An hour later, I am back in my hotel room, exhausted to my core. All I want is to collapse into bed and sleep for days, but of course, that's when my phone starts ringing incessantly. I groan and check the caller ID, surprised to see it's Mama.

"Hello, Mama," I say, trying to inject some energy into my voice.

"Hello Dear, how are you doing?" Her warm, familiar voice wraps around me.

"Not so good, to be honest. How about you?" I sink onto the bed.

"I am fine, but what's wrong, sweetheart?" Concern laces her words.

"I've been having awful cramps all day, and Stefano has been an absolute nightmare to work with."

"Oh honey, I'm so sorry. Why don't you tell me all about it at lunch."

I laugh humorlessly. "Mama, how? You're in Miami, and I'm stuck here in California."

"You'll see," she says mysteriously. A knock sounds at the door. "Hold on a minute, Mama, someone's here."

I open the door, and my jaw drops. Mama is standing there, smiling at me with love shining in her eyes.

"Mama! What - how - what are you doing here?" I stammer, shock and joy warring inside me.

"I wanted to surprise you! I'll explain everything over lunch. Now go get your purse so we can catch up properly." She squeezes my hands.

Still reeling, I grab my purse with shaking hands. Mama links her arm with mine as we head to the hotel restaurant. The familiar scent of her perfume calms my frayed nerves. We settle at a table, and I fidget with my napkin, impatient for answers.

"So, really, Mama, what brings you to California? Not that I'm complaining."

Her expression turns somber. "I wanted to see you before I leave. Your grandma had a mild stroke yesterday. I'm flying to Mexico to check on her."

Ice slides down my spine. "Oh my God! Is she going to be okay?" Worry claws at my throat.

"The doctors think so, but I need to see for myself, you know?" Mama reaches over to clasp my hand. "Thank the Lord it wasn't worse. And once you're done working, you can fly out to see her, too."

"Of course, of course, I will." I take a shuddering breath, trying to process this news. "I'm so glad you're here, Mama. You have no idea how much I need you right now."

"I'm always here for you, baby. Now, tell me more about what's going on with Stefano. I'm so sorry he's giving you a hard time."

"Ugh, Mama, you won't believe how he embarrassed me today! I wanted to smack him." Frustration simmers in my veins again as I recount the disastrous meeting.

Mama listens intently, her brow furrowed. "Hmm. It sounds to me like there may be more to this than meets the eye. Is it possible something happened between you two in the past that he hasn't forgiven?"

I blink at her, nonplussed. "What? No, I don't think so... I mean, I can't remember doing anything to upset him. I barely interacted with him whenever I was in Sicily."

A knowing smile plays at the corners of her mouth. "Barely interacted, or barely managed to string two words together around him? He was your first big crush! I remember how you used to get so flustered in his presence."

Heat floods my cheeks. "Mama! Why are you smiling about that? It was mortifying!" I bury my burning face in my hands.

"Oh, honey. Even if he didn't return your feelings, watching you navigate your first taste of love was sweet. I'm just surprised you two are at such odds now."

"You shouldn't, actually, because Stefano has always shown his detest for me since we were younger. And it's not like I can't stand him," I mumble into my palms. "He just gets under my skin and pushes all my buttons." I peek at her through my fingers. "But I don't know if I'd call it love. I was so young then."

"First love leaves an impression, trust me. But I'm sure you'll work it out. I hardly believe he actually hates you. Just don't let him get the best of you. Rise above it and keep doing your best work."

I nod, resolving, straightening my spine. Mama always knows the right thing to say. Her steadfast faith in me rekindles my own confidence and determination.

"Thanks, Mama. I'm really glad you're here. I feel so much better already." I squeeze her hand, pouring all my love and gratitude into the gesture.

"Me too, sweetheart. Me too. Now, let's dig into this lunch, and you can fill me in on the rest of your California adventures!"

As we eat and chat, the tight knot in my chest loosens. Worries about work and anger about Stefano's attitude earlier today fade into the background. Her surprise visit was exactly the boost I needed to keep powering through this challenging trip.

***

It's my last day in California and I'm running late for my meeting with Stefano, of course. All I need is his signature on the revised contract, and I can finally fly to Mexico to see Grandma. But no, that engineer just had to ramble on, putting me behind schedule. I can already picture Stefano's scowl and hear his cutting remarks about my tardiness.

