Page 51 of Stolen By the Enemy

She has the fire to be a strong and independent woman, but she can also be soft and sensitive, almost delicate.

She opens my cupboard and slips one of my long-sleeved, button-up shirts over her shoulders, adding her underwear and nothing else.

“This okay?” she asks. I nod and walk over, grab her around her waist, and kiss her shoulder.

We walk down the stairs and out of the big doors that lead to my terrace. My housekeeper has set up a beautiful table setting.

I’ve already made sure that a chef came in to help her with dinner, and there’s a server waiting for us to sit down so he can serve us.

The small table is set with candles and flowers in the center, and a couple of bottles of wine as well.

I didn’t think that tonight was a tequila kind of night, so I had some of the best red wine fetched from Carlos’ mansion. He won’t even notice it is gone.

Neither Grazia nor myself are dressed for a fancy occasion, but somehow, this makes the atmosphere perfect.

The air is cool, the sky clear, and in the distance, we can just hear the waves.

It’s not as romantic as the beach house, but at least here, Grazia can feel less like my prisoner and more like my dinner date.

As the food is served, Grazia thanks the servers, and they all smile at her.

I’ve noticed that she has a way with people, making them feel seen and appreciated.

We eat while chatting about random topics, mostly spurred by questions that Grazia has about Mexico.

She seems to have fallen in love with the little bits of the country that she’s seen, and I can’t blame her.

I’ve traveled in between the US and Mexico, as well as further into South America, and there has never been a place that felt quite like home to me.

Once dessert is done, Grazia begins telling me all about the stars and the constellations.

She explains how her late grandmother used to teach them how to read the skies, and once again, I can see how much the older woman helped to shape Grazia’s young mind and turn her into the woman she is now.

I pour more wine into Grazia’s glass and hear my phone buzz inside my pocket. I sigh.

There is nothing that can be important enough to bug me now, surely.

All I asked my men for was a quiet night with Grazia, and yet they cannot go a full day without bringing me problems.

I almost ignore the phone completely, wanting to leave whatever it is until tomorrow.

But as soon as I look at the message, I’m glad that I’ve checked it. It’s from Luca, telling me that he’s landed and is heading to my house now.

They’re so much earlier than I thought they would be, that I’m barely ready. I am glad that Grazia came back with me tonight, at least.

But now, as I look at her, staring at the stars, sitting in my shirt and her underwear, her lips still plump from our kissing, her cheeks rosy and her chestnut brown hair flowing over her shoulders, I don’t want to give her up.

Not even for the money and power that I was so hungry for when I brought her here.

Shit.

I have to tell her. She needs to get dressed and look more like a prisoner when her brothers arrive here.

They’re not going to be motivated to hand over anything to me if it looks like their sister is enjoying her time here.

“Grazia,” I say, my voice a lot harder than it has been in a while. Perhaps since I thought she had tried to trick me.

“This message,” I show her my phone, “is from your brothers. They’re on their way, you need to get ready.” Downing the last of my wine, I stand up from the table and wait for her to process the information.

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