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There’s a camera showing my bedroom.
My mouth grows dry when I think Renzo probably watched me get dressed.
Has he seen me naked?
Shit.
My fear spirals a little as the question teeters on the tip of my tongue.
As Renzo drops the remote on the coffee table before shrugging off his jacket, the question bursts from me, “Did you watch me get dressed?”
His eyes touch on me for a second, then he casually takes his phone from the inside pocket before draping the jacket over the back of a couch.
He sets the device down next to the remote, and only then does he look at me again. I can’t place his expression, but the longer he just stares at me, the faster my heart beats.
His gaze burns down my body and stops on my bare legs, where there are still droplets of dried blood.
Finally his lips part, and he says, “I suppose we have to get you something clean to wear.”
He’s not answering my question. That has to mean he did see me naked. Right?
He grabs his phone again and dials a number. A moment later, he says, “While you’re dropping off Davies, pack Skylar’s clothes and toiletries and bring them to my place.”
He ends the call, and his eyes settle on the TV screen again.
“You didn’t answer me,” I whisper, my heart in my throat and my hands fisted at my sides.
I watch as the corner of his mouth lifts, his gaze still locked on the screen. “Mmh…wouldn’t you like to know.”
My eyebrows draw together, and just as I begin to feel utterly violated, his eyes meet mine. He tilts his head, taking in my reaction as if he finds it fascinating.
Lifting my arms, I wrap them tightly around my waist, and I hunch my shoulders while lowering my eyes to the gleaming tiles beneath my feet.
“No. I have zero desire to see you naked.”
My gaze flies to his, and intense relief shudders through me. That means he won’t force himself on me.
Thank God.
I glance around the living room, that’s decorated in light gray and cream tones. A stylish glass partitioning gives me a view of the state-of-the-art kitchen and a dining room.
This penthouse must easily cost ten times more than our mansion, seeing as it’s situated in Manhattan.
The TV screen draws my attention, and when I see Dad being forcefully shoved into the foyer of our home, my hand flies up to cover my mouth.
His eye is swollen shut, and blood trickles from a cut above his eyebrow. He looks disheveled and nothing like the strong man who raised me.
Louisa comes out of the kitchen, and shock registers on her face when she sees Renzo’s men and the state Dad’s in. A couple of the men head up the stairs to my bedroom, while two stay in the foyer.
“So what do you think,topolina? Is your father going to run to the police and risk your life?” Renzo tilts his head, his eyes locked on the live stream. “Or maybe the housekeeper will be the one responsible for your death.”
My voice is nothing more than a hoarse whisper as I say, “They won’t do anything to risk my life.”
“You sound so sure,” he murmurs. Letting out a sigh, he adds, “It’s going to be fun watching it all unfold.”
Turning to face me, his predatory gaze locks on me. “I’ll leave the TV on so you can watch your father from your tower,principessa. If you turn up the volume, you’ll be able to hear them.”
At least I’ll get to see Dad.
