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I take a step back and touch my fingertips to my lips, my brain still scattered and confused about what the hell just happened. “I… I don’t…” I struggle to come up with a rational explanation for my sudden change. “I just don’t think I’m ready for this––” I wave a hand between him and me, “tobe more.”
Sebastian stands stoic for what seems like minutes before releasing a deep exhale and running a hand over his short-cropped hair, then dropping them to his hips. His eyes search mine, and I detect a spark of anger in their blue depths. “I understand,” he finally says, that spark burning hotter when he steps into my space. “But don’t be a prick tease, Greta. You won’t like the consequences.”
With the threat barely off his lips, he turns and leaves, leaving me chilled to the bone but also stoking the fury bubbling beneath the surface at his warning.
Something isn’t right, and my instincts tell me I need to remember something––or someone––and that the golden-eyed phantom may hold the key.
10
Emiliano
“Isaid fuck off!” Camil’s raised voice echoes through the penthouse, and I inwardly cringe when I hear glass shatter and Boian’s responding curses.
“I’m doing this to protect you!” Boian shouts back.
“Bullshit, Bo! You want me out of the way.” Camil’s voice grows closer when she stomps into the living room. “Instead of sending me away, you should let me help. Greta is dear to me. You can’t expect me to sit in some remote location waiting to hear whether she has been found! Or if she’s even alive.”
“You can help by doing as you’re told,” Boian grits, and I can only imagine the scathing look Camil is throwing his way. “I’ll make sure you’re kept informed of our progress,” Boian attempts to reassure her.
“The answer is no.”
A long pause echoes louder than the shattering glass from before, and when Boian speaks again, I know exactly what’s coming. “My apologies,Fiore. I must have given you the impression you had a choice.” Another pause.
“You son of a––” Camil’s curse slurs as the tranquilizer takes hold.
“Are her things ready?” Boian asks one of my men, and they talk briefly before the penthouse door opens and then shuts a second later.
Leaning my head back against my chair, I breathe through the guilt knotting my stomach and scrub my hands over the scruff of my chin.
Guilt. An emotion I never struggled with until Greta came into my life. And fuck if it isn’t a bitch of anannoyance.
My cell phone buzzing across my desk breaks through the fog of guilt, the number for the front desk flashing across the screen. “Sì?”
“Signore,there’s an Alfonzo Moretti here. He insists on seeing you.”
Curiosity as to why the chef from my favorite restaurant in Olbia was here in Rome, insisting on seeing me, has me allowing him access.
I meet Alfonzo at the elevator, and the moment the doors open, the small man storms into my home and turns on me with fury shadowing his pudgy face.
“By all means, Alfonzo, come in,” I quip humorlessly and turn to face him, my temper stoked by his blatant disrespect.
“I’m here because I can no longer sit by and let this happen,” he blurts, fists clenched athis side.
“I didn’t ask why you’re here. However, tread very carefully, old man. I’m not known for my patience with those who disrespect me. Now explain and be quickabout it.”
Alfonzo’s face pales at the realization of his actions. His hands unclench only to wring them nervously as he explains, “My apologies,signoreCalvano. I meant no disrespect, but…”
“But?”
“But I’ve been worried since the night ofSignoreFranzese’s party. She seemed so frightened and––”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and my blood pumps adrenaline through my veins at the thought of theshehe speaks of ismia perla. “Who? Who seemed frightened,Alfonzo?”
His brow furrows in confusion. “SignorinaGreta,” he states matter-of-factly, and it’s as though rays of sunshine split the dark clouds surrounding me.
In two long strides, I’m in front of the man, my hands gripping his shoulders. “Tell me everything,” I order, nearly breathless with anticipation.
“I…” He clears his throat. “I was cateringSignoreFranzese’s annual gathering––”
