Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
“It’s an instruction.”
“From him,” I say. Not a question.
A pause.
“Yes.”
I take a step closer. Not invading his space, just enough to exist inside his peripheral vision. I smell soap and coffee.
“You’re very quiet. Does that come naturally, or did someone break you in properly?”
His jaw tightens. “Please don’t.”
That’s when I know. Not from the words. From the fact that he doesn’t look at me when he says them.
“Don’t what?” I ask, softer now.
He exhales through his nose. “Don’t make this difficult.”
I smile.
“Oh,” I say. “I’m excellent at difficult.”
A sound echoes behind us. Boots. Slow and measured. Shit.
I’m not sure how it’s possible, but the air feels like it shifts.
I don’t have to turn to know who’s there.
Lorenzo’s presence fills the space like gravity, bending everything toward him whether it wants to or not.
“Victoria.”
My name lands low. I haven’t seen him yet today, and somehow my very existence has already irritated him.
I glance over my shoulder.
He stands at the far end of the hall, dark shirt open at the collar, sleeves shoved up like he’s been scrubbing something off his hands.
His gaze cuts to the man beside me first, then back to me.
It’s sharp and makes a shiver run down my spine. “Go upstairs, Little Bird.”
That damn name again. All those years ago, it was endearing, but now, in my current predicament, it feels like a chain tethered to me, reminding me I can’t escape.
I look back at the guard and then at Lorenzo. “No.”
The word is quiet, but it’s clear enough to show him I won’t back down.
His jaw tightens. “That wasn’t an invitation.”
I step closer to the guard instead, close enough that I can see the pulse jumping at the poor guy’s throat.
“Hi, Nico.” I smile at him.
There is no question that I’m playing with fire. But sometimes it’s fun to get burned.
The guard’s eyes narrow. “Mrs. Amante.”
“It’s good seeing you again,” I say, and behind me, Lorenzo exhales. It’s slow and drawn out, and I can tell right away he’s pissed.
Good. I hope I piss you the fuck off.
“That’s enough.”
I pivot my body so I’m staring at him now, book still tucked against my side. “I’m just talking.”
Lorenzo takes one step forward, moving closer to me like a panther stalking its prey.
“You’re not subtle,” Lorenzo grits out through clenched teeth.
My lips spread into a smirk. “I’m not trying to be.”
Another step. “Upstairs. Now.”
I glance at Nico again. Smile faintly. “Thank you for keeping me safe.”
His throat works, and his shoulders are noticeably stiff.
I turn and walk away before either of them can stop me. I don’t rush. And I don’t look back.
I slip into the sitting room and close the door, not fully, just enough to dull the sound without killing it. I lean my shoulder against the frame. And wait . . .
Silence.
Then I hear him, Lorenzo’s voice, closer now. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Standing my post,” Nico answers carefully.
“You call that standing your post?” he asks. “You let my wife step into your space.”
“She initiated conversation.”
“I have cameras.”
A beat.
“And I have expectations.”
Another pause.
“If you so much as look at her like she’s an option,” Lorenzo continues, “I’ll make sure you don’t look at anything ever again.”
My stomach tightens.
“Understood.”
“And Nico?”
“Yes,” he answers.
“She touched you because she wanted me to see.”
Silence stretches, and I swear I’m crawling out of my skin to see what happens next. I’m scared for the poor guy. I shouldn’t have poked the beast. Now Nico’s blood will be on my hands.
“That makes her clever,” Lorenzo adds. “And makes you disposable if you help her.”
Footsteps. Please don’t come here.
The door opens.
I straighten.
Lorenzo steps into the room, closing the door behind him with controlled force. His eyes snap to mine immediately.
“What are you doing?”
“Relaxing.” I shrug.
“Stop.”
“No.”
We stand there, facing off across a few feet of polished wood.
“You don’t get to threaten people because I speak to them,” I say.
His mouth curves slightly. “I don’t threaten. I clarify.”
“You clarified very loudly.”
Now a full-fledged smirk greets me. “Only for you.”
I step closer. “You’re jealous.”
The grin drops from his face. “I don’t get jealous,” he scoffs.
I cock a brow. “You threatened to blind someone.”
“Efficient communication.” Lorenzo shrugs.
I shake my head. “I don’t understand this obsession.”
Something flickers in his expression. Not anger. Exposure. “You think you were temporary,” he says quietly. “One summer . . .” I don’t move. “You weren’t. You were never the middle. You were it.”
The words settle heavily in my chest. “That’s not love,” I whisper.
“No,” he agrees. “It’s worse.”
Silence hums between us, tight and volatile. I’m not sure what he will do. Maybe step closer, or perhaps that’s just wishful thinking from a place deep inside me. Instead, he steps back.
“Go upstairs,” he says. “And stop flirting with my men.”
“Or what?”
His eyes darken. “Or I’ll stop pretending I have restraint.”
He turns and walks away, and I stay where I am, heart pounding, breath shallow.