelled of iron and sweat, cold and unyielding. Mats lined the floor, weights hugged the walls, and the faint metallic tang of blood lingered faintly in the air, a ghost of the night before. Jory lounged in the corner, arms crossed, smirking like he knew exactly what was about to happen.

I handed her a knife.

She hesitated, blade trembling in her grip. I could feel her questioning me with her eyes, wondering if she could really do this.

“Rule one,” I said, circling her like a predator. Never let your enemy see fear. Even if you’re drowning in it.

Her jaw flexed, lips pressing together. She swallowed hard, forcing her hand to steady. Like this?

“Better.” I stepped closer, just behind her, brushing her arm slightly as I adjusted her grip, guiding her body until the knife rested perfectly in her hand, angled and lethal. She stiffened under my touch, muscles tight, pulse wild.

“You aim for soft spots,” I said, close to her ear, voice low and dangerous. Throat. Ribs. Under the jaw. Don’t waste time trying to be fair. Fair gets you killed.

Her voice trembled slightly, whispering. And what if I don’t want to kill anyone?

I leaned closer, breath grazing her hair. Then pray you never have to. But wanting doesn’t matter. Survival does.

We froze in that suspended moment, heat sparking where our skin brushed, fear and desire tangled in the air.

Jory cleared his throat, loud, breaking the fragile spell. Careful, boss. She might end up stabbing you instead.

Her eyes flicked to mine, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. Maybe I will.

And God help me, I almost wanted her to.

I guided her through the motions, teaching her to pivot, slash, and anticipate attacks before they came. Sweat beaded on her forehead, arms trembling, but she refused to drop the knife. Every movement was deliberate, precise, and every mistake carried a dangerous curiosity. She was learning, adapting, becoming something I couldn’t ignore.

You’re thinking too much, I snapped gently. Your body needs to react, not rationalize.

She glared at me, lips parting slightly as if to argue. Instead, she breathed, grounded herself, and let instinct take over. Her next strikes were sharper, cleaner, faster almost fluid. I felt a pulse of something I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in a long time. Pride? Desire? Maybe both.

Her skin glowed with exertion, flushed and beautiful, every nerve alight. The knife glinted, catching the harsh light, and I imagined what she could become if she truly let herself go. Dangerous. Deadly. Unstoppable.

“You’re a natural,” I admitted, watching her hesitate at my words. Uncertainty flickered in her gaze was it praise, or a warning?

“Don’t flatter me,” she shot back. I didn’t come here for compliments.

I chuckled low. Good. Then you’ll survive longer.

The hour stretched on, and I pushed her harder, watching her grow sharper, faster, stronger. Every brush of our hands, every correction of her grip, the faint contact of my body near hers it all hummed with tension. Dangerous, delicious, and utterly forbidden.

Finally, she dropped to the mat, chest heaving, arms trembling, and I knelt beside her, handing her water. Her fingers brushed mine, and she didn’t pull away. I didn’t look away.

“You did well,” I said, voice rough, approving. Better than I expected.

She smirked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Don’t get used to praise either. It’ll ruin you.

“Noted,” I said, though I wasn’t entirely paying attention. My focus was trapped in her eyes, in the fire she carried, in the way she’d already begun to survive in this world I had thrown her into.

We stayed like that for a moment exhausted, sweaty, charged with tension that neither of us admitted but both of us felt. The lesson was over, but the pull between us hadn’t faded.

Sienna was learning to survive. But I was learning too how close I could get to losing control, how intoxicating danger could be when it had a heartbeat and a spine and a pulse that matched my own.

And I didn’t regret it. Not for a second.