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Judgment time.
* * *
“That was very dangerous.”
I’m bundled up in three blankets, curled obediently in the armchair next to the fireplace. Apparently I made my great escape directly into the path of De Rossi’s personal study. He saw everything. Awesome.
“And so stupid, I cannot fathom it. Truly, your awful logic is giving me a migraine.”
Is it so surprising that a captive would try to escape? I don’t think so, but the mob boss is agitated as he coaxes the fire higher, stabbing the logs harder than necessary with an iron poker. Firelight dances over his features. It softens him up for a moment, despite the scowl.
That hot poker’s not for me, is it?
“Um.” I glance at the clock on the nearest bookcase. It’s past three. “I thought you’d be asleep.”
The scathing look he throws me makes my belly flip. “You thought wrong. But I’m sure that’s a comfortable experience for you, Erin.”
Ass. “You can’t seriously take a girl captive and not expect any escape attempts. You left me the bed sheets and an unlocked balcony! You practically begged me to try this!”
De Rossi rolls his eyes, pushing to his feet. And he’s so close suddenly, close enough that I could reach out and spread my palm on his stomach. Could feel that fancy waistcoat against my fingertips, and the hard muscles beneath…
The loud gurgle of my stomach makes my cheeks flame red.
“You didn’t eat?” De Rossi clips out. “I had food sent to you. Several options for each meal.”
I shrug, burrowing down like I could hide my blush in the blankets. My reply is surly. “Didn’t want to get drugged again.”
The clock ticks on the bookcase. The mob boss stares into the fire, a muscle leaping in his jaw, and after a while I think maybe he’s forgotten I’m here. Then: “Fine.”
He strides across the study and jabs a button on the phone on his desk. Mutters a series of clipped orders, too quiet for me to hear, his frown on me the whole time.
I sink down to my nose in the blankets. Have I pushed him too far? This is an international crime boss, after all, not someone I should rankle. It’s so easy to forget that when he’s chiding me, my body relaxing whenever he gets nearer. He’s like one of those poisonous flowers, beautiful but deadly, luring in the poor, stupid butterfly to her death.
De Rossi leans against his desk, folding his arms and watching me. “My doctor will check you over after that little stunt.”
I shake my head quickly. “I’m not hurt.”
“And then youwilleat a full meal, even if I have to feed you myself. You are not going on some ridiculous hunger strike.”
Um. What?
The mob boss rolls his neck and glares up at the ceiling. He stays like that even when there’s a soft knock on the door, another man slipping inside. “This is more trouble than it’s worth,” he tells the newcomer, ignoring me completely now.
I recognize the man who approaches me, running a clinical gaze over my face and bundled form—though he’s swapped his earlier suit for a black t-shirt and gray sweatpants. Sleep-rumpled dark blond hair and glasses; one arm in a sling. He tried to examine me earlier too, but I wouldn’t let him.
Something tells me this time it’s not optional. There are two of them and one of me, and they are both tall, strong men. Yeesh.
I hold both hands out of the blankets, palms out. “I’ll cooperate.”
“Yes, you will,” De Rossi mutters, though he still won’t look at me.
“Did she fall? Knock herself against anything?” The doctor is all business, bending over me in the armchair with a frown. I ball my hands in the folds of the blanket, fighting the urge to kick him in the chin.
“No,” my captor mutters. “But she might have hurt herself on that ridiculous rope. Or on the balcony rail above. The metal will have been cold.”
The doctor grunts, flipping back the top blanket. “Hey!” I yell, flipping it closed again. I’m in my pajamas under here! Just those stupid tiny shorts!
“So much for cooperation,” De Rossi snarls. I flatten myself back against the armchair as he prowls closer, anger curling his top lip, and he’s terrifying like this—but I know who I still prefer.
