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Luca frowns. "You really think all that's necessary? This place is locked up tighter than a drum. We got state of the art—"
"I'm not taking any chances," I interrupt, my tone leaving no room for debate.
After a thorough review, I'm satisfied our defenses are solid. But my restlessness remains, thoughts returning to the girl who's managed to slip past all my internal defenses. She's here because of her father's mistakes, yet that knowledge does nothing to deter my fascination. I've known her only a short while, yet being near her stirs something I've not felt before. A latent longing, coupled with an unexpected protectiveness.
I decide to clear my head with a walk through the estate's sprawling gardens. The grounds are peaceful this time of day, the only sound the rustling of leaves in the breeze.
I meander along the garden paths, inhaling the fresh air. It's a world apart from the usual dark dealings of my life.
As I round a bend in the path, I pull up short at the unexpected sight before me. There, amidst a riot of brilliant roses, is Clara.
She's lost in her own world, oblivious to my presence.
I halt, struck motionless by the vision she presents. Clara bends before a particularly vibrant cluster of crimson blooms, face upturned to examine them. As she leans in to inhale their perfume, the sunlight illuminates her features in exquisite detail. Porcelain complexion with a light smattering of freckles across her nose. Full, rose-petal lips parted slightly. Dark lashes fanning across high cheekbones. Her beauty hits me like a blow, my breath catching at this unexpected glimpse of her unguarded and at peace.
Clara absently tucks back a chestnut curl that has fallen loose from her bun, her focus still wholly on the roses. Everything about her exudes an innocent grace, from her lithe frame to her fluid movements. She belongs here in these gardens, I think, amidst all this beauty.
As she traces a delicate fingertip over the velvety crimson petals, I feel an unfamiliar tightness in my chest. What is it about this girl that affects me so? I've known her only a short while, yet being near her stirs something I've not felt before. A latent longing, coupled with an unexpected protectiveness.
I should announce my presence, not lurk here leering at her like some deviant. I'm at least fifteen years older than her, yet here I am, hiding in the bushes to watch her. But I cannot make myself break the spell of this moment. Cannot bear to have her shy away from me, shuttered off behind courtesy and manners.
So instead I remain unseen, drinking in this scene. I watch the turn of her head, admiring the sculpted angles of her profile, and feel possibilities stirring that I'd closed myself off to.
There's a quickening in me, a strange mix of longing and anticipation that I haven't felt in a long time. Shutting out softer emotions seemed a small price to pay for the power and prestige I've attained. And yet now, gazing at Clara, I find myself wondering if there are other rewards to be had.
Clara's father amassed huge gambling debts with my family, then tried to wheedle his way out when it came time to pay. He's a coward and a cheat, but clearly Clara is cut from a different cloth. Her quiet strength in the face of adversity, the grace with which she conducts herself in this viper's nest, speaks to her character.
The knowledge that she's here because of her father's mistakes should repel me, but the gravity of my attraction toward her is too potent. It goes beyond her beauty, though she undoubtedly possesses that in spades. There's a light that refuses to be dimmed, even in the dark underbelly of my world.
I know these burgeoning emotions are dangerous, reckless even. And yet, I find myself striding toward Clara before I can talk myself out of it, my polished Italian leather shoes silent against the garden path.
She doesn't notice my approach, too caught up in examining a partially bloomed rosebud. I clear my throat softly so as not to startle her. "They're beautiful, aren't they?"
Clara gasps and whirls around. I expect to see fear clouding those vibrant eyes, but instead, they light up with a mix of surprise and delight. "Antonio! I didn't hear you coming."
My name on her lips sends an unexpected thrill through me. I force myself to exude an air of relaxed confidence. "Apologies. I didn't mean to sneak up on you like that."
One corner of her mouth quirks up in a half smile. "I didn't take you for a garden aficionado."
"I appreciate the finer things in life," I reply, matching her teasing tone. Our banter feels easy, natural.
She arches one delicate brow. "Somehow I imagined mob princes would have different definitions of 'finer things.'"
I let out a surprised bark of laughter. This girl is full of spitfire, unafraid to go toe-to-toe. It's refreshing, not having to tread so carefully, like with everyone else in my orbit.
"I'm not just muscle, you know. A good leader has wide-ranging tastes." I gesture expansively at the gardens. "All this didn't cultivate itself. Someone had to have the vision."
"Let me guess, that someone was you?"
I grin, admiring her quick wit. Our rapport comes so effortlessly, I can almost forget the circumstances that brought her here. "I might be older than you, but not old enough to cultivate a garden of this size."
She laughs then, the sound clear as a bell and just as melodic. For a moment, it feels like we're the only two people in the world.
"Somehow I can't quite picture you in the gardener's shed, up to your elbows in fertilizer." Her eyes gleam with mirth, no trace of the fear most in her position would show. Does she really feel that safe with me? Trust me that completely? The thought sends a surge of protectiveness through me.
"Never underestimate a man's hidden talents." I infuse the words with suggestiveness, curious to see if she'll take the bait.
She hums thoughtfully, thumbnail grazing her lower lip. The unconscious sensuality of that small gesture makes my throat run dry. When she speaks again, her voice holds a teasing lilt. "I don't doubt you're a man of many talents, hidden and otherwise."
