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“Miss Gray.”
“What the fuck does she want?” I hiss through gritted teeth and his reply has me standing in a heartbeat.
“Your assistance.”
“I’m on my way.”
As I cut the call, I’m annoyed that she dared come to my home at all. More than anything, I hate that woman, but the fact I have her employee locked up in my bedroom tells me I need to deal with this shit, so it doesn’t come back to bite me.
I briefly wonder whether to tell Flora I’m stepping out for a bit, a thought that makes me smile because when did I ever let another person know what I was doing? The fact I like it tells me I’m falling faster than is good for me because having Flora in my life is smoothing away a few of my hard edges and giving me a reason for living for once.
As I dress, it strikes me how good it is knowing I’m so close to securing the one piece missing from my life. Someone to share it with and I will not fuck this up. Whatever happens next, I know only one thing. When Flora stepped unwittingly into my life, she sacrificed her own to me.
It doesn’t take me long to dress and as I slide the smooth steel of my revolver into my jacket, it’s as if an old friend walks beside me. I can’t count the number of times this particular friend has saved my life and claimed the ones of my enemies. I have no fear of using it and wear it against my body with pride. It’s who I am—what I am and that will never change, despite the fluttering emotion daring to raise its head inside me.
Flora brings out my softer side that was kicked into touch a few years ago by her sister. I thought she was the one. The perfect woman and the one I had been searching for all my life. She played me though, along with every member of the Ortega family, which is why I hate her so much. She edged her way inside our lives and blew us apart from within. Now it’s my turn, but first I need to discover why Desdemona Gray has the audacity to show her face at my door.
As I leave the room, I lock it behind me, knowing that Flora will be kept safe inside until I pick up where we left off. Despite my feelings toward her, the situation hasn’t changed because she will remain my prisoner until she falls in love with me. Until she no longer glances at the exit with hope and until she gives me her heart in return, however long it takes.
* * *
Any softnessinside me is left behind and as I head to the room I receive visitors in, I sharpen my mood. I fucking hate and detest Desdemona Gray. I always have because of everything she represents. A cold, callous, calculating woman who uses sex to drive her ambition. Some may call me a hypocrite because I do the same and use women for sex and nothing else. I don’t let them inside because the only time I did, the thief ran off with my heart, causing me to lock down and maintain a cruel edge that I need to keep me from crumbling.
I have sharpened my emotions not to let anyone in and am considered a bastard by everyone I have ever met. Now I find myself with an interesting predicament because, for the first time since Diana, I feel my guard shifting and letting a chink of light inside my dark heart.
Pasquale meets me at the foot of the staircase and says in a low whisper, “It appears that our gallery owner is a little on edge.”
I raise my eyes. “Do you know why?”
He shakes his head. “She’s nervous. Uncharacteristically so.”
“What has she said?”
“She turned up, demanding to see you. Told me she had information you would want, but she needed protection in return.”
My interest sits up and rubs its hands because I love a desperate visitor and look forward to using her despair to my advantage.”
“Sounds like fun.” I grin as Pasquale’s eyes flash with pleasure.
We are so alike. We love using a desperate situation to our advantage and knowing the woman waiting for me, I’m positive she will make for interesting listening.
We reach the small intimidating room I use for my guests and before I head inside, I say in a low voice, “Ask Gretchen to prepare breakfast in the dining room—for two.”
Pasquale nods and dashes off a quick text and as I turn the handle, I prepare to get rid of the woman inside as quickly as possible.
“Domenico.”
She stands and says my name with an urgency that interests me because she is normally calm and controlled as she hides behind a hidden agenda.
“Desdemona.”
I nod abruptly and point to the seat she rose from.
As she sits down, I note her pale skin and trembling lips. Her eyes darting around the room as if she’s afraid of something.
It’s interesting watching a normally controlled woman crash and burn before your eyes, knowing you’re not the cause and I say nothing and just regard her through hooded eyes, waiting for the reason she’s here to raise its ugly head.
She shifts awkwardly on her seat and glances around with her nerves fully out on display. This room has a lot to do with stirring up nerves. Charcoal gray paneling draws it in closer. Low lighting creates many shadows to hide in and the uncomfortable hard chairs make a person sit straight and rigid, any comfort firmly left outside the door. There are no windows, just subdued lighting that offers no comfort. It’s not seductive in this room, it’s a threat that you make it out alive only if I say so.
