Welcome to Milan
Aaliyah
The plane glided smoothly onto the runway, its wheels meeting the ground with a soft thud. Aaliyah exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Milan. Another city, another attempt to stay ahead of her father’s reach. But unlike the other places they’d passed through, this one carried a flicker of hope. Maybe it was the way Cruz had spoken about her contacts here, or the way her grip on Aaliyah’s hand during the flight had been steady, grounding. Whatever it was, it made her want to believe this city might give them a moment to breathe.
As the plane taxied to the gate, Aaliyah stole a glance at Cruz. She was as poised as ever, her sharp eyes already scanning their surroundings even though they were still seated. The faint golden light filtering through the window cast soft shadows on her face, and Aaliyah’s heart did a little flip. Cruz might be hyper-vigilant, but she looked so at ease in her element. And Aaliyah couldn’t help but feel safer because of it.
Once they disembarked, the hum of Linate Airport surrounded them—a cacophony of footsteps, distant voices, and announcements echoing over the intercom. Aaliyah adjusted the strap of her carry-on bag, her nerves fraying slightly as they navigated the busy terminal.
“Do you think we’ll have any issues here?” she asked, her voice quiet as they approached customs.
Cruz’s hand brushed lightly against her back—a small, reassuring gesture. “Not if we stick to the plan.”
The plan. Their aliases, their backstory, everything had been rehearsed to perfection. Aaliyah knew she should feel reassured, but her stomach still twisted with unease as they handed over their passports and tickets at the customs desk. The officer barely glanced at them before stamping their passports and waving them through.
“See?” Cruz murmured as they walked away. “Easy.”
Aaliyah smirked. “You say that now.”
--
As they stepped into the arrivals area, Aaliyah spotted a woman standing near the exit holding a simple sign with the name “Mendez” written on it. She was petite but carried herself with a quiet confidence that instantly reminded Aaliyah of Cruz. Her sharp suit and sleek ponytail added to the no-nonsense aura she radiated.
“Is that her?” Aaliyah whispered, leaning closer to Cruz.
“That’s Sofia,” Cruz confirmed, her tone curt but calm. Without hesitation, Cruz led them toward her.
Aaliyah hung back slightly as Cruz and Sofia exchanged a few words in rapid-fire Italian. Cruz’s tone was even, controlled, but there was a tension in her posture that Aaliyah didn’t miss. She watched as Sofia handed Cruz a set of keys and a slim envelope before nodding toward the exit.
When the conversation ended, Cruz turned to Aaliyah. “Sofia’s a contact. She’s secured a safehouse for us. We’ll debrief at the house.”
Aaliyah nodded, glancing back at Sofia, who was already walking briskly ahead of them. She felt a pang of curiosity about this woman who seemed to know Cruz so well, but she knew better than to pry—at least, not yet.
--
The air outside was cool and crisp, carrying a faint hint of rain. Aaliyah slid into the backseat of the sleek black car Sofia had arranged, settling into the soft leather. Cruz climbed in beside her, their bodies brushing briefly as they adjusted their bags.
As the car pulled away from the airport, Aaliyah found herself drawn to the world outside the window. Milan unfolded like a living postcard—rows of historic buildings with ornate facades, narrow streets bustling with scooters and pedestrians, small cafés spilling out onto the sidewalks.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, her breath fogging slightly against the glass.
Cruz, sitting beside her, gave a noncommittal hum, her attention split between the passing scenery and the discreet glances she cast toward Sofia in the driver’s seat. Aaliyah reached over and rested her hand lightly on Cruz’s thigh, drawing her focus. “You can admit you like it, you know.”
Cruz’s lips quirked into the faintest smile. “I’ll admit it when we’re settled.”
Aaliyah rolled her eyes, but the warmth spreading through her chest was undeniable. Cruz’s version of reassurance was subtle, but it was there if you knew how to look for it. And Aaliyah had gotten pretty good at that.
As they crossed a canal lined with boats and old stone bridges, Aaliyah let herself imagine, just for a moment, what it would be like to stop running. To stay somewhere like this, where life seemed vibrant and full of possibility. She glanced at Cruz again, wondering if she ever thought about that too.
--
The drive from the airport had been enough to make Aaliyah’s heart race, but stepping out of the car in front of the villa nearly stopped it altogether. She could barely believe her eyes.
The house was a masterpiece of architecture, its facade an intricate symphony of curves and carvings. Balconies wrapped around the upper floors, their wrought-iron railings twisting into delicate floral patterns. The soft evening light bathed the cream-colored stone in a warm glow, and the gentle sound of trickling water from the courtyard fountain created an atmosphere of serenity. It was like something out of a painting—too perfect to be real.
Aaliyah’s mouth dropped open as she turned to Cruz, who stood beside her with her usual unreadable expression. “This… this is where we’re staying?”
Cruz nodded, her dark eyes scanning the street before settling back on the villa. “It’s secure. Good location. Easy to blend in.”
“Secure?” Aaliyah laughed softly, shaking her head in disbelief. “You make it sound like a bunker. Look at this place—it’s a literal dream.”
Cruz’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile. “As long as it works.”
“Oh, it works,” Aaliyah murmured, already stepping toward the gate. The wrought-iron entrance was flanked by ivy-covered stone pillars, and when Cruz pushed it open, Aaliyah felt like she was walking into another world.
