Page 97 of Vow Of Fire

Tomorrow would be better. Tomorrow I would be back at work, in my own environment. I craved the normality that would bring.

When I’d turned my phone back on, I’d had a dozen or more text messages from Chloe. Instead of replying, I’d called her and explained I’d been away on a romantic jaunt this weekend. Yes, with Dante Marcelli.

She’d freaked out, just like I’d known she would, but there was no point in lying about that. I was staying at his Manhattan penthouse, for Pete’s sake.

I just hadn’t told her about the abduction, the imprisonment, the fight to prove my innocence, and Valentina. I felt bad about that, but on the other hand, I didn’t want to put her at risk. The less she knew about this whole sordid situation, the better.

By the time Dante and I finished eating, the knot in my stomach had returned.

“I’ve got some work to deal with,” Dante said, getting up. I looked at the dirty plates on the table and reached out to stack them and take them through to the kitchen.

“Leave it,” he snapped.

I stood back, throwing him a questioning look. “Are you going to do it?”

He didn’t answer me. Instead, he said, “There’s a TV in your room. You have free rein of the suite, except my bedroom and my study. Those rooms are strictly off-limits. You cannot leave, as you will be stopped the moment you step outside the door. Apart from that, you can do what you want.”

“Gee, thanks,” I said, irritated. He didn’t have to be so bossy.

“Any questions?”

Too tired to argue, I shook my head.

I watched him disappear down the hallway toward what I assumed was his study. A moment later, the door shut quietly behind him.

Left alone, I decided to turn in early. I was exhausted from the lack of sleep last night and my anxiety about coming here.

It was clear by his black mood that Dante didn’t want me in his apartment; he’d only suggested it because it suited Valentina’s plan. If it was going to get me my gallery back, I could stomach it for a few days, or weeks. Or as long as it took.

Last night felt like a very long time ago now. So much had happened. I’d gone from being held captive at the cabin to meeting Valentina and being drawn into the Marcelli family vendetta. The cartel wanted my gallery, and now we were going to fight back to save it.

I’d deal with the Marcellis later, after I got my business back.

I switched on the television, mostly for background noise. Some late-night talk show flickered across the massive screen, the rent-a-crowd laughing at a joke the host had made. I turned down the volume, then walked over to the window and gazed out. The rain was coming down hard, blurring the Manhattan skyline.

I gave a wide yawn as exhaustion caught up with me. Changing into one of my silky nightgowns, I washed my face in the marble bathroom attached to the guest room and then slid beneath the impossibly soft, cream-colored bedding.

Placing my phone beside me to charge, I switched off the TV, then the lamp, and closed my eyes. I must have fallen into a deep sleep, because I woke up some time later, disoriented.

Heart pounding, I stared around at the unfamiliar surroundings, unsure where I was. Slowly, the room and my memory came into focus.

I was at Dante’s place.

“Thank God,” I muttered, pushing myself into a sitting position. All this moving around was worse than jet lag. And I didn’t even have the advantage of a fun travel destination to make up for it.

Twisting, I checked the time on my phone and groaned. It was three o’clock in the morning. I’d been asleep for over four hours.

There were also a flurry of text messages from Chloe, sent at nine thirty.

Chloe: So what’s he like in bed?

Chloe: I bet he’s good.

Chloe: He’s good, isn’t he?

Naturally, she’d assume we were sleeping together. That’s what normal well-adjusted people did on dirty weekends away.

Except we weren’t normal. We were anything but normal, but I couldn’t tell her that.