I rush into his office building, impatience quickening my steps. His secretary barely glances up as I approach her desk.

"Mr. Costanzo will be with you shortly," she informs me. "He asked that you wait."

I bite back a sigh. "Any idea how long? I have a flight to catch."

She gives an indifferent shrug. "Can't say, ma'am."

If feeling like hitting Stefano's head on the wall was terrible, I don't know what you would call what I feel like doing to him right now. I want to throw him into a volcano until he is burnt to death, and then, when he miraculously returns alive, force him to sign these papers so I can be on my way to Mexico.

You won't believe it, but Stefano kept me cooped up in his office for the entire day. I arrived at 1 p.m., and now it's already 3 p.m. His secretary might have said I should wait a few minutes, but what she really meant was to wait for a few hours. I would have left ages ago, but I desperately need these papers signed today to make it to Mexico and see my grandma. Just when I'm about to throw in the towel and abandon all hope of ever seeing Stefano, his secretary finally utters the words I've been longing to hear.

"Mr. Costanzo will see you now."

"About time," I mutter, standing and smoothing my skirt with slightly trembling hands. Anger churns in my stomach as I stride into his office, not bothering to knock.

"Who dares enter my office without knocking?" he demands, without looking up from his desk.

"Me," I snap, throwing myself into the chair across from him.

"I shouldn't be surprised," he responds, lifting his head to meet my gaze, a hint of resignation etched into his features.

"I'd normally ask what you mean by that, but frankly, I don't have the energy to care right now. Here's the revised budget." I slap the contract down in front of him.

He barely glances at it before pushing it back. "This isn't what we agreed on."

I clench my jaw so hard my teeth ache. "I told you, Stefano, the number you proposed was impossible if you actually want these renovations done."

"And I told you to find a way to make it work,"

"Stefano, that will not be possible, and if I have to spend the whole day explaining it to you, then you better clear your schedule for the rest of the day because I'm not leaving this office until you sign off on these figures."

"Be my guest," he replies, determination in his voice.

The next several hours pass in a maddening dance of explanations, arguments, and frigid silences. By the time we finally reach an agreement, the sun has long since set and a vicious headache pounds behind my eyes.

We step into the elevator, the air still crackling with tension. I lean against the wall, utterly drained, thoughts consumed with getting to my hotel and then on a plane.

And, of course, that's when everything goes sideways.

The elevator lurches to a sudden stop, throwing me off balance. I stumble into Stefano, grabbing his arm to steady myself as the lights flicker ominously.

"What's happening?" My voice comes out thin and reedy, fear already knotting my stomach.

"Probably just a power outage." Stefano's tone is calm, but I can feel the tension in his muscles under my fingers. "Backup generator should kick in any second."

The dim emergency lights stutter to life as if on cue, casting eerie shadows across Stefano's angular face. Heart pounding, I jab at the elevator buttons. Nothing happens. The car remains stubbornly unmoving, suspended between floors.

"It's not working." Panic claws up my throat, my breath coming faster. "Why isn't it moving?" I stab the buttons again, harder, like I can force the elevator back to life through sheer will.

"Merda," Stefano swears under his breath. He pulls out his cell phone, frowning at the screen. "No service. They'll send someone when they realize it's stuck. We just have to wait it out."

Wait it out. The words send a chill skittering down my spine. The walls seem to inch closer, and the air is suddenly too thick and too close.

"Amelia?" Stefano's voice sounds distant, muffled by the roaring in my ears. "What's wrong?"

I shake my head mutely, backing into the corner and sliding down to sit on the floor. Pulling my knees to my chest, I try to take deep breaths, but it feels like there's a vice around my lungs. It's too much like before. Too small, too dark, no way out. I squeeze my eyes shut, but it only makes the memories more vivid. Phantom pain races across my nerve endings, the ghost of past terror sinking its claws into my mind.

A scream rips from my throat, raw and animalistic. I claw at my arms, desperate to escape phantom hands that aren't there. Distantly, I hear Stefano calling my name, alarmed. But I'm no longer in the elevator. I'm back in that cage, the stench of my own blood and sweat choking me. The walls crush inward, the darkness alive and hungry. Cruel laughter echoes, and oh god, the pain, the pain, the-.

I feel his hands on my shoulders. I flinch away violently, a wounded cry tearing from my chest.