The courtyard was even more enchanting. Cobblestones paved the ground in a soft mosaic, and the central fountain—a marble sculpture of a woman holding an urn—was surrounded by lush greenery. Brightly colored flowers spilled out of terracotta pots, and the faint scent of jasmine lingered in the air. Aaliyah couldn’t help but turn in a slow circle, taking it all in.
“This is incredible,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. “How did you even find this place?”
Cruz shrugged, but there was a flicker of pride in her eyes. “A contact set it up.”
“Remind me to thank them,” Aaliyah said, her grin widening. She turned to Cruz, reaching out to take her hand. “Come on, let’s go inside.”
If the exterior of the villa had been stunning, the interior was nothing short of breathtaking. High ceilings with intricate plasterwork loomed overhead, their designs curling into delicate floral motifs. Stained glass windows threw shards of vibrant color onto polished wood floors, and elegant chandeliers cast a warm glow over the space. Every room seemed to tell a story, from the antique furniture to the ornate rugs that softened the sound of their footsteps.
Aaliyah wandered through the rooms in awe, trailing her fingers along the edges of a carved wooden table and pausing to admire a painting of a sunlit countryside that hung in the sitting room. “Cruz,” she called out, her voice tinged with wonder, “this place is magic.”
“It’s functional,” Cruz replied from somewhere behind her, but Aaliyah could hear the faintest trace of amusement in her tone.
“Functional?” Aaliyah turned to face her, hands on her hips. “Cruz, this is the kind of house people write poetry about.”
Cruz, meanwhile, was in full security mode, checking locks and testing windows. Aaliyah smiled as she watched her work, feeling a pang of affection for the way Cruz always put safety first, even in a place as idyllic as this.
“Come on. Show me where we’re sleeping.”
Cruz hesitated for a beat before nodding, leading the way up the stairs. The polished wood creaked softly under their steps, and the banister gleamed as though it had been recently polished. Upstairs, the hallway was lined with tall doors, each one leading to a bedroom or sitting area.
Aaliyah peeked into the first room Cruz opened, her eyes widening. The bed was enormous, draped in crisp white linens and accented with a dark wood headboard carved with floral details. A bay window overlooked the courtyard below, its ledge cushioned and inviting.
“This one’s perfect,” Aaliyah said, stepping inside and setting her bag down. She turned to Cruz, who remained in the doorway, her posture relaxed but her eyes scanning the room. “You’re sharing with me, right?”
Cruz blinked, her expression caught somewhere between confusion and hesitation. “I can take the next room.”
“No way,” Aaliyah said firmly, crossing the room to stand in front of her. “I’m not letting you sleep somewhere else. Not after everything we’ve been through. I want you here. With me.”
Cruz’s jaw tightened slightly, her dark eyes searching Aaliyah’s face for a long moment. Aaliyah held her ground, her gaze steady but warm, silently willing Cruz to say yes.
Finally, Cruz exhaled a quiet sigh, her shoulders softening. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is,” Aaliyah said, her voice softening as she stepped closer. “It’s what I want.”
Cruz nodded, stepping into the room fully and setting her bag down beside Aaliyah’s. She glanced at the bed, then back at Aaliyah. “You get the left side.”
Aaliyah couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and genuine. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re stubborn,” Cruz replied, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.
“Perfect match,” Aaliyah quipped, leaning up to press a quick kiss to Cruz’s cheek before turning to unpack her bag.
--
The sitting room of the villa was bathed in a soft amber glow from the ornate chandelier hanging above them. The gentle crackle of the fireplace filled the silence, warm light reflecting off the polished wood floors and gilded moldings. Aaliyah sat curled up on the deep emerald-green couch, her legs tucked beneath her, a steaming mug of tea cradled in her hands. Next to her, Cruz leaned forward on the couch, her elbows resting on her knees, fingers loosely clasped. The intensity in her gaze was tempered by something softer—caution, maybe. Or hesitation.
Cruz had been quiet since they arrived. Aaliyah had noticed the subtle furrow in her brow, the occasional twitch of her jaw, like she was working through something in her mind. It wasn’t like her to keep Aaliyah in the dark, not anymore. Whatever it was, Cruz was struggling with it, and that only made Aaliyah more determined to know what was going on.
“You’ve been brooding since we got here, this place is beautiful so there is no excuse for that,” Aaliyah said gently, breaking the silence. She set her mug down on the side table and turned her full attention to Cruz. “What’s on your mind?”
Cruz glanced at her, her dark eyes unreadable for a moment. Then she let out a slow breath, her posture shifting slightly as she leaned back in the chair. “It’s about what happened at the airport,” she said finally, her voice low but steady. “Something about it didn’t sit right with me.”
Aaliyah frowned, a ripple of unease running through her. She pulled the throw blanket tighter around her shoulders, her gaze fixed on Cruz. “What do you mean?”
“The security check,” Cruz said, her tone measured. “It wasn’t random. And it wasn’t just a coincidence that they flagged both of us. They knew exactly who we were—or, at least, who we’re pretending to be.”
Aaliyah’s stomach twisted at the memory of the interrogation room, the invasive questions, the way the officers had seemed to linger on her background. “You think it was deliberate? That someone’s watching us?”
Cruz nodded, her expression grim but calm. “I don’t think it was your father’s people, though. The questions they asked—the way they handled it—it felt… familiar.”
“Familiar how?” Aaliyah pressed, her voice barely above a whisper.
