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LILY
The bed is heavenly,and I sleep well, despite everything. When I wake up, sunlight streams in through the curtains, and I can tell that it’s late in the morning. The apartment is silent, as far as I can tell, but maybe it’s so big that it muffles the sound.
Either way, I have no idea what to do now.
By some miracle—and my desperate quick thinking last night—I’ve managed to broker some kind of temporary peace with Nero. But I already know, I’m on the clock to prove my usefulness and deliver access to Ian McKenna.
Where do I even begin?
By cleaning up, for starters. I reluctantly get out of bed, and head for the bathroom, which immediately puts me in a better mood. After so many years of shitty apartments with mold problems, I forgot that bathrooms could be this nice. It’s the little things you take for granted until they’re gone. There’s not just an epic shower in here, but a jacuzzi tub, too. I promise myself that I’ll find a chance to use it at some point—I miss the relaxing, warm bubbles, soothing my aching muscles while I drift off to sleep in a haze of steam. I have to admit to myself that it’s nice to be back in these kinds of surroundings. Everything is shiny and new and luxurious.
And if that makes me shallow… Well, I prefer to call it looking on the bright side of my captivity.
Speaking of which… After I shower and get dressed in a preppy, luxurious silk shirtdress, I venture out of the bedroom, wondering what I’ll find. A part of me expects to find a guard there, but there’s no one around. Technically, I could walk right out the door if I wanted, but I know that Nero was serious last night.
He isn’t going to let me go twice.
I feel a shiver, remembering the deadly promise in his gaze. God, it’s still hard to reconcile the dangerous man I’m around now with the boy that I was head over heels for. Nero used to bring me roses, sweet little gifts just to make me smile. He even talked about us getting married someday, and while I knew even then that they were the idle daydreams of a boy raised in a different world, I loved the way I felt with him.
Safe. Cherished. Like the most precious prize of all.
Well, I’m safe now—but in a very different way. Trapped, and bound by a blood debt I have only a slim chance of paying.
I shake my head. The only way out of this is by looking forward, not back, so pushing those distracting memories to the back of my mind, I move past the exit door, and into the living area. My stomach growls and I realize I can’t remember the last time I ate. They probably served a delicious dinner at the gala last night, and I missed out on it.
I grab some orange juice out of the refrigerator and toast a bagel, taking in my surroundings in the light of day. The main loft is a stunning space, all masculine leather furniture with an industrial, vintage edge, but there’s something off about it—it’s missing that personal touch. No photos, no mementos… I would guess that it was professionally decorated by someone who didn’t know Nero very well.
But that’s not a surprise: He’s not an easy man to know. And now that he’s running the Barretti organization… I would guess any hint of his personal life could prove a weakness. Give his enemies something to hold onto.
I’ve just finished my breakfast when I hear a thud, coming from somewhere in the loft. It’s followed by a manly grunt, and the sounds of grappling.
I slide off the stool and look around. I didn’t think anyone was here, but I follow the sound to a staircase, leading down a level. Pushing open the door, I find a massive gym space. There’s every kind of exercise equipment I can think of, and in the middle of the room, there’s a makeshift fighting ring, where Nero is training with a tall, Nordic-looking guy.
“Keep your weight back,” he barks at Nero, circling. “Now, again.”
Nero lunges at him, getting him in a complex gripping headlock, and the pair grapple, grunting and panting with the exertion.
I watch, fascinated. The fighting style is complex, and the moves both men make are downright impressive. It’s almost like dancing, and I admire the fluidity and grace on display.
And that’s not all that’s on display. Nero is shirtless once again, and I drink in the sight of him: Those dark tattoos bare and sweaty, his muscles flexing with every move. My blood runs hot, watching as he gets his trainer in a brutal hold, pinning him to the mat until he taps out, gasping.
I shiver. Nero in action is undeniably powerful, taking down the mountain of his trainer with his bare hands like that. I know I should be repulsed by the violence on display, but instead, I find it intoxicating. Sexy. I can’t tear my gaze away.
Which is when Nero looks up and sees me standing there.
I want to turn and run, but I force myself to walk forwards instead, joining him on the edge of the mat as he gulps from a bottle of water and shakes his trainer’s hand.
“Next week?” he asks.
Nero nods. “I’ll let you know what time.”
The trainer gives me a curious glance, then grabs his stuff and leaves. Nero starts stacking workout equipment, making a point not to talk to me, until I finally roll my eyes and sigh. “If we’re going to work together, you can at least acknowledge my existence.”
“Was that what you were doing snooping down here?” he asks, “Existing.”
I control my temper. “What kind of fighting is that? I’ve never seen it before.”
“It’s called Krav Maga.” He answers abruptly. “It’s an Israeli fighting system.”
