Page 12 of Crimson Reign

After a moment's consideration, I nod. "We can start tonight, after dinner. The east wing has a training room.”

The training room is sparse and functional—mats covering the floor, mirrors along one wall and various equipment organized neatly along the other.

Elena meets me here dressed in workout clothes.

"First rule: forget everything you've seen in movies. Real self-defense isn't pretty or fair."

She nods, her expression serious.

"Second rule: you're smaller than most attackers will be. Use that to your advantage rather than trying to match strength."

I position myself behind her, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from her body. "If someone grabs you from behind—"

My arms encircle her, and immediately I realize my mistake. Her scent—something floral with an underlying sweetness that must be uniquely hers—fills my senses. I exhale sharply, my breath hitting the soft curve of her neck.

She goes still in my arms, her breath catching.

"You—" My voice sounds rough to my own ears. I clear my throat. "You want to drop your weight like this-"

I guide her through the movement, hyperaware of every point where our bodies connect. When she successfully breaks my hold and spins to face me, her cheeks are flushed, and there's a sheen of sweat on her skin.

"Like that?" she asks, her voice slightly breathless.

"Yes. Good." I step back, putting the distance between us. "Now we'll practice strikes. The most vulnerable points on an attacker are…"

The door swings open, and Isabella walks in, her eyebrows shooting up as she takes in the scene.

"Sorry to interrupt your... training," she says, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Elena, Fiona's asking for you."

Elena nods, oddly flustered. "Thank you. I'll go to her now." She hesitates, glancing back at me. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Same time," I confirm.

Once she's gone, Isabella turns to me with a knowing smile. "Well, well."

"Don't start," I warn.

"Start what? Pointing out the obvious? That you're falling for her?"

I busy myself with re-wrapping my hand wraps. " That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. She's under my protection. That's all."

"Matteo." My sister's voice turns serious. "I've known you my entire life. I've seen you with dozens of women. But never have I seen you look at any of them the way you look at her."

"And how do I look at her?" I challenge.

Isabella's smile turns soft. "The same way Nico looks at me."

The simple statement hits me with unexpected force. I want to deny it, to laugh it off as ridiculous. But lying to my sister has never worked.

Instead, I remain silent, which Isabella correctly interprets as confirmation.

"Be careful, brother," she says quietly. "Not because I disapprove, but because I've never seen you care for someone that isn’t family. It might not end up well. ”

The realization settles over me that my sister might be right.

And that, more than any Caruso hitman, is what truly frightens me.

5

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