Cruz hesitated for a beat, as if weighing how much to say. Then, her gaze met Aaliyah’s, steady and unflinching. “Because I’ve seen it before. The tactics, the phrasing. It felt like the CIA.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and charged. Aaliyah’s eyes widened, her pulse quickening. “The CIA? Why would they be interested in us?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out,” Cruz admitted, her jaw tightening. “It doesn’t make sense. I left the agency on good terms. No burnt bridges, no loose ends. There shouldn’t be any reason for them to have me—or you—on their radar.”
Aaliyah’s mind raced, trying to piece together the implications. “Could it be because of my father?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly. “I mean, he’s powerful. He has money, influence, connections… But I’ve always suspected there’s more to his business than he lets on.”
Cruz nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful. “That’s a possibility. If the CIA has reason to believe he’s involved in something illegal—something that poses a national security risk—they might be using us to get to him. You’re his daughter, and I…” She trailed off, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I’m the one protecting you.”
Aaliyah’s chest tightened at the realization. “So, what does that mean for us? Are we… in danger from them?”
“I don’t think so,” Cruz said firmly, her voice laced with quiet conviction. “If the CIA wanted to bring us in, they would’ve done it by now. What happened at the airport felt more like… surveillance. Testing the waters. Seeing if we’d slip up.”
“But why? What do they want from us?” Aaliyah asked, frustration and fear bubbling to the surface.
Cruz leaned forward again, her hands resting on her knees. “If I had to guess, they want information. They’re watching to see if we’ll lead them somewhere—or to someone.”
“My father,” Aaliyah said bitterly, the name feeling heavy on her tongue. She shook her head, her fingers clenching the edge of the blanket. “He’s at the center of this, isn’t he? Even now, even when I’ve run halfway across the world, he still finds a way to ruin everything.”
Cruz’s gaze softened, and she reached out, her hand covering Aaliyah’s in a grounding gesture. “This isn’t your fault,” she said quietly. “None of this is on you.”
Aaliyah looked down at their joined hands, the warmth of Cruz’s touch steadying her in a way nothing else could. “What do we do now?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“We stay careful. We stay ahead,” Cruz said. “This changes things, but it doesn’t mean we’re out of options. The villa is secure, and Milan gives us plenty of ways to blend in. But we have to be smart. Stick to the cover story, avoid drawing attention, and stay ready to move if we have to.”
“And what about the CIA?” Aaliyah asked, meeting Cruz’s gaze. “What if they come back?”
Cruz’s expression hardened, her jaw tightening. “If they do, we deal with it. But for now, our focus is on keeping you safe.”
The quiet intensity in Cruz’s voice sent a shiver down Aaliyah’s spine. She knew Cruz meant every word—that she would do whatever it took to protect her. But that didn’t make the situation any less daunting.
After a moment, Aaliyah leaned back, letting out a shaky breath. “This is a lot,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “I don’t know how you handle it all.”
Cruz’s lips quirked in a faint smile, and she gave Aaliyah’s hand a gentle squeeze. “One step at a time,” she said simply.
Aaliyah nodded, her heart aching with a mixture of fear and gratitude, and leaned against Cruz, who immediately wrapped her arms around Aaliyah’s shoulders.
--
Cruz stood at the counter, her phone pressed to her ear, speaking in low, fluid tones. Aaliyah paused mid-step, her ears catching the rhythmic cadence of Cruz’s voice as she spoke in Italian. She turned slowly, leaning against the doorframe, and watched Cruz with growing fascination.
Her voice was rich, confident, every word flowing effortlessly from her lips. Aaliyah didn’t know much Italian beyond a few common phrases, but she could tell Cruz wasn’t just dabbling. This was fluency—the kind that came from years of practice, from a mind that absorbed languages with the same precision she brought to everything else.
Cruz shifted her weight, her free hand resting on the counter, her dark eyes focused intently as she rattled off their order. Her tone was polite but firm, her manner so assured that Aaliyah found herself entirely mesmerized. It wasn’t just the language—it was the way Cruz carried herself, the way her presence seemed to command attention without trying.
Aaliyah barely noticed she was staring until Cruz glanced over her shoulder mid-sentence, her eyes locking onto hers. Aaliyah’s breath hitched, and she felt a heat rise in her cheeks. Cruz arched a brow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth before she turned her attention back to the call.
Her heart fluttering, Aaliyah bit her lip to suppress a grin. When Cruz finally hung up and set her phone on the counter, Aaliyah couldn’t resist teasing her.
“So,” she said, stepping into the kitchen with a playful smile. “Is there anything you can’t do?”
Cruz turned, crossing her arms and leaning casually against the counter. “Depends. What’s the question?”
“That,” Aaliyah said, gesturing toward the phone. “The Italian. You sounded like a local.”
Cruz shrugged, her tone impossibly casual. “I picked it up during a few stints in Europe. It’s not that impressive.”
“Not that impressive?” Aaliyah repeated, her brows shooting up in mock disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me. That was—” She stopped herself, searching for the right word. “Ridiculously hot.”
Cruz’s smirk deepened, though Aaliyah didn’t miss the way her ears turned slightly pink. “If you say so.”
“Oh, I do,” Aaliyah said, stepping closer, her voice softening. “You could’ve just said ‘pizza’ and ‘pasta,’ and I would’ve been impressed. But you? You sounded like you were straight out of a Fellini film.”
Cruz tilted her head, her dark eyes glinting with amusement. “Didn’t realize I was auditioning.”
