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In college, I wished I’d wake up in my own bed rather than the cramped twin mattresses in the dorm room.
Now?
I want to rewind two days.
And Ricardo, for all his blustering, had been so gentle when he cared for me in the shower. Even the tenor of his kisses shifted into something sweet and loving and intoxicating.
I can’t trust myself around him. Not one bit. Not when he looked at me with such affection in his gaze. I could have sworn, for an instant, that he actually did love me. I’ve never had a man look at me that way before.
So I stay in bed for a few more minutes despite the half-heard curse filtering from the kitchen along with the rush of water from the faucet, letting me know we're both awake. I stay in bed and will my body to sink into the sheets smelling like Ricardo until I lose myself in the tiny moment of stolen peace his scent brings me.
It’s all a lie.
And life is nothing but duty and one step pushed in front of another when I haul my legs over the side of the mattress.
Blaming those depressive thoughts on sleepiness, I leave the cell discarded, determined to forget its existence for as long as possible. I’m still butt-ass naked, but Ricardo has left a spare cotton shirt and a pair of drawstring sweatpants on a chair facing the bed.
With no alternative, I drag his clothes onto my body, the back of my eyes burning with every press of the fabric. Ricardo’s house and his clothes. His hands on me, and his cock filling me.
The laughter dogging every thrust of his hips.
I’ll never forget the sound of it, and it haunts me with every step toward the kitchen.
Ricardo turns with a pot of coffee in his hand and points silently to the stool in front of the island where he’s working. There’s already an empty mug waiting for me, and he fills it while I get settled.
“This was delivered for us this morning,” he says conversationally. “I’m not sure how your friend knew you’d spend the night with me, but he guessed correctly. It was waiting outside the front gates when I woke up.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.” I blink away the burn and focus on his face. “What friend and what was delivered?”
Dark circles color the thin skin beneath his eyes, and there are lines around his mouth that suggest he hasn’t gone to bed yet. Ricardo sets the coffee pot down and reaches for a small box I hadn’t seen, tucked behind a potted cactus. The box has already been opened.
“Go ahead and take a look,” he urged. “Compliments of Mr. Prokhor.”
From the depths, I draw out a single red rose, the thorns shorn off, and most of the outer petals shucked so that only a few remain at the center. I turn the rose over in my hands, staring at it from every angle like there’s some kind of message written in ink on one of the petals.
“I don’t understand.” I blink until Ricardo comes back into focus.
“It’s symbolic. If he’d left the thorns on the rose, then it would have meant one thing. If he’d left most of the petals, another. You get it?” Ricardo points to the center. “This means he has a job for you to do, and there are certain expectations. For us, since we are now linked as a unit.”
I shiver. “What sort of a job?”
“Roses indicate trade in this area. My guess is that he wants you to not only keep him updated on Mia’s transition to head of the family but to deliver the family trade routes to him.” Ricardo shrugs. “At least, it’s my most well-informed guess. Different areas have their own symbology, you understand. A lot of it is made up, and then everyone simply goes along with it. Drago has done his homework.”
He pauses only to grab his own cup of coffee and take a long sip.
My stomach drops hard, and ice fills every vein. “No.” There’s no way in hell I’m giving up such precious information. “Like hell I’ll give him the trade routes.” They’re the lifeblood of our entire syndicate.
Daddy worked way too damn hard to make new inroads to those my grandfather first set up. If I give away our routes, then we lose everything.
“You don’t have a choice,” Ricardo adds.
“What happens if I don’t do it?” I ask.
“What do you think happens? It’s a red rose for a reason.”
Red. Death. Blood spilled. An unspoken threat to do as Drago says, or else there is something to lose that’s much worse than my dignity. I start to tremble, and my gorge rises even as my finger spasms in anger. Already, I’m sick and tired of all these threats.
“He can’t kill my family.” My voice sounds blustery and hollow.
