Steel Magnolia

Rafe caught sight of her in the wall mirror and stopped, turning. “Ms. Bellucci.”

Giulia dragged her gaze up to Rafe’s face, hoping the flush in her cheeks looked like annoyance. “I need to go into the city. The board meeting was moved up.”

“No.” Rafe grabbed a towel, wiping her face and neck. “It’s not safe.”

“It’s necessary,” Giulia insisted, stepping into the room. The air smelled of sweat and leather. “The future of Bellucci Olive Oil isn’t something I can manage from a panic room.”

Rafe tossed the towel aside. “Your father can handle the meeting.”

“My father is semi-retired!” Giulia’s voice rose. “This company is my responsibility now. If I don’t show up, it sends a message of instability.”

Rafe closed the distance between them in two strides. “And if you do show up, it sends a message to your stalker: ‘here I am, come and get me.’” Her dark eyes burned into Giulia’s. “Is that what you want?”

“What I want is to live my life,” Giulia shot back, refusing to look away. “Not cower in my villa while some faceless coward dictates my every move.”

The air between them hummed. Giulia could see the rapid pulse beating in Rafe’s throat, the way her hands clenched at her sides as if she were physically restraining herself.

“You are the most infuriating woman I’ve ever met,” Rafe growled, the words low and dangerous. “Do you have a death wish, or are you just determined to make my job impossible?”

“Maybe I’m determined to see if the great Raffaella Melis ever breaks that iron control,” Giulia retorted, her own heart hammering against her ribs. She took another step, bringing them almost chest to chest. “Is there anything human in there, or are you all protocol and procedure?”

Rafe’s hand snapped out, fingers locking around Giulia’s wrist. The grip was unyielding, but not painful. “Don’t push me, Giulia,” she warned, her voice a low rasp. It was the first time she’d used Giulia’s given name. “You won’t like the result.”

“What if I would?” The challenge slipped out before Giulia could stop it. Her breath caught at the flash of heat in Rafe’s eyes, the way the bodyguard’s thumb brushed over the inside of her wrist, once.

The moment stretched, charged and fragile. Then Rafe released her abruptly, stepping back. “The answer is still no. You’re not leaving the villa.” She turned away, grabbing her water bottle. “I’ll inform the board the meeting will be virtual.”

Giulia stood frozen, the imprint of Rafe’s fingers still warm on her skin. She’d seen it – the crack in Rafe’s armor, the flicker of something raw and hungry beneath the professional facade. It should have frightened her. Instead, it sent a thrill through her veins, hot and reckless.

She turned and walked out of the gym without another word, the echo of Rafe’s touch lingering like a brand. The fortress had its first breach.

The charity gala was Rafe’s worst nightmare. Hundreds of Palermo’s elite crammed into the villa’s ballroom, a glittering, chattering mass of potential threats. Giulia, resplendent in a floor-length black gown that hugged her curves like liquid night, moved through the crowd with practiced grace. Rafe shadowed her, a silent, watchful presence in a tailored tuxedo that did nothing to soften her predatory stance.

“You’re hovering, Melis,” Giulia murmured, accepting a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. Her diamond earrings caught the light, scattering prisms across her throat. “People will talk.”

“Let them,” Rafe replied, her eyes never stopping their scan of the room. “Your safety isn’t a democracy.”

Giulia sighed, taking a sip of champagne. The bubbles danced on her tongue, sharp and celebratory. “This is supposed to be a night of goodwill, not a tactical operation.”

“Every operation is tactical when you have a stalker,” Rafe said flatly. She adjusted the cuff of her shirt, the movement subtle, but Giulia caught the tension in her jaw. The bodyguard was wound tight, a coiled spring ready to snap.

As the night wore on, Giulia could feel Rafe’s tension ratcheting higher. The bodyguard’s posture became even more rigid, her eyes narrowing on every new arrival, every shifting shadow. When Giulia stepped onto the small stage to give her speech, Rafe positioned herself directly below, a human shield between the heiress and the crowd.