“You don’t have to,” Aaliyah murmured, closing the space between them. Her fingers brushed lightly against Cruz’s forearm, her heart quickening at the way Cruz’s posture stiffened ever so slightly before relaxing under her touch. “You’ve already got the part.”
Cruz’s gaze softened, her smirk fading into something quieter, more genuine. “You’re ridiculous,” she said, her voice low but tinged with affection.
“Maybe,” Aaliyah admitted, her grin widening. “But you like it.”
Before Cruz could respond, Aaliyah rose onto her toes, threading her fingers into Cruz’s dark hair as she kissed her. It was soft at first, testing, but the warmth of Cruz’s lips against hers was all the encouragement she needed to deepen it.
Cruz responded almost immediately, her hands settling on Aaliyah’s waist, pulling her closer until their bodies were flush. Aaliyah could feel the heat of Cruz’s touch through her shirt, the way her fingers pressed into her sides, steady and grounding.
The kiss quickly turned passionate, Aaliyah pouring all her emotions—her admiration, her gratitude, her growing love—into the way her lips moved against Cruz’s. She tilted her head, her hands sliding down to rest on Cruz’s chest, feeling the steady thrum of her heartbeat beneath her palm.
When they finally pulled apart, both of them slightly breathless, Aaliyah couldn’t help the satisfied smile that spread across her face. “You’re amazing, you know that?”
Cruz raised a brow, though the faint pink in her cheeks betrayed her composure. “All that for ordering takeout?”
Aaliyah laughed, the sound light and unrestrained. “No, not just that. It’s everything. You’re amazing at everything you do, Cruz. And I…” She hesitated, her voice softening. “I just want you to know how much I appreciate you. All of you.”
For a moment, Cruz said nothing, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to Aaliyah’s forehead, her hands sliding up to cradle her face. “I appreciate you too,” she said quietly, the words simple but carrying a weight that made Aaliyah’s chest tighten.
The doorbell rang, breaking the moment, and Cruz straightened, her hands reluctantly falling from Aaliyah’s face. “That’ll be the food.”
Aaliyah grinned, her heart still racing as she watched Cruz walk toward the door. Cruz glanced over her shoulder, her smirk returning. “If I’d known takeout could get me kissed like that, I’d have ordered sooner.”
Aaliyah rolled her eyes, her smile widening as she grabbed plates from the cupboard. “Any time, any place.”
Cruz
The plane touched down with a soft thud, and Cruz felt her muscles relax slightly—not entirely, but enough to acknowledge that they’d made it to Milan without any immediate complications. Linate Airport wasn’t unfamiliar to her, and that familiarity brought a degree of comfort. Milan was a place she could navigate with precision, a city where she had enough contacts to feel less exposed.
She glanced sideways at Aaliyah, noting the way her shoulders dropped a fraction as the plane taxied to the gate. Aaliyah had been quiet during the flight, but Cruz had felt the subtle tension in the way she held her hand, her grip tight but not panicked. Cruz hadn’t let go, offering that silent reassurance in the only way she knew how.
Now, as the golden light filtered through the plane window, it caught on Aaliyah’s hair, illuminating the soft curve of her face. For a moment, Cruz let herself admire the sight, even though her brain quickly scolded her for the lapse in vigilance. She had a job to do—protect Aaliyah, keep her safe—but the way her chest tightened at the sight of her made it increasingly difficult to pretend that was all this was.
As they exited the plane and the bustling hum of the airport surrounded them, Cruz immediately began scanning their surroundings. People moved through the terminal with purpose, each a potential threat until proven otherwise. She kept a hand close to her side, where her body instinctively wanted the weight of a concealed weapon, even though carrying one in the airport was out of the question.
“Do you think we’ll have any issues here?” Aaliyah’s voice broke through her thoughts, quiet but tinged with unease.
Cruz’s hand moved instinctively to the small of Aaliyah’s back, a subtle touch meant to calm her. “Not if we stick to the plan,” she replied, her tone low but steady.
The plan was airtight—or as close as any plan could be in their situation. The cover identities, the backstory, even their interactions—it was all rehearsed. Cruz had drilled it into her own head and Aaliyah’s until it was second nature. But despite the confidence in her words, there was always a sliver of doubt, the nagging what-if that came with years of experience in high-stakes situations.
At customs, Cruz handed over their passports and watched the officer’s every move with an intensity she knew wouldn’t show on her face. The key was to appear calm, just another couple passing through on vacation. Her heart didn’t race—it never did in moments like this—but she was aware of every detail, every microexpression on the officer’s face as he scanned their documents. When he waved them through with a quick stamp, she allowed herself a small, internal sigh of relief.
“See?” she murmured as they walked away, her voice just low enough for Aaliyah to hear. “Easy.”
Aaliyah’s smirk was quick but genuine. “You say that now.”
Cruz didn’t let the warmth spreading through her chest linger too long. She couldn’t afford to get distracted by how Aaliyah’s smile affected her—not here, not now.
The arrivals area was buzzing with life—reunions, hurried travelers, and the usual chaos of an airport terminal. Cruz’s eyes swept the crowd, honing in on the woman standing near the exit with a simple sign reading “Mendez.” Even from a distance, Sofia’s presence was unmistakable. She stood with a confidence Cruz recognized all too well, her tailored suit and composed demeanor a clear indicator of her profession.
“That’s her?” Aaliyah leaned in slightly, her voice soft.
