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He points a finger at me. “Case in point. I saw you on the phone yesterday morning from my car. You looked more stressed than usual.” His observation, so casually stated, feels like an intrusion, a breach of my fragile privacy.
I stiffen, caught off guard. My gaze flickers away, then back to him. “It was nothing,” I lie, but the weight of worry presses down on me, making it hard to breathe, let alone deceive.
He doesn’t look convinced. “It didn’t seem like nothing,” he presses, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, making him appear less imposing, more human. “Tell me.”
The truth bubbles up, propelled by a mix of resignation and the slight relief of unburdening. “It was the bank,” I admit reluctantly, my voice a whisper. “My account’s overdrawn again.”
His frown deepens, not in judgment, but it seems in contemplation. “Money troubles?”
I nod, a lump forming in my throat. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. Dad takes most of my money and I’ve got to pay the utilities from what I have left.”
He stands abruptly, pacing a short distance before turning back to me. “I will help with all that,” he states plainly, as if it’s the simplest solution in the world.
I’m about to protest, to argue that I can handle my own problems, but he holds up a hand to stop me. “Listen, I’m not trying to control you or buy your gratitude. I want to help. Will you let me?”
The offer hangs in the air, tempting and terrifying in equal measure. Accepting his help feels like stepping onto a slippery slope, yet the thought of relief from the constant financial pressure is undeniably appealing.
“Okay,” I whisper, the word barely audible. “Thank you.”
He nods, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, a silent acknowledgment of my reluctant acceptance. “Good. Let’s take care of it now. What bank are you with?”
Pulling his phone from his pocket, he makes a call. “This is Alessandro Rossi,” he begins. “I’m glad you’ve heard of me. That should make this simpler. I need to discuss the account of one Jess Hennimore.”
The air is charged with the power emanating from his voice. “I understand there’s an overdraft. How much? No, that won’t be an issue. I want the balance cleared. Yes, now. And while we’re at it, let’s ensure this doesn’t happen again. Transfer, let’s say, two hundred thousand from my main account as a buffer. I don’t give a shit, just get it done.”
His casual mention of such an astronomical figure sends a shiver down my spine. Two hundred thousand? Just like that? It’s a sum that would solve not just my immediate problems but would be life-changing.
“And add a note to the account,” he continues, his voice firm, “any future issues are to be directed to my office immediately. No, she shouldn’t be bothered with such financial trivialities.”
“Done,” he says, turning back to me, his expression unreadable. “No more calls from the bank. Ever.”
I manage a small smile, overwhelmed. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Start by believing you’re worth it,” he says, and in his voice, I hear an echo of something like care, perhaps even affection. Could he really care for me? “I see how you look at yourself, how you hold yourself. Stand tall. You are beautiful. Be proud of that fact.” He reaches a hand out toward me.
I shake my head. “I don’t know what you think I’ll give in return but I’m not that kind of girl. Never even been kissed, remember?”
He gets to his feet. “I’m going to run you a bath,” he says. “Get undressed.”
FOUR
Alessandro
As I turn off the faucet, the steam rises in gentle swirls, filling the bathroom with the calming scent of lavender bath salts. The water’s surface dances with the reflections of the dimmed lights. “It’s ready,” I call out.
She enters, her movements hesitant, a tangible reluctance in the way she clutches her clothing to her.
“You haven’t undressed,” I observe, trying to keep my tone neutral, not wanting to add to her unease. I desire with all my heart to rip her clothes from her for disobeying me. My hand twitches in readiness to carry out my wishes. I fight my desire.
She is too innocent for a man like me. She would scream, cry, fight me all the way. I will not let her first time be like that.
She wraps her arms around herself, a barrier against her vulnerability. “Could I have some privacy?” Her voice is a mix of embarrassment and a plea, her eyes not meeting mine.
“If you want privacy, say so. You are my tesoro. My treasure. What you want, you get. Now tell me what you want.”
“Privacy. I don’t want you to see me naked.”
I turn my back on her but as I do, my phone buzzes, its screen lighting up with urgent messages. Garibaldi’s men have been spotted not too far from here, probing for weaknesses. The reality of my world crashes back in.
