It's been a few days since the party at Mr. Carter's house, and Stefano has been relentlessly gathering information on the Kazan gang, a group that was supposedly wiped out years ago. The night we returned to his apartment, I asked him why Mr. Carter didn't provide the information Stefano needed, given their apparent friendship. Stefano's jaw tightened, his eyes darkening as he explained that if the Kazan gang was indeed behind the bullet purchase, Mr. Carter's life would have been ended the moment he uttered a word.

I'm in the kitchen, savoring a leisurely breakfast, when my phone trills, interrupting the peaceful morning. Glancing at my phone screen, an unknown number flashes. Curiosity piqued, I swipe to answer. "Hello?"

"Hello, is this Andrea?" The deep, resonant voice on the other end sounds vaguely familiar, but I can't quite pinpoint where I've heard it before.

"Yes, this is she. How can I help you?"

"It's Ivan. How are you doing today?"

"I'm good, and yourself?"

A warm chuckle precedes his reply. "My day just got infinitely better hearing your lovely voice." His words, laced with flirtation, elicit an involuntary, girlish giggle that surprises even me.

"You're funny, Ivan. I must say, I'm surprised you called."

"I know it's been a few days since we met, but I have a good reason for just calling now. Work has been utterly hectic, and I'm hoping you can forgive me." Sincerity rings in his deep voice, and I find my defenses melting.

"It's fine, no need to apologize. I understand how demanding work can be," I assure him.

"Thank you for understanding, and I'd love to take you out to dinner tonight to make it up to you if you're available."

"I'm free tonight. What time and where are you thinking for dinner?" I ask, a wave of happiness washing over me as I anticipate seeing him again.

"Why don't I pick you up around 6pm, and we can decide on a place together?" he suggests smoothly.

"Sure, that sounds perfect. I'll text you my home address."

"Wonderful. I'm looking forward to it. See you at 6, Andrea."

"Bye, Ivan." I end the call with a small smile on my face, looking forward to our dinner date.

"Where are you going at 6 pm?" Stefano's deep Italian voice startles me, and I turn to find him leaning against the kitchen doorway, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

"Out," I reply casually, trying to ignore the way my heart rate spikes at his sudden appearance.

"Out where?" He arches a brow, his gaze intense.

"To a restaurant." I keep my tone light, but I can feel the tension building in the air between us.

"With who?" His question is sharp and demanding.

"With a friend. Why are you asking me all these questions?" I counter, my own brows furrowing.

"Do I know this friend of yours?" He ignores my query, his eyes narrowing.

"No, you don't. And you didn't answer my question."

"I don't think you should go out with him." His words are firm, leaving no room for argument.

"Why would you say that? And how do you know it's a male?" I challenge, my hackles rising at his presumptuous tone.

"Because I don't know him, and if it were a girl, you would have said her name by now," he says, pushing off the kitchen entrance and slowly walking toward me.

"Because you don't know him?" I repeat, disbelief, coloring my words. "Are you kidding me?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?" His face is stern, his jaw set.

"You can't be serious. I don't even know why I'm wasting my time talking to you." I push away from the counter, intending to leave, but Stefano's hand shoots out, caging me against the marble surface. His proximity steals my breath, his scent invading my senses.

"You're not going," he growls, his breath fanning across my face, sending shivers down my spine.

"If you gave me a reasonable explanation, I might have considered it." I tilt my chin up defiantly, meeting his gaze head-on. "And where is this sudden interest in my life coming from? It's really starting to annoy me."

"As I said, I don't know him, and he might be dangerous for all we know." Stefano's eyes flash with an emotion I can't quite decipher.

"Just because you don't know him doesn't automatically make him a threat. And why do you even care?" I search his face, trying to understand his motives. Could it be a concern for my well-being? The thought sends a flutter through my chest, but I quickly tamp it down.

"It does, and I don't care. I just need to keep you safe for the people who do care about you." His words are like a bucket of cold water, dousing any warmth that had begun to bloom.

"Really?" I scoff, my temper flaring.

"Yes." His tone is resolute, unyielding.

"Besides, I haven't even told you his name, and you're already assuming he's dangerous." I throw my hands up in exasperation.

"You don't need to tell me his name. I already know who you're going to meet." His statement catches me off guard, my eyes widening in surprise.

"How do you know that?" I demand, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"You don't need to know how I know." His evasiveness only fuels my frustration.

"Whatever the reason or how you know, I don't care. I don't believe he's a threat, and I don't see this conversation going anywhere productive." I take a deep breath, trying to find a compromise. "Here's what we're going to do. Since I believe he isn't dangerous, I'll meet up with him this evening. But since you seem to think otherwise, I'll take one of the bodyguards with me. What do you think?" I offer, exhaustion seeping into my bones.

"Not enough." Stefano shakes his head, taking a step back. As he moves, I suck in a breath, realizing how difficult it was to breathe properly with him so close. The man literally steals the air from my lungs with his proximity.

"Not enough?" I repeat, disbelief coloring my tone. "Do you want to come with me yourself?"

"Yes, that's better." He spins around, his eyes locking with mine, a fierce intensity burning in their depths.

"What?" I gasp, shocked by his suggestion.

"Yes, I'll come with you. That way, I can ensure your safety." He moves closer once more, his presence overwhelming, intoxicating.

"You're joking." I search his face for any hint of humor but find only resolute determination.

"What time is the dinner again?" he asks, glancing at his wristwatch, his demeanor all business.

"Stefano," I whisper, my voice laced with surprise.

"Yes, Andrea?" The way my name rolls off his tongue, his Italian accent caressing each syllable, sends a shiver racing down my spine. I stare at him, realization dawning that he's dead serious about accompanying me. A small smile curves my lips as I realize he must be doing this to make me cancel, but I refuse to give him that satisfaction.

"6 pm. He's picking me up." I lift my chin, a silent challenge in my eyes.

"Tell him not to worry. I'll take you." His words are final, a command rather than a request.

As I walk back to my room, my phone rings again, and this time it's Mama. "Hi, Mama," I say, answering the call.

"Hey baby girl, how are you? Your brother told me you are still in California. How's it going with Stefano?" Mama, being her typical self, rains down questions upon me.

"It's all good, Mama. How's Abuela?" I ask, trying to steer the conversation away from Stefano and our complicated dynamic.

"That's why I'm actually calling, dear. Abuela's health isn't improving." Mama's voice wavers and my heart sinks at the news.

"Really?" I whisper, a lump forming in my throat.

"Yes, dear. Would you be able to fly out tomorrow? She wants to see you in case..." Mama chokes out, unable to finish her statement. But even without her saying the words, I know what she means. In case Abuela doesn't have much time left.

"Yes, I will book a flight for tomorrow," I promise, my mind already racing with the logistics. Mama used the private jet to fly to Mexico, so I'll have to take a commercial flight.

"Alright, honey, see you tomorrow," Mama says, her voice heavy with emotion.

"Bye, Mama," I manage to say before hanging up, my heart clenching painfully in my chest. The thought of Abuela actually leaving this world is too much to bear. I close my eyes, silently praying that her time hasn't come yet.