“Sofia,” Cruz confirmed, her words clipped but even. She didn’t slow her stride as she led them toward the woman, already switching gears mentally to prepare for whatever Sofia had to say. This was the part of the job Cruz excelled at—connecting the dots, making decisions on the fly, ensuring every piece of the puzzle fit perfectly. And yet, the faint hum of awareness that came with Aaliyah’s proximity was a reminder that this wasn’t just another job.
The exchange with Sofia was brief but efficient. Cruz spoke in rapid Italian, her tone professional but not cold. Sofia’s responses were equally concise, her no-nonsense approach reminding Cruz why she trusted her in the first place. Keys, an envelope, and a few words about the safehouse were all Cruz needed to feel slightly more grounded.
But even as she maintained her calm exterior, Cruz was hyper-aware of Aaliyah standing a step behind her. She didn’t miss the way Aaliyah glanced between her and Sofia, curiosity flickering in her gaze. It wasn’t jealousy—Aaliyah didn’t strike her as the jealous type—but it was clear she wanted to understand the dynamic. Cruz filed the observation away, knowing Aaliyah’s questions would come later.
When the conversation ended, Cruz turned to Aaliyah, keeping her tone calm and direct. “Sofia’s a contact. She’s secured a safehouse for us. We’ll debrief at the house.”
Aaliyah nodded, her curiosity tempered by an understanding of when to push and when to wait. Cruz admired that about her—how she could read the room, adapt to the situation. It was a skill not everyone had, and one that would undoubtedly keep her alive.
As Sofia led the way out of the terminal, Cruz adjusted the strap of her bag and let her gaze flick to Aaliyah again. The way she moved beside her, trusting Cruz without hesitation, made something in her chest tighten.
--
The crisp Milan air greeted Cruz as she stepped out of the airport, the faint scent of impending rain lingering in the breeze. She scanned the sleek black car Sofia had arranged, her sharp eyes assessing it for any potential irregularities. Routine, but necessary. Her hand brushed Aaliyah’s lower back in a gesture of guidance as Aaliyah slid into the backseat, settling into the plush leather seats. Cruz followed, careful to position their bags between them and the door, a habit born from years of experience.
Their bodies brushed briefly as Cruz adjusted herself in the seat, the faint contact leaving a warmth she chose to ignore for now. Her mind was too preoccupied with contingency plans and running through the steps they needed to take to stay ahead of any threats. Still, the softness of the leather, the low hum of the car’s engine, and Aaliyah’s quiet presence beside her felt oddly grounding.
The car pulled away from the airport, and Cruz allowed her eyes to wander briefly out the window. Milan unfolded before them—rows of historic facades, bustling streets, scooters weaving through traffic with a disregard for order that bordered on reckless. It was a city Cruz had always admired for its vibrancy and efficiency, though she rarely indulged in sightseeing during her previous visits. This time, the stakes were different, and her focus had shifted to the woman beside her.
“It’s beautiful,” Aaliyah murmured, her breath fogging the glass slightly as her gaze remained fixed on the passing scenery. Her voice carried a sense of wonder that made Cruz glance at her, catching the way her expression softened in the glow of the city lights.
Cruz hummed noncommittally, her focus flickering to Sofia in the driver’s seat. While she trusted Sofia implicitly, her instincts wouldn’t allow her to relax fully, not until they were behind the villa’s secure gates. The world was too unpredictable for her to let her guard down.
A hand rested lightly on her thigh, drawing Cruz’s attention away from her thoughts. Aaliyah’s touch was gentle but insistent, her eyes meeting Cruz’s with a knowing look. “You can admit you like it, you know,” she teased.
Cruz allowed the faintest smile to tug at the corner of her lips. “I’ll admit it when we’re settled,” she replied, her voice deliberately even. She didn’t have the luxury of indulging in beauty, not yet.
Aaliyah rolled her eyes, but Cruz caught the warmth in her expression—the way her teasing was more affection than exasperation. Cruz found herself marveling, not for the first time, at how effortlessly Aaliyah could disarm her. It was both infuriating and endearing.
As they crossed a canal lined with boats and old stone bridges, Cruz stole another glance at Aaliyah. Her features were illuminated by the soft lights of the city, her lips slightly parted as if caught in a daydream. Cruz wondered what she was thinking—what Milan represented to her. Escape? Freedom? A fleeting moment of normalcy?
When the car came to a stop in front of the villa, Cruz was the first to step out, scanning the street and surrounding buildings. Everything seemed quiet, but she wasn’t one to take appearances at face value. She opened the door for Aaliyah, who stepped out and immediately froze, her wide-eyed gaze fixed on the house in front of them.
Cruz followed her line of sight, taking in the intricate facade. The cream-colored stone glowed softly in the evening light, balconies wrapping around the upper floors like delicate lace. The wrought-iron gate, flanked by ivy-covered stone pillars, added a touch of elegance that Cruz had noted as both aesthetic and functional during Sofia’s briefing.
“This… this is where we’re staying?” Aaliyah asked, her voice filled with disbelief.
Cruz nodded, her tone matter-of-fact. “It’s secure. Good location. Easy to blend in.”
Aaliyah laughed softly, shaking her head as though Cruz’s words had missed the point entirely. “You make it sound like a bunker. Look at this place—it’s a literal dream.”
Cruz’s lips twitched into what might have been a smile. She didn’t need to see the villa the way Aaliyah did. To Cruz, it was a safehouse—a well-placed location to regroup and plan their next moves. But seeing Aaliyah’s reaction made her pause, the flicker of joy in her voice a reminder of everything Cruz had been fighting to protect.
