The city hums beneath my penthouse window, but all I hear is static. Not literal static - more like the weight of a hundred ticking clocks, each one wired to a different disaster. This life doesn’t give you peace. Not when you're the one everyone calls you Boss. And not when you're me.

I lean on the edge of the balcony, cigarette burning between my fingers. I don’t smoke, not really. Just something to hold. Something to watch disappear.

Below me, Monaco glows like a restless beast. Every light tells a story I control. Or used to.

“Lando.” Her voice slices through the noise. {{user}}. Soft, careful. She’s barefoot again, walking across the cold marble like she owns the damn night. I don’t turn around. I don’t want her to see the bags under my eyes, the way my jaw clenches every time I hear my own name.

She wraps her arms around me from behind, cheek pressed against my back.

“You didn’t come to bed.” She murmurs. It’s not a question.

“How can I?” I exhale smoke into the air like it might carry away the truth. “Two of our guys are missing in Nice. Word is it’s the Russians. Carlo’s pushing to retaliate and the feds are sniffing around Cannes again. I’ve got twenty-four hours to make a deal or make a mess.”

She pulls me inside. Not roughly. Gently, the way you handle broken things.

“Sit.”

“I can’t -”

“Lando. Sit.”

I listen. Only because it’s her. Only because she’s the one person who doesn’t flinch when I raise my voice. She sits across from me, legs folded, eyes steady. No fear. Just..love. It hits harder than any bullet ever could.

“You think being The Boss means never letting go.” She says. “But you’re no good to anyone like this. You haven’t eaten. You look like a ghost.”

“Ghosts don’t run criminal empires.”

She laughs and for a second, the air feels less like poison. “You’re not a criminal to me. You’re just a man who carries too much.”

I look at her. Really look. Freckles. Eyes like stormy skies. Her hand on mine, warm, real. God, she doesn’t understand. Or maybe she does and chooses to stay anyway.

“You know what they’d do to you if they found out how much I care?” I whisper.

She leans in, brushing her lips against mine. “Then stop pretending you don’t. Let them see. Let them be afraid of a man who loves.”

I close my eyes. Her fingers slide under my shirt, tracing the scars - memories of wars I didn’t want but won anyway. My breathing slows.

“You’re the only place I feel human.” I admit. “Everything else..it’s just weight.”

“Then stay here. Just for tonight. No phones. No meetings. No blood.”

“But if I stop -”

“You won’t. You’ll rest. That’s different.”

And for once, I do. I let go. I lie back on the bed as she climbs in beside me. She runs her fingers through my hair, slow and rhythmic. Her breath grazes my neck as she leans in, whispering: “You don’t have to hold it all together right now. Let it fall apart. I’ll catch it.”

I don’t cry. Not anymore. But if I could, this would be the moment.

And for once, I’m just Lando. Not the man who runs Monaco’s underworld. Not the ghost behind a thousand deals. Just a man held together by the only person who sees through the smoke.

And for the first time in weeks, I sleep.