Giulia spoke about the importance of the foundation they were supporting, her voice clear and passionate. As she finished, the room erupted into applause. She smiled, raising her hand in acknowledgment – just as the window behind her exploded.

The world slowed. Glass shattered inward in a glittering cascade. Rafe moved like lightning, leaping onto the stage and tackling Giulia to the floor. They landed hard, Rafe’s body covering Giulia’s completely, shielding her from the shards and whatever had caused the impact.

Screams erupted in the ballroom. Chaos. Rafe’s weight pressed down on Giulia, solid and protective, her arms cradling Giulia’s head. Giulia could feel the thunder of Rafe’s heartbeat against her back, the rapid rise and fall of her chest. The bodyguard’s face was pressed into Giulia’s hair, her breath hot against Giulia’s neck.

“Stay down,” Rafe growled, her voice raw with adrenaline. “Do not move.”

Giulia’s own heart hammered against her ribs, fear a cold fist in her stomach. But beneath it, something else sparked – a wild, electric awareness of Rafe’s body against hers, the strength in the arms banded around her, the scent of Rafe’s skin, warm and alive.

“Is it—” she started, her voice trembling.

“Sniper,” Rafe cut her off, her tone clipped, professional. But her hands were shaking where they gripped Giulia. “Stay behind me. We’re moving.”

Rafe rolled off her, tucking Giulia against her side as they low-crawled toward the stage stairs. All around them, guests huddled under tables or ran for the exits, their panic a distant buzz in Giulia’s ears. Her entire world had narrowed to the heat of Rafe’s body against hers, the absolute certainty that this woman would die before letting harm come to her.

They reached the relative cover of the stage curtain. Rafe pushed Giulia behind her, shielding her with her own body as she scanned the room, one hand inside her tuxedo jacket where Giulia knew she kept her gun.

“We need to get to the panic room,” Rafe said, her voice low and urgent. “Now.”

She took Giulia’s hand, and the contact sent a jolt through them both. Their eyes met, and Giulia saw it – the fear Rafe had been masking, the raw, protective fury. And beneath it, something else. Something that mirrored the heat suddenly flooding Giulia’s veins.

Rafe pulled her close, and then they were moving, Rafe’s body a solid wall between Giulia and the rest of the world. They slipped out a side door, into the servant’s corridor that led toward the villa’s secure wing.

The panic room was exactly as its name implied – a steel-reinforced bunker hidden behind a false wall in the wine cellar. Rafe hustled Giulia inside, sealing the heavy door behind them with a final, resonant thud.

Silence descended, thick and sudden. The panic room was small, lit by harsh fluorescent lights that bleached the color from everything. Giulia sagged against the cold metal wall, her legs suddenly weak. The adrenaline that had carried her this far was fading, leaving her shaky and cold.

Rafe leaned against the door, her eyes closed for a moment. Her tuxedo jacket was torn at the shoulder, a smear of dust on her cheek. She looked like she’d been through a war.

“Are you hurt?” she asked, her voice rough. She pushed off the door, crossing the small space to stand in front of Giulia. Her hands came up, hovering near Giulia’s shoulders but not quite touching. “Did any glass hit you?”

“I’m fine,” Giulia managed, though her voice felt like it belonged to someone else. “Thanks to you.”

Rafe’s hands finally settled on her arms, warm and steadying. “I should never have let you talk me into this damn gala,” she muttered, her gaze intense as she scanned Giulia’s face, her neck, looking for injuries. “I knew it was a security nightmare.”

Giulia reached up, brushing the dust from Rafe’s cheek. The bodyguard froze at the touch, her breath catching. “I’m glad you were there,” Giulia whispered.

The air between them changed. The fear was still there, the residual adrenaline, but it was eclipsed by something hotter, brighter. Giulia’s fingers lingered on Rafe’s skin, tracing the sharp line of her jaw.

Rafe’s grip on her arms tightened. “Giulia,” she said, her voice a low warning. But her eyes were dark with something that wasn’t professional concern.

“Raffaella,” Giulia breathed, testing the name on her tongue. It felt intimate, a secret shared.

Rafe made a low sound, almost a groan. And then she was kissing her.