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He pauses at the door and looks down at me, his other hand coming up and pushing a flyaway hair that’s strewn across my face. My lips part at the gentle touch, and I don’t miss his eyes as they flick down, before he gives me a small nod and opens the large door via a small keypad on the side. I follow him through, in awe as he moves behind me and locks it, the click of the lock sinking into my chest and making me feel like I won't ever be able to leave this place.
My eyes sweep the room, and I gasp at the pure opulence before me. Looking at the grandeur, I am not sure I will ever even want to leave. My shoulders slowly leave my ears, knowing that I didn’t walk into a dudgeon of death but rather a modern-day palace.
It is huge. Tall ceilings, polished concrete floors, and vivid white walls with modern chrome, glass, and black fittings throughout. It is like nothing I have ever seen before. Artwork hangs from the walls, and luxurious soft rugs and cushions give a homely feel to what would otherwise seem like an untouched space.
He takes my hand again, the warmth radiating up my arm, and pulls me along the hallway until it opens up to a living room featuring a white leather sofa, grey rugs, a large flatscreen TV, and floor-to-ceiling windows along one side that overlooks an internal courtyard. I spot the kitchen off to the side, with a long breakfast bar, stainless steel appliances, and what I am sure are marble countertops—although I wouldn’t really know, having not ever seen marble in real life before. The kitchen alone looks like it is bigger than my entire trailer where I lived back in Oklahoma. I take a breath in, smelling a delicious aroma of herbs, and I watch a plump older woman, with dark hair, draped in an apron, preparing food. The smell makes my stomach rumble. She lifts her head and gives me a beaming but surprised smile, one which I find myself returning.
There is clearly no time for niceties as the man pulls me through the living space and down another small hallway. He does not let me linger to see the entire place, but rather leads me to some stairs. Following him up, I am breathless for a moment, as when I reach the top, I am met with a bright and airy space, with oversized black, arched framed windows and furnishings of soft cream and charcoal.
Whoever this man is, he is clearly very wealthy, because I didn’t even know places like this actually existed. Sure, I saw them in movies, but you can’t believe everything you see on TV.
We continue down the hallway, passing numerous closed doors until we reach a door at the end, which he opens for us to step inside. Understanding washes over me as I look at the bed in the center of the room, which looks as soft as a cloud, dressed in light grey linens with large pillows and a soft charcoal throw. There is also a large armchair, a closet that looks as big as Lilly’s trailer next door (hers was the biggest in the lot, and we all envied her), and then another open door that leads into a bathroom.
“Stay here,” he says, his voice rough. That is the first thing he has said to me since the car stopped. I only nod because where the hell am I going to go? I’m not sure I know how to find my way back downstairs, let alone actually leave the house.
He sits me on the bed and goes into the bathroom, and I watch him as he takes off his shirt, which is wet with blood. I hear him turn on the tap, the gush of water rinsing his hands before he wets a cloth. I get up then and stand at the doorway, noticing him dabbing his arm.
I begin to step into the bathroom, and he stops what he is doing, the wet cloth midway between the basin and his bare chest as I enter his space. Am I crazy? Probably. But I nursed my mother for many months and have an empathetic nature, so the need to help people runs strongly through my veins.
He doesn’t say anything, his ongoing silence making me nervous. I stand next to him and grab the cool cloth out of his hands, reaching up to wipe his arm. He remains still, his eyes not leaving my face, his jaw set. I try to be gentle as I clean all the dried blood off his skin, needing to rinse the cloth before starting again.
As I wipe his chest, I can feel his heart beating hard, matching mine, and I see a sheen of water now covering his tattoos where I have cleaned the red away. We remain silent as I take in his body, muscles, scars, and tattoos. He is like nothing I have ever seen before, so I’m finding it difficult to concentrate on the task at hand.
Taking a fresh cloth, I grab the antiseptic that he already had on the vanity and begin to dab some onto the wound. I know the antiseptic stings, so I blow on his skin a little, something that the school nurse always did to me every time I went to her with a graze or cut. From my peripheral, I can see his face, and I note every subtle change. His nostrils flare, but his expression doesn’t wavier, his eyes still remaining fixed on me. His jaw clenches slightly each time I touch him, so I know that he is human at least.
When I shift on my tiptoes, his eyes drop to my body, and as I follow his gaze, I gasp. I forgot that my chest is covered in blood. Whose, I am not sure, most likely his. I panic a little at the sight, trying to tell myself that it isn’t mine and I don’t need to worry, but my nerves are on a knife’s edge today and any little thing is now triggering me.
