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I assumed that maybe Curse, or one of Elio’s other men, would drop me off and pick me up. But as I let my gaze drift over Elio, taking in the black leather jacket and the car keys in his hand, I realize I was mistaken.
“Are you my ride or something?” I ask him, trying not to notice that the leather jacket hanging on the bulk of his frame looks way too good.
“Not just your ride,” he replies, flipping the keys up and down against the palm of his black glove, the keychain spinning back and forth around his index finger. “Your chaperone.”
“My…” The word sinks in. “Oh, no. No way. You are not attending classes with me! You’re not even a student! They won’t let you in.”
His mouth twitches, twisting on the scarred side, and I don’t know if it’s the beginning of a smirk or a frown. His tone when he speaks next gives nothing away besides the kind of cool, implacable confidence that comes from killing and kidnapping whoever you want, whenever you want, with absolute impunity.
“They’ll let me in.”
I shake my head.
“No way. This isn’t happening.”
“It isn’t happening if you don’t have a chaperone,” he shoots back blithely. “The St George campus may not be in Darragh’s territory but I’m still not sending you there alone.” His mouth twitches again, and it’s definitely a smirk this time. “Besides, I can’t have you making a run for it.”
I flush hot and cold, completely unnerved by the fact that I hadn’t even considered using this as an opportunity to try to escape. What the hell does that say about me? That I wouldn’t even try to run? I mean, realistically, I have no money and no allies. I could try to go to the police, but my 9-1-1 call from my first night here can tell me how much good that would do. But still, even knowing all this, I should have at least thought about it. Here I was all morning excited about getting to go to school instead of being excited at the chance to cut and run.
Well, there’s clearly no chance of that now. Not if Elio insists on being glued to my side.
“Don’t you have things to do?” I ask him. “Like, mafia things? You’re basically the head of the Titone empire. How do you have time to go to my classes?”
He stops jangling the keys and walks towards me, not stopping until his chest almost brushes mine.
“I know how to delegate,” he murmurs, his voice like warm smoke on my spine. His eyes seem to get even darker. “And prioritize.”
There’s an immediate, instinctive reaction inside me at those words. An undeniable pleasure that surges at being called his priority. Instantly, embarrassment follows. Because how pathetic am I, how little have I been valued, that I would react in such a way to what he just said?
I lean into the embarrassment, escaping from the thrill he just gave me. I don’t need to get any deeper into this Stockholm Syndrome, or whatever it is, than I already am.
I can do this. I can be around Elio and not lose myself. I’ll prove it, starting right now.
“Alright, fine,” I say, brushing past him like he’s nobody important instead of the man who’s come to dominate so many aspects of my life. “Let’s go.”
We head down the stairs together, and I am supremely, uncomfortably aware of Elio’s physical presence the entire way. Every time I see him out of the corner of my eye or catch a whiff of his deliriously nice cologne, I remember his hands on me last night.
He took his gloves off again…
And not just for a short time, either. He touched me with those huge, scarred hands and left me branded the same way the fire branded him. His touch on me, skin to skin, was incandescent and ruinous.
Ruinous because I want to feel it again. And what can that mean besides the fact that something inside me really is ruined?
I didn’t break you, he told me. I’m just responding to something that was already there.
At the bottom of the stairs is a guy I recognize. Robbie. I’m pretty sure that’s what Elio called him.
“Good morning,” I mutter to him as we pass and head towards the front door. I’m not really sure why I say it. Maybe some kind of ingrained people-pleasing politeness, or a survival instinct that’s telling me not to make enemies of anyone here. Robbie’s eyes bulge at my greeting, and his gaze shifts to Elio as if he’s not sure how he should respond.
“Don’t be rude,” Elio says. “If she speaks to you, I expect you to respond.”
I roll my eyes at that, because I’m pretty sure that kidnapping someone and holding them hostage for their father’s debt is way worse on the rudeness scale than not saying good morning.
Robbie jerks his head up and down and clears his throat. “Morning.”
Elio is still staring at Robbie. “Where’s her coat?”
I try not to admire it, but it really is amazing the way Elio commands. One simple question, and this giant tattooed soldier is hustling over to a nearby closet. He pulls out a long, expensive-looking white parka with a creamy fur-trimmed hood and brings it over. He holds it out to me, but Elio is the one who takes it. He dismisses Robbie with a jerk of his chin then turns to me, holding the jacket open so I can slip it on.