“As long as it works,” Cruz replied, her voice steady.
“Oh, it works,” Aaliyah said, already moving toward the gate. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and Cruz found herself trailing after her, her hand instinctively resting on her side as she scanned the area once more.
The courtyard was as pristine as the facade promised—cobblestones forming a mosaic beneath their feet, the gentle trickle of the fountain filling the air with a sense of calm. Cruz cataloged the sightline of every corner, noting the high walls and strategic placement of greenery that provided both cover and concealment. To her, it was a tactical haven. To Aaliyah, it was a storybook come to life.
“This is incredible,” Aaliyah whispered, turning in a slow circle. “How did you even find this place?”
Cruz shrugged, her expression neutral. “A contact set it up.”
Aaliyah shot her a grin that made Cruz’s chest tighten. “Remind me to thank them,” she said, reaching out to take Cruz’s hand. “Come on, let’s go inside.”
--
The interior of the villa was as ornate as the exterior, every detail speaking to craftsmanship Cruz could appreciate but rarely indulged in. The stained glass windows cast vibrant hues onto polished wood floors, and the air carried the faint scent of jasmine mingling with the warmth of the antique furniture.
Cruz stayed quiet as Aaliyah wandered through the rooms, her awe-filled murmurs breaking the stillness. She trailed her fingers along carved wooden tables, paused to admire paintings, and turned to Cruz with a wide smile that made Cruz feel both disarmed and deeply protective.
“Cruz,” Aaliyah called out, her voice tinged with wonder, “this place is magic.”
“It’s functional,” Cruz said, keeping her tone even, though she couldn’t help the faint flicker of amusement that colored her words. She watched as Aaliyah spun around, her delight so genuine it filled the room.
“Functional?” Aaliyah turned to face her, hands on her hips in mock indignation. “Cruz, this is the kind of house people write poetry about.”
Cruz bit back a smile, moving through the room to check the locks and test the windows. Every action was methodical, practiced. She needed to be certain this sanctuary was as secure as Sofia had promised.
“Come on,” Aaliyah said, her tone softening. “Show me where we’re sleeping.”
Upstairs, Cruz opened the first bedroom door, her eyes scanning the space automatically. The large bed, white linens, and bay window overlooking the courtyard made it an obvious choice for comfort, but Cruz’s focus lingered on the potential points of entry and escape.
“This one’s perfect,” Aaliyah said, stepping inside with an air of finality. She set her bag down before turning to Cruz, her expression expectant. “You’re sharing with me, right?”
Cruz blinked, caught off guard. “I can take the next room.”
“No way.” Aaliyah crossed the room to stand in front of her, her determination evident. “I’m not letting you sleep somewhere else. Not after everything we’ve been through. I want you here. With me.”
Cruz hesitated, her jaw tightening as she searched Aaliyah’s face. There was no trace of doubt in her expression, only warmth and resolve. Cruz knew she should object, keep some semblance of distance. But the quiet plea in Aaliyah’s eyes unraveled her.
“If that’s what you want,” Cruz said softly, the words feeling heavier than they should.
“It is,” Aaliyah replied, her voice gentler now as she stepped closer. “It’s what I want.”
Cruz nodded, stepping into the room fully and setting her bag down beside Aaliyah’s. Her gaze flicked to the bed before she added, “You get the left side.”
Aaliyah laughed, the sound light and unrestrained. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re stubborn,” Cruz countered, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.
“Perfect match,” Aaliyah quipped, leaning up to press a quick kiss to Cruz’s cheek before turning to unpack.
Cruz stayed where she was for a moment, her fingers brushing the edge of her bag as she watched Aaliyah. The simple domesticity of the moment—a villa in Milan, unpacking side by side—felt surreal. But for the first time in a long time, Cruz didn’t question it. She just let herself feel it.
--
The sitting room of the villa exuded quiet elegance, the soft amber glow from the chandelier casting warm patterns on the polished wood floors. Cruz sat on the couch, elbows resting on her knees, fingers loosely clasped. She’d taken in the villa earlier, cataloging its strengths and vulnerabilities as a safehouse, but now her thoughts were fixed on a more immediate concern.
The airport. The questions. The familiar tactics that had been gnawing at her since they’d arrived.
Cruz glanced at Aaliyah, who was curled up beside her with a steaming mug of tea cradled in her hands. She looked relaxed, almost at home in a way that made something in Cruz’s chest tighten. Aaliyah deserved that—a sense of ease, a break from the constant undercurrent of danger. Cruz had spent every moment since they’d met trying to protect her, but now it felt like a new kind of threat was looming, one she couldn’t quite pin down yet.
Her jaw clenched slightly as she worked through the possibilities. The line of questioning at the airport hadn’t just been invasive—it had been calculated. And Cruz knew calculated. She’d spent years operating in shadows where that kind of precision wasn’t just a tool; it was a way of life. But why now? Why them? The uncertainty gnawed at her, and she hated it.
“You’ve been brooding since we got here,” Aaliyah said softly, breaking the silence. “This place is beautiful, so there’s no excuse for that.” She set her mug on the side table and turned her full attention to Cruz. “What’s on your mind?”
Cruz looked up, her dark eyes meeting Aaliyah’s. For a moment, she considered brushing the question off, downplaying her unease. But Aaliyah deserved the truth. They were in this together now, whether Cruz had planned for it or not.
