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“Sofia said she added some calming herbs. Do you want some more, baby?”
“Maybe later,” I murmur against his bare chest.
Roman scoots down the bed until he’s lying flat against the mattress with me sprawled on top of him like a rag doll. His fingers thread through my curls, infusing my scalp with pleasant tingles.
His heart beats a steady rhythm beneath my ear, lulling me into a deep state of relaxation. I could lie here forever in his arms. He’s quite calming when he’s not beating a man half to death or carrying me to uncertain fates like a sack of rice.
Roman Montesano is an enigma. Sometimes it feels like he’s my guardian angel, other times it feels like he’s my captor. Maybe my mind is so frazzled by suspicion and intrusive thoughts that I can’t tell the difference.
As I drift into slumber, his phone buzzes and he shifts to pick it up.
“What?” he whispers.
“Everyone is gathered on the front steps, ready for your announcement,” says the voice on the other end.
Pausing, he shifts and murmurs, “Emberly?”
I pretend to sleep.
“Give me five minutes,” he whispers.
He calls my name again, and I continue acting like I’m too far gone to hear his voice. Roman places a soft kiss on my forehead before slipping out of bed and pulling on a pair of pants.
My heart pounds as I crack open an eye and watch him leave the room, then I count to twenty before sliding out of bed and slipping on a robe and a pair of flip-flops.
The front door clicks shut, and I walk to the bedroom door and poke my head out into the studio. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I watch Roman stride along the edge of the pool and up the path that leads to the mansion. Clutching the wooden frame, I stay in place until he disappears through a set of patio doors.
That’s when I make my move.
The gardens are cast in shadow, and clouds cover the sky, letting out the barest peeks of sunlight. Shuddering at the ominous atmosphere, I wrap my arms around my chest and continue toward the mansion.
My flip-flops slap against the stone tiles, but nobody’s around to hear me approach. Instead of entering through the patio doors, I walk around the building’s perimeter toward the sound of chatter.
“Gentlemen,” Roman says, his voice so cold that my steps falter. “I don’t need to remind you how this family was broken apart five years ago by betrayal.”
I quicken my steps, passing rose gardens and keeping close to walls covered in climbing plants and the occasional group of fragrant shrubs.
“Every traitor who left with Frederic Capello will pay for stabbing us in the back. I want you all to prepare for a war. We’re going to take back what’s ours and restore this family to its former greatness.”
The men applaud and cheer.
Based on what I read online, none of this is surprising, but it turns out that I was right. The Capello family was either behind his imprisonment or took advantage of the Montesanos’ downfall. Roman must have been the one who ordered their massacre.
His speech continues along the same lines, and I inch closer, trying to work out how I feel. No one can be a mafia boss without murdering, but what if all the people he kills are crooks? After today, it looks like the police are also criminals.
I reach the corner and peer in the direction of the mansion’s grand entrance. Roman stands on the steps, flanked by Cesare and the brother with the glasses who ordered me to step off the balcony. Behind them are Tony and a bald man about the same size.
Roman turns to the huge men. “Bring him out.”
They lumber up the stairs, through the double doors, and return, dragging out a naked man covered in bruises and cuts. He’s barely conscious, and his face is hidden within a mass of blood and swelling. It has to be Dominic.
“This morning, Dominic crept into the pool house and nearly killed a woman under my protection,” Roman bellows. “After everything that’s happened to this family, one of you dares to betray us for money.”
Chatter fills the air, but it’s muffled by the pounding of the pulse between my ears. Every paranoid thought I ever had about Roman vanishes into the ether.
Roman was telling the truth. Jim’s superior, Samuel Johnson, paid Dominic to strangle me to death.
“The next motherfucker who messes with my house guest won’t die so easy.” His sharp voice cuts through my thoughts. “Anyone who so much as looks at her funny will lose their eyes. Anyone who smirks in her direction will lose their teeth. Anyone who touches her loses their hands. You understand?”