He steps out of the bathroom, around my now rigid form, and comes back with a pile of clean clothes. Leaning across me, he pulls a fresh, fluffy white towel down from the rack and places it near the clothes before opening the shower and turning it on.
“Clean up,” he says abruptly, then walks away, out the door, closing it behind him. The click of the door startles me from my shock and my eyes rise to meet the mirror, and I take in my appearance. My porcelain white skin is splattered with red, along with my beautiful green activewear. I take big breaths to calm myself, before I explore his bathroom. The tiles are polished, not a mark on them, a bathtub that looks like I could swim in it is along one wall, and the shower is big enough for a party of five. The glass so clean and clear it is hard to distinguish where it starts and ends. Water pours from the tall rainfall showerhead, steam enveloping the space.
I can smell him here, his woodsy scent that brings me a wave of peace. And it dawns on me that I’m still not sure whether I’m safe here. Whether I’m going to live or die… Only, I’m not scared about what’s coming. As terrifying as the events of this morning have been, dying doesn’t matter to me. It is going to happen sooner rather than later anyway, something I have known for a long time and have come to terms with it. I have never been diagnosed, but I know the statistics. Breast cancer affects 1 in 7 women during their lifetime, and if it runs in your family, then the risk is higher.
With that thought, it’s like I’m free to just lean into whatever this crazy circumstance has provided me. And right now, it looks like it’s brought me to a beautiful home with an exceptionally tempting shower. Much nicer than the one waiting for me back at my hotel.
I slowly peel off my activewear and then step into the warm shower. This is what I would imagine a five-star hotel to be like, or even six star if there was such a thing. This level of luxury is not something I ever imagined experiencing in my simple life, and a small grin comes to my face as I lather myself in his soap.
The water runs red down the drain as I wash off the events of this morning, and I grab his shampoo to scrub my long hair next. I have always loved my hair. The red color is striking, and it is one of the many reasons why I have said nothing about my lump in my breast. I don’t want to lose the color with medication I would need to take. I wouldn’t feel like me anymore.
Fresh and clean, I turn off the water and dry myself before looking at the clothes he has given me. The shirt will be fine; it is big, but I can wear it as a dress. But the sleep shorts fall right off me, so I don’t even bother with those.
Once covered, I open the bathroom door and step out to an empty bedroom. I can’t help but feel slight disappointment that the man isn’t here. I should be glad he has left me alone—he could be a highly trained killer for all I know—but I can’t deny that he brings me a sense security by just being near him. I walk toward the bedroom door and open it, poking my head out and glancing down the empty hallway. With no idea where I am or who I am with, I decide to stay put. Sighing, I close the door and lean against it, admiring the bed. I didn’t even know they made beds this big.
His bed.
There is no doubt that this is his room. The bathroom is full of his personal items, the closet full of suits. His masculine smell is constant, like sandalwood and musk, and I feel like it follows me wherever I go.
All the adrenalin of the morning is starting to wear off, and combined with the warm shower and comfortable clothes, my body begins to falter. I know I need to rest, having not slept for nearly 20 hours since before my flight. Lying on his bed, immediately my head sinks into the pillow, and my body melts into his comforter. I don’t even have to count to ten before my eyes close and I fall asleep.
5
Dante
I left her in my bathroom, my fingers itching to touch what I know I shouldn’t. I couldn’t trust myself anymore. Her hands on my body were delicate, yet powerful enough to hit me right in the chest. No one has ever done that to me before. Though it unsettled me, I liked it. Too damn much. I have no idea who she is. I don’t even know her fucking name.
We have rules in our family, and they are very clear. We don’t hurt women or children, ever. I wasn’t sure about bringing her here. She was certainly scared, and I don’t blame her. I didn’t know how she would react about coming with me, but she came willingly, not kicking or screaming like most would. Instead, she gripped onto my hand so tight, her trust in me palpable, and I didn’t want to ever fucking let her go.
Dropping her off back into the city would only result in her death now that the Russo brothers will stop at nothing to prove a point. So now I need to figure out who she is and keep her safe, and the safest place for her to be at the moment is here in my house, in our compound. I just need to wait until she finishes cleaning up and then I can tell her how things are going to be moving forward. Maybe that is when she will snap, yell, scream, or try to make an escape.
