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A sound grabs my attention. Milos is leaning against the doorway. “Hungry?”
I’m not sure why I’m shy. I nod.
“I made you something. Do you want me to bring it in to you or do you want to eat in the dining room?” he asks gently.
“I want to get out of bed,” I mutter as I lift the covers only to find I’m naked. I hate the way I blush.
A black dress shirt lands in my lap. I look up to find Milos smiling down at me. “I had some of your clothes brought from the house. They’re in the closet, over there.” He points to a closed door. “Coffee?”
“Please.” I nod as I put the shirt on.
“Follow the smell of it.”
I look up but he’s already gone. Exhaling slowly, I push up from the bed and go into the walk-in closet. It’s huge, as large as the one at home. I blink a few times, he’s said a few things. If I’m missing any clothes from home, I can’t tell.
Laziness has me grabbing a maxi dress in indigo blue. I’m not sure if we’re leaving here. I think it’s nice enough to go most anywhere, at the same time comfortable enough to lounge around in.
There’s basically a cupboard but could be a whole other closet door that is closed. I try the door handle and it won’t move. I’m wondering if it’s a safe filled with guns or something. The smell of coffee hits me, I shrug. Coffee is more important.
Milos doesn’t say much as we eat what I see is basically lunch. There’s tension in him. I’m wondering if he’s mad at me. I have a feeling he is. When we finish, he clears the table. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do, so I stay put sipping the remainder of my coffee.
As he sits down, those yellow eyes are on me. It’s time. “How did you know my uncle wants me dead?”
Mind fuzzy, I don’t remember saying it. Then again, in the bright light of day I don’t remember anything after the exploding—I close my eyes, then I was in the shower and more blood and Milos wore his shoes.
“Celia, how did you know?” The words are tight, controlled. Someone is in trouble and it isn’t me.
“With the way you were acting, I knew something was wrong. So I tried listening in on conversations when people didn’t know I was there. I overheard people talking. Is your uncle still alive?”
His jaw clenches. “For now. He won’t know the man he sent after me is dead. I’m not sure how long it will take for him to figure it out. I don’t want him to know, for as long as possible.”
I swirl my cold coffee and nod. “Okay. So we pretend a man didn’t die last night because I killed him.” I nod. “I can do that.”
Eyes narrow on me. “You can.”
Pushing out air, I nod. “I actually can. I don’t really feel anything but relief he’s dead, and kind of satisfaction it was me that did it. What does that make me? Where’s the horror? The disgust at what I did. Why don’t I feel anything? I killed a man last night.”
He shakes his head. “You didn’t kill a man. You stopped a threat to me and you. Would you feel bad because you threw out the trash that was piling up in your house for a month?”
I shake my head. “Do you know Carlo said the same exact thing to me? The death the mafia deals in is taking out trash in one form or another.”
“He’s right. The man was a hired gun, his kill count so high he averaged five people a day since the day he was born. He didn’t start doing this until he was twenty-four, twelve years ago. And most of those people were collateral damage, people in the wrong place—between him and his target. I’m sorry I didn’t protect you the way I should have—”
“No, that’s exactly why I did it. You would have died if I hadn’t done what I did. I couldn’t have…” I close my eyes against the tears.
I’m in his arms. “I died a thousand deaths when you screamed and the door slammed closed behind you. My one job in this life is to protect my woman, no pain, no tears, no fucking guns held to your head.”
His phone rings, I feel his body tighten in resentment. It’s the only reason I don’t argue when he answers. I can’t hear what’s being said. He sighs, though, and tells whoever it is he’ll be there in fifteen minutes.
He sighs again as he runs his hand through my hair. “I have to go. I don’t want to but I have to.”
The tortured way he admitted how he feels gives me the strength to run my hand over his cheek. “Then go. And I’ll be here when you get back.”
Catching me behind my neck, he presses his lips to my forehead. “You aren’t allowed to leave here. We’re going to be here for at least another week, maybe two. It depends. I need to be in the city, not an hour away, and I don’t want to sleep here and you at the house. A housekeeper is coming in to work in a few hours. Anything you want or need for the next few weeks, tell her and she’ll get it, anything.”
I nod. Another kiss, this time on my cheek, then he’s up, walking out the front door.
Curious, I go on a tour of the place. I love it. It’s airy and comfortable with beautiful views of the lake. There are three bedrooms that each have an attached bathroom with a half bath off the hallway for guests. It’s so large there’s also a workout room, a formal living room and a room with a television that’s a little more cozy. I’m also not surprised there’s a locked door, I’m pretty sure it’s his office. The kitchen is marble and granite and has an eight-burner stove and double ovens. If it weren’t for the views outside, I would think it was any home in a neighborhood filled with families.
