Page 108 of Safe Word

Letting out a slow exhale, he fixed his eyes on the table as though the sleek surface might offer a gentler truth than what he was about to say. His knuckles pressed into a loose fist. Then, finally, the words came – a little too flat, too quiet. ‘His parents were found dead. Crime of passion, they’d said. There were rumours about cheating, but he knew nothing about that. He was a normal kid. That kind of thing. It… messed him up.’

I shifted in my seat, suddenly seeing their duo as something more grounded.

My family was chaotic, sure – voices raised, doors slammed, too much wine at dinner. But never this. Never fists. Never blood. Well… not within the family.

I could never even picture my parents in that kind of situation. My mother had visited my dad in the hospital with flowers, the same way he had brought her bouquets from the store every morning. And today, she spoke to the grave plate with his name etched in gold, arranging the flowers stirred by the wind.

Yet, somehow, Cain’s words still felt familiar.

Travis had never needed a reason, only a spark and an excuse to call it love.

Cain’s gaze held on me, unreadable for a moment before he shook his head, as if clearing his thoughts. ‘What’s your view on him?’

I smiled. ‘I think he’s exactly what he seems – a little over the top but a good man.’

Cain nodded in agreement. ‘That’s Vinnie.’

There was a comfortable pause between us. For the first time that night, the tension seemed to ease, replaced by a quiet understanding that felt oddly intimate. His gaze remained on me, the exhaustion in his eyes giving way to something warmer – heavier. And just like that, I was slipping again, caught in the slow gravity of Cain D’Angelo.

I was definitely losing my mind, suspended between the fantasy of Ghost and the man sitting in front of me. The realisation hit like a boulder, and a laugh slipped out before I could bite down on it.

What the fuck was wrong with me? How had I let this happen?

I let a machine fuck me while my masked lover came on me – and now, only minutes later, I’m eyeing my boss like a goddamn snack.

Lines were blurring, boundaries breaking.

Yeah – no coming back from that.

Clearing my throat, I leaned over the desk and let the motion stretch my neckline just enough – which was absolutely unintentional. But the aftermath of Ghost had me in a weird mood.

Cain’s gaze dipped just below my chin, then was immediately yanked back.

His teeth clenched.

Dignity tapped me on the shoulder, and I sat back, grabbing my bottle. Taking a long, ungraceful swig, I coached myself: definitely not femme fatale.

‘My mum was Italian,’ I said, wiping the corner of my mouth with the tip of my thumb.

His throat bobbed as he dragged his attention back to my eyes, though the twitch between his brows gave away more than he’d meant to.

‘Dad was American. They were madly in love with each other – the good kind of love. He died of cancer when I was seventeen.’

He let the silence settle for a beat. No platitudes, just a pause with enough weight to feel like care.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. Then lifted his bottle. A small offering.

I met him halfway, glass knocking glass. He opened his mouth – hesitated – then offered, ‘For Mr DeLuca.’

I smiled faintly. ‘May he rest in peace.’

The clink was light, something solemn in the sound.

We drank.

‘What was your mum like?’ I asked before I could stop myself.

And just like that, the light went out of his face as if someone had dimmed the soul behind his eyes. All sharpness gone, replaced with something hollow.