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While her words are meant to calm me, they only bring back the memory of the night she ran—the devastation, the pain, the betrayal. Quick as a cat, my hand wraps around her throat while the other fists her hair to pull her nose to nose with me. “Let me make this very clear: if you run again, Alto will pay the price.”
Her eyes widen. “What?!” she asks through labored breaths. My hold on her throat is by no means tight, yet her chest rises and falls heavily as she gulps for air, panic bubbling below the surface. The human side of me wants to take her in my arms and console her, while the beast lying below the surface of my control beats its chest at the thought of her putting herself in danger. Of her leavingme…again.
So, I grant her no mercy. “That’s right,mia perla. You may have lost all sense of self-preservation, but I know you wouldn’t want another person to be punished for your stupidity. Alto knows what his job is and what it means if he fails. Do you?” I growl against her lips. I’m taunting her but also challengingmia perla; as I knew it would, the panic vanishes like smoke in the wind, and something lethal takes its place.
And when I bring our lips closer, she bares her teeth, then snaps at my lips. “I won’t run. Now remove your hand from my throat, Calvano, or you will be mourning the loss of your lefttesticle.”
There’s my girl.
Grinning, I loosen my hold on her hair but keep my hand on her throat and lay a kiss on her forehead, ignoring her claws digging into my wrist. “Good. Your clothes are still in your room, and the library is fully stocked. Stay inside for now and rest,” I dictate and watch as the desire to tell me to fuck off shimmers inher eyes.
In the end, she only nods and allows Alto to escort her inside, and I wait until they’re safely tucked inside my villa before turning back to Boian. “Now, who the fuck do I needto kill?”
17
Greta
Ican still feel Emiliano’s hand around my throat.
The moment his hand shot out, the memory of Sebastian’s hand on my throat had my knees nearly buckling in terror and panic, threatening to starve me of breath. Then like a tectonic plate, something shifted, and panic gave way to a startling sense of safety. Of course, the very notion that I was safe in this man’s hands had me back to questioning my sanity. But it wasn’t until desire pulsed along my skin, and my clit sizzled under his dominant hold that I got pissed. That’s when my claws came out to play––literally. I wanted to claw out his gorgeous eyes as much as I wanted to claw his back as he rode me to ecstasy. In the end, I sheathed my claws and decided the battle between body and mind was best fought another day.
Now, I’m strolling alongside my burly guard as he shows me around Emiliano’s island villa. Alto wasn’t kidding when he suggested the inside was as beautiful as the outside. It is four bedrooms, not including Emiliano’s office. The master bedroom overlooks the grander side of the beach while the kitchen, living room, and dining area open onto the terrace with a sea view and outdoor dining. Alto explains that the impressive training gym and shooting range were added a few years back when Emiliano started spending more time here instead of in Rome. However remarkable, it is the library with the most drool-worthy collection of books lining three walls that has me dancing with excitement.
Once I’ve completed my library jig, Alto guides me to the backyard, where I stutter to a halt and stare, mouth gaping at the scene before me. A small beach with sand that looks as soft as brown sugar disappears under the waves of the sea’s crystal-clear waters. There’s a plush garden that ends with a shaded area right in front of the water, equipped with sunbeds and beach umbrellas closed for the winter months, and granite boulders stand sentry on either side of the villa, creating an environment of natural beauty. In the distance, I can see a private dock with a James Bond-looking speed boat tied to it.
“Glorioso, no?” Alto says at my side.
“Sì, mozzafiato.”
“I’m glad you remember you speak the language. What would you like to do,cara?” he asks, and the endearment rings in my ears, along with a sudden flash of him smiling down at me in the dead of night. Then like an old movie reel, it skips to a gun in his hand as he points it at someone’s head.
My head begins to throb, and my eyes clench shut as the swirl of images threatens to crack my skull open. My knees turn to Jell-O, and my shoulder throbs with the brutal beating in my head.
“SignorinaWhite, are you alright?” Alto’s question comes out muffled, as though I’m underwater, and I have to shake my pounding head to bring myself back from drowning. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Of course, you aren’t. You must get some rest.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” I agree and follow him to my room, where he shows me around the robin’s egg blue room. Front and center sits a white king-sized sleigh bed with matching white side tables that give an elegant contrast against the pale blue comforter. The floors are made of distressed white wood, and a built-in desk with a white office chair is tucked neatly to the side. The only items littering the polished white wood are a laptop and a legal pad. To the right, there’s a small walk-in closet stocked with clothes for all occasions. On one wall are sneakers, heels, and flip-flops. Along the other, a center island holds various bathing suits and undergarments.
My final destination is the bathroom, designed to give an open and peaceful feel with white granite countertops, distressed white hardwood floors, and a large open shower with a claw-foot tub set off tothe side.
“Rest,cara. You’re due for two of these,” Alto instructs from the bedroom. He places my pain meds on the side table next to a bottleof water.
“Is the water bottled sealed?” I switch off the bathroom light and join him in the bedroom.
His brow furrows in confusion at my question, but I don’t bother to explain. Instead, I pick up the bottle and scrutinize the seal. When it crackles upon twisting it open, I nod and set it back down.
Still looking complexed, Alto stares at the water bottle like it could hold the meaning of life. When he doesn’t find an answer, he looks back at me. “I’ll have lunch brought up. If you need anything else,text me.”
“I will. Thank you, Alto.” I manage a small smile.
He smiles back, then shocks the hell out of me when he places a gentle kiss on my forehead. “You’re very welcome, my child.” My eyes sting with unshed tears at the big man’s fatherly affection, and when he walks out of my room and closes the door behind him, I allow myself a moment to imagine him as my father growing up.
Would things have been different? Would my mother havespiraled?
With a heavy sigh, I decide those questions are useless and begin to shed my clothes and search for a pajama set. I find a two-piece set with pants and a long sleeve button-up made of the softest material known to man. Careful of my throbbing shoulder, I remove my sling, change, then climb onto the luxurious bed. I swallow down my pain medication, and within minutes, I feel myself melt into the plush mattress. I float into a blissful sleep with dreams filled with golden eyes, possessive hands, and whispers of an unfamiliar melody.
It’s alright,it’s okay…
Emiliano