She let out a slow breath, leaning back against the couch. “It’s about what happened at the airport,” she said finally, her voice steady but edged with the tension she couldn’t quite mask. “Something about it didn’t sit right with me.”
Aaliyah frowned, pulling the throw blanket tighter around her shoulders. The way her expression shifted—concerned but resolute—made Cruz feel a strange mix of guilt and gratitude. “What do you mean?” Aaliyah asked.
“The security check,” Cruz began, her tone measured. She forced herself to speak evenly, even as the memory of those probing questions made her jaw tighten. “It wasn’t random. And it wasn’t just a coincidence that they flagged both of us. They knew exactly who we were—or, at least, who we’re pretending to be.”
She watched Aaliyah’s face pale slightly at the memory of the interrogation, and it twisted something inside her. Cruz had fought so hard to keep Aaliyah out of harm’s way, and yet, here they were—threats still circling, unseen but palpable.
“You think it was deliberate? That someone’s watching us?” Aaliyah’s voice was quiet, almost hesitant, and Cruz could hear the edge of fear beneath it.
Cruz nodded, her expression grim but calm. “I don’t think it was your father’s people, though. The questions they asked—the way they handled it—it felt… familiar.”
She hesitated, the words sticking in her throat. She hadn’t wanted to go here, not yet, but the truth was clawing its way out. Aaliyah deserved to know. “Because I’ve seen it before,” Cruz admitted, her gaze steady but distant. “The tactics, the phrasing. It felt like the CIA.”
The silence that followed was heavy, almost suffocating. Aaliyah’s eyes widened, her pulse visibly quickening. “The CIA? Why would they be interested in us?”
Cruz leaned forward again, elbows on her knees, fingers interlaced as she tried to organize her thoughts. “That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out,” she said, her voice low. “It doesn’t make sense. I left the agency on good terms. No burnt bridges, no loose ends. There shouldn’t be any reason for them to have me—or you—on their radar.”
But as the words left her mouth, doubt crept in. Cruz had always been thorough, meticulous in her work. But the CIA was a machine—relentless, efficient. If they’d decided to set their sights on her and Aaliyah, there had to be a reason.
“Could it be because of my father?” Aaliyah’s voice trembled slightly, and Cruz glanced at her. The vulnerability in her expression was painfully evident, but there was also a sharpness—a need to understand. “I mean, he’s powerful. He has money, influence, connections… But I’ve always suspected there’s more to his business than he lets on.”
Cruz considered this, her mind working through the implications. It wasn’t far-fetched. If Aaliyah’s father was involved in something that posed a national security threat, the CIA wouldn’t hesitate to act. And if Aaliyah was a potential key to unraveling his network, she’d become a piece on their chessboard—valuable and expendable all at once.
“That’s a possibility,” Cruz said slowly, her voice thoughtful. “You’re his daughter, and I…” She hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I’m the one protecting you.”
She wasn’t just protecting Aaliyah from her father anymore; she was shielding her from forces far more insidious, forces that operated in shadows Cruz knew all too well. It made her stomach churn, but she forced herself to stay composed.
“So, what does that mean for us? Are we… in danger from them?” Aaliyah’s voice trembled, but her gaze remained fixed on Cruz.
“I don’t think so,” Cruz said firmly, though her own doubts lingered in the back of her mind. “If the CIA wanted to bring us in, they would’ve done it by now. What happened at the airport felt more like… surveillance. Testing the waters.”
“But why? What do they want from us?” Aaliyah pressed, frustration evident in her tone.
Cruz leaned forward, her hands resting on her knees as she tried to frame her thoughts. “If I had to guess, they want information. They’re watching to see if we’ll lead them somewhere—or to someone.”
“My father,” Aaliyah said bitterly. She shook her head, her fingers clenching the edge of the blanket. “He’s at the center of this, isn’t he? Even now, even when I’ve run halfway across the world, he still finds a way to ruin everything.”
Cruz’s heart ached at the bitterness in her voice. She reached out, her hand covering Aaliyah’s in a gesture she hoped would be grounding. “This isn’t your fault,” she said quietly, her voice steady. “None of this is on you.”
Aaliyah looked down at their joined hands, and Cruz felt a flicker of relief as some of the tension seemed to leave her shoulders. “What do we do now?” Aaliyah asked, her voice soft but uncertain.
“We stay careful. We stay ahead,” Cruz said. “This changes things, but it doesn’t mean we’re out of options. The villa is secure, and Milan gives us plenty of ways to blend in.”
Aaliyah’s gaze searched hers, her vulnerability stark but laced with a quiet strength that Cruz had come to admire. “And what about the CIA? What if they come back?”
Cruz’s jaw tightened, her protective instincts flaring. “If they do, we deal with it. But for now, our focus is on keeping you safe.”
The conviction in her voice was genuine. Cruz had made her choice the moment she’d taken Aaliyah under her protection, and nothing—no shadowy agency or looming threat—was going to change that.
After a moment, Aaliyah leaned back, letting out a shaky breath. “This is a lot,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “I don’t know how you handle it all.”
Cruz allowed herself a faint smile, giving Aaliyah’s hand a gentle squeeze. “One step at a time,” she said simply.
When Aaliyah leaned against her, Cruz instinctively wrapped her arms around her, holding her close. For the first time in years, she let herself linger in the moment—not strategizing, not planning, just being there for someone who had become so much more than a mission.
