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“This ismysafe house,” Niccolò says as we walk up to a line of townhouses on a block in Hyde Park, a middle-class neighborhood in Chicago.
My stomach spins, and a sharp pain shoots through my abdomen as I look up at the three-story building of interconnecting homes, but the sudden nausea I feel isn’t because of the appearance. It’s an average brownstone.
I think the feeling is from the shock of the accident and everything that transpired afterward is now wearing off. The persistent nausea and thundering in my head started the minute I stood up from the car and walked with Niccolò. I just need to sleep all of this off.
I do my best to ignore the feeling as I take in my surroundings. The block consists of six townhomes that are separated from the narrow street by a worn-looking sidewalk and a row of mature elm trees.
We walk up the concrete front steps, and his words replay in my mind.
Don’t touch me, Evelina.
Why couldn’t I reciprocate? Even in the form of just touching his damn face?
I try to remember if he neglected letting me touch him the first time, but I swear I had my hands on him.
Niccolò presses his fingertip to a sensor outside of the door he’s led me up to, and once it turns green, he puts a numerical code in using a keypad next to the fingerprint device.
The place is secure, that’s for sure. The DeSantises have safe houses, too. I’ve never seen them, but I’ve heard Enzo talking about them before.
“Follow me,” he says, and I cross the threshold after him.
He closes the door and resets the security system in a matter of seconds.
The outside of the house definitely has median-level looks, but the inside? It screams upscale, expensive, spared no expense. Marble floors stretch throughout the open concept space, and the abstract black and white art on the walls is complete with gold-plated hardware.
“Nice place you have here,” I say, looking for anything to fill the silence as Niccolò tosses keys onto the countertop in the kitchen.
Another sharp pain shoots through my stomach. It’s so intense, I have to double over for a second.
“You good?” he asks, catching the tail end of my mishap.
I nod and look around the space, wondering what the hell is wrong with me.
“Kitchen, bathroom, living space, and storage are down here. I’ve got a couple bedrooms on the second floor and an open area on the third. You’re welcome to make yourself at home.” Niccolò opens the refrigerator and takes out two water bottles.
“I have no idea what the man who bid on you wants with you, but I know it isn’t good. Nobody drops that much cash unless there is some kind of real fucked-up motive.” He shuts the refrigerator door.
“I know it’s probably hard to believe, but the majority of the men purchasing women have very hard rules, and there are contracts involved to protect both parties. This wasn’t about to be an agreement like that. You’ll stay here until I figure out what’s going on,” he says, leaving no room for disagreement.
I hadn’t thought about what Niccolò essentially hijacking me from the bidder really meant. Not until right now.
I think if my head wasn’t pounding and my stomach didn’t feel like I was being gutted, I’d probably argue. The only thing I really feel like doing right now is sleeping for a hundred years.
And honestly, this place is nice. Refusing to stay here would be insane, especially because it isn’t like I have any other options.
He walks over to me, unscrewing the cap on the water before he reaches me. When he extends the bottle in my direction, I thank him and take a sip.
“You sure you’re okay? Maybe I should have one of our doctors come take a look, just make sure you don’t have a concussion or anything. You look a little pale.” He examines my face, cupping it in his hands, and I pull away to take another drink from my water.
“I’m just white, Niccolò,” I say. “Relax.”
I feel drained. Like I need to just sit, but I also want to stay in his presence a bit longer. My body is struggling between wanting to ride out the high from the orgasm he gave me but also succumb to the sleep I so desperately need right now.
He shows me around the bottom floor of the townhouse before leading me upstairs and bringing me into a bedroom. There’s a king-size bed in the center of the room. I’m sure there’s other things too, but all I can focus on right now are some heavenly looking pillows.
“Why don’t you rest while I run out?” he asks. “This place is locked down tight. I don’t have extra men for security like we needed at Dom’s. His place isn’t as high tech as this. So there won’t be any strangers in here with you, but I can assure you, no one will get in here unless I want them to.”
I want to tell him not to leave, but when the words float around in my head, they sound needy and ridiculous, so instead, I just bat him away.