"Please don't hurt me, please, I can't, not again-"

"Amelia! Amelia, look at me. It's Stefano. You're safe, I swear it. I'm here; I've got you. Breathe, Amelia, just breathe..."

Slowly, slowly, Stefano's voice penetrates the daze of sheer, blinding panic. I pry my eyes open to find him kneeling before me, his eyes wide and worried in the low light.

I don't think. I just launch myself into his arms, a wretched sob tearing loose as I bury my face in his chest. He holds me tightly, one large hand cupping the back of my head as the other rubs soothing circles on my back.

I don't know how long we stay like that, me shaking apart while he murmurs comforting nonsense in Italian. But eventually, the frantic race of my heart slows. The past recedes, releasing me back into the present.

The elevator gives a sudden jerk, shuddering back into motion. I tense, but Stefano just helps me to my feet, keeping a steadying arm around my waist.

The doors slide open, and Stefano grabs my hand, his fingers lacing through mine and sending a jolt of electricity up my arm. He leads us swiftly to his sleek Mercedes AMG GT63 parked outside. I expect him to interrogate me about what happened in the elevator as he peels out of the parking lot, but he remains silent as if nothing weird happened.

I'm simultaneously relieved. Part of me longs to unburden myself, to have him understand the demons that still haunt me. But a bigger part fears his reaction, that he'll see me as everyone who knows does- Pity. So I hold my tongue, the words burning in my throat.

"Are you hungry?" Stefano asks abruptly as he takes the turn onto the freeway.

"Yes, but...I just remembered I have a flight to catch. Can you take me to my hotel? I need to get my things first."

I pull out my phone, fingers hovering over a text to the pilot that I'll be a little late. But before I can type a word, Stefano barks a harsh laugh, startling me. He brakes suddenly for a red light and turns to face me fully, his green eyes searing into mine.

"After what I just fucking witnessed? You're not going anywhere tonight. You're staying here until I know for sure you are okay," he declares, his words slamming into me, knocking the breath from my lungs.

The raw possession in his gaze, the unyielding authority in his tone, sends heat licking through my veins even. It's a big contrast to the look I'm used to in his eyes.

"But I'm fine. See, no more tears," I protest weakly.

"I decide if you're fine or not," Stefano asserts, holding my gaze without wavering. I open my mouth to argue, but no sound comes out. I'm too stunned to speak. He continues to stare at me, unyielding, until a horn blares behind us. Slowly, deliberately, he faces forward again.

I turn to stare out the window, my vision unfocused, my heart racing, skin tingling as the city blurs past. I have no idea what Stefano is thinking or what he meant by that bold declaration.

Part of me wants to keep arguing, to insist that I'm fine. But a deeper part of me craves his strength and protection after the emotional upheaval I just endured. It's both unnerving and thrilling how he's suddenly taking charge, refusing to let me go. Yet, something doesn't add up. Stefano has never made a secret of his disdain for me. Our every interaction drips with hate for me. So where is this sudden fierce protectiveness coming from?

I sneak a glance at him from the corner of my eye. His jaw is set, his eyes hard on the road ahead, and his knuckles white on the steering wheel. He looks every inch the immovable object, and I know I have about as much chance of changing his mind as I do reversing the Earth's orbit.

But why does he even care? What's his angle here? It can't be simple human compassion - Stefano's never struck me as the nurturing type. Is it just his pride, his need to be in control of every situation? Or is it something more?

The question fills my mind as we pull up to the restaurant. Stefano kills the engine and turns to face me, his expression unreadable. I wait for him to say something, anything, to explain his unusual behavior. But he just looks at me, dark eyes searching mine like he can pluck the answers from my brain through sheer force of will.

"Let's go," he says finally, voice gruff. And then he's out of the car, rounding the hood to open my door before I can gather my wits.

I let him help me out, my skin sizzling where his fingers brush mine. He keeps a hand at the small of my back as he ushers me inside, proprietary and unmistakably possessive. I should shake him off and maintain some semblance of distance. But I find myself leaning into his touch, craving his solid warmth.

As we settle at our table, I'm no closer to understanding his mercurial moods. Stefano Costanzo is an enigma wrapped in a riddle, and I'm not sure I'll ever untangle his secrets.

But one thing is crystal clear as his gaze snags mine over the menu, heated and intent. Whatever his reasons, Stefano has decided I'm his to protect. His to claim.

And heaven help me, but a part of me likes it—a lot.