--
The phone pressed to her ear felt familiar, almost comforting. Cruz spoke in fluent, measured Italian, the words rolling off her tongue with practiced ease. Her tone was polite but firm, her focus entirely on placing the order efficiently while ensuring there were no mistakes. Years of training had taught her to be precise in everything she did, even something as mundane as ordering takeout.
But even as she spoke, her attention drifted. She could feel Aaliyah’s presence in the room, her gaze burning into her back like a soft flame. Cruz didn’t turn around at first, though the thought of Aaliyah watching her made her heart pick up its pace, her usual composure slipping ever so slightly.
She finished rattling off the last detail of their order and paused as the person on the other end confirmed it. With a quiet “grazie,” she ended the call and set her phone on the counter. Finally, she turned, her eyes locking onto Aaliyah leaning casually against the doorframe.
Aaliyah’s expression was unreadable for a moment, but the faint curl of her lips gave her away. Cruz arched a brow, and that little smirk Aaliyah often wore spread wider. The sight of it made Cruz’s stomach twist in a way that was both unsettling and addictive.
“So,” Aaliyah began, stepping into the kitchen with an ease that only she could pull off. “Is there anything you can’t do?”
Cruz leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest in a practiced move that she knew projected calm—even though her pulse was anything but. “Depends. What’s the question?”
“That,” Aaliyah said, motioning toward the phone. “The Italian. You sounded like a local.”
Cruz shrugged, keeping her tone casual even as the compliment made a faint heat rise to her cheeks. “I picked it up during a few stints in Europe. It’s not that impressive.”
The way Aaliyah’s brows shot up in mock disbelief was endearing in a way that caught Cruz off guard. “Not that impressive?” Aaliyah repeated, her voice filled with exaggerated incredulity. “You’ve got to be kidding me. That was—” She paused, searching for the right word. “Ridiculously hot.”
Cruz blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the boldness of Aaliyah’s statement. She could feel a faint heat rising in her face and was grateful for her ability to maintain an outwardly calm facade. “If you say so,” she replied, her voice steady despite the slight hitch in her chest.
“Oh, I do,” Aaliyah teased, stepping closer, her voice dropping into something softer. “You could’ve just said ‘pizza’ and ‘pasta,’ and I would’ve been impressed. But you? You sounded like you were straight out of a Fellini film.”
Cruz tilted her head, her lips twitching into a faint smirk despite herself. “Didn’t realize I was auditioning.”
“You don’t have to,” Aaliyah murmured, closing the space between them. Cruz’s breath caught as she felt Aaliyah’s fingers brush lightly against her forearm, the touch sending a spark of warmth through her. Her usual stoicism faltered, her posture stiffening momentarily before she forced herself to relax.
“You’ve already got the part,” Aaliyah added, her voice low and steady.
Cruz’s heart thudded in her chest, a rhythm she couldn’t control. Her usual confidence, so carefully cultivated over years of operating in high-pressure situations, seemed to falter under Aaliyah’s gaze. “You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, her voice quieter now, tinged with something softer.
“Maybe,” Aaliyah admitted, her grin widening. “But you like it.”
Before Cruz could respond, Aaliyah leaned in, her fingers threading into Cruz’s hair as their lips met. The kiss was soft at first, hesitant, but the warmth of Aaliyah’s lips against hers was all it took for Cruz to respond. Her hands moved instinctively, settling on Aaliyah’s waist as she pulled her closer, their bodies pressing together as the kiss deepened.
The kitchen around them faded away, leaving only the heat of the moment, the way Aaliyah’s hands felt tangled in her hair, the way her lips moved with a deliberate intensity that left Cruz breathless. Cruz’s fingers flexed slightly against Aaliyah’s sides, grounding herself in the warmth of her touch, the steady reminder that this was real.
When they finally broke apart, Cruz took a steadying breath, her forehead resting lightly against Aaliyah’s as she tried to regain her composure. Aaliyah’s smile was wide and unrestrained, her eyes shining with something that made Cruz’s chest ache in the best way.
“You’re amazing, you know that?” Aaliyah said, her tone filled with affection that Cruz wasn’t sure she deserved.
Cruz raised a brow, though she could feel the faint heat lingering in her cheeks. “All that for ordering takeout?”
Aaliyah laughed, the sound light and full of warmth. “No, not just that. It’s everything. You’re amazing at everything you do, Cruz. And I…” She hesitated, her voice softening. “I just want you to know how much I appreciate you. All of you.”
Cruz froze, the weight of Aaliyah’s words settling over her like a warm blanket. It was rare for anyone to say things like that to her, rarer still for her to believe them. But there was something in Aaliyah’s eyes, something so sincere and unguarded, that made her chest tighten.
Slowly, Cruz leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Aaliyah’s forehead. Her hands slid up to cradle Aaliyah’s face, her thumbs brushing lightly against her cheeks. “I appreciate you too,” she said quietly, her voice steady despite the emotions swirling beneath the surface.
The doorbell rang, and Cruz straightened reluctantly, her hands falling back to her sides. “That’ll be the food,” she said, her tone back to its usual calm.
As she moved toward the door, she glanced back over her shoulder, catching Aaliyah’s gaze. A faint smirk tugged at her lips as she said, “If I’d known takeout could get me kissed like that, I’d have ordered sooner.”
Aaliyah rolled her eyes, but her smile was bright and genuine. “Any time, any place,” she replied, grabbing plates from the cupboard.
Cruz couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped her as she opened the door. For the first time in a long while, she felt something close to peace—and it had everything to do with the woman waiting for her in the kitchen.