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His shoulders twitch with amusement. It’s easy to forget he’s a soldier in this world. He’s too soft-eyed, and a part of me wonders why he’s trying to impress men who’d gladly slit his throat for a title.
The other voice insists it’s none of my business and I should focus on escaping before thinking about others.
I lower my voice like I’m planning a bank heist. “Could you…tell Enzo I’d like to speak to him?”
His brows lift as if I’ve just suggested dinner at the edge of a volcano. “Uh…are you sure?”
“No, I’m completely insane. But do it anyway.”
Gio fidgets. “You know, most people avoid Ricci. They don’t exactly request him.”
“I’m not most people.”
He smiles. “Yeah. That part’s obvious.”
Once he walks out, I’m left with nothing to do and no one to speak to. Time blurs as I sleep, then pace, then walk to the paper and pencil in the corner to scribble some notes.
Because I have no concept of time moving in this cell, I feel like I’m stuck in a loop. One I’m glad to be rid of when the door finally creaks open.
Enzo Ricci walks in wearing a slate gray shirt that’s absolutely tailored to fit his lean, toned body. The shirt is open at the collar, and his rolled sleeves expose tanned forearms.
How does he manage to look like he’s been carved by old-world sculptors whose goal is to exhibit the most perfect kind of masculinity?
He fills every space with that cold intensity that makes women stare twice. Captive women included. Every nerve in my body goes electric.
“You asked to see me.”
I nod, lubricating my dry throat with saliva before muttering, “Yes.”
He stands still for a second, just watching, probably expecting me to say more. When I don’t continue, he raises an eyebrow and flattens his tone. “And why…did you want to see me?”
“Oh.” I nod again. “I remembered something about my father.” I can’t seem to stop nodding. “His hideouts. Some deposit boxes. Stuff he mentioned years ago.”
He raises an eyebrow. “In exchange for?”
“Freedom.”
The word hangs like fog, and my chest beats with hope. I search his face for any sign that he views this as an acceptable trade, but his eyes give nothing away.
He waits about three long second before he puts a foot forward and shakes his head. “No.”
My chest tightens. “But…”
“I can’t let you go. Not yet.”
“So this is it? I cooperate and still stay caged?”
“There are…other arrangements.”
I cross my arms. “Like what?”
He closes the distance until his shadow cloaks me. “You can walk the gardens tonight. Enjoy fresh air and space.”
My lip twitches. “A prisoner with a leash is still a prisoner.”
“Would you prefer chains?”
“No. I’d prefer to wake up in my bed with zero mobsters and zero metaphors.”
