Page 74 of Drawn Blue Lines

At the end of the day, a Carrera was still a Carrera.

My name was a ticking time bomb, and that was why I pushed past his blatant intimidation and walked into his office with conviction, closing the door behind me. Standing in front of his desk, I glanced down at the wingback chair beside me with disdain. It was just a chair but lowering myself in front of him created uneven ground. So instead, I braced my palms on the edge of his desk and used it as a step stool while sliding on top of it, crossing my legs with a wink.

The permanent scowl he wore in response to my defiance was almost dangerous, unremorseful, and calculating. He looked decades older than his twenty-four years, and that was what made him so dangerous. Tall, muscular, with skin dark enough to earn a rank but light enough to raise an eyebrow. Men let their guard down around him because he didn’t look the part. He looked more like an underwear model than a ruthless killer. Underestimating him was always their downfall. The man was a cold-hearted criminal with a thirst for blood.

And the clock was ticking.

“It appears good news travels fast.”

He didn’t waste any time getting to the point. “They’re looking for you,” he said, lowering his hands. “It took balls to come here.”

“Yet, you knew I would.”

That earned me a ghost of a smile. “A tiger doesn’t change her stripes. It doesn’t matter what ambush she belongs to.”

Underestimating Cristiano was both a mistake and an asset. No one on Earth knew me like he did, which gave him the unique ability to anticipate my moves before I made them. Five minutes ago, I would’ve sworn on my life he’d never use that power against me, but now, I wasn’t so sure.

My hands clenched the edge of the desk, and I looked away. “Am I that predictable?”

“No, you’re that proud. And a fighter. I knew you’d come to clear your name eventually.”

It was time to address the elephant in the room. Twisting around, I braced a hand behind me and held his stare. “Speaking of which, I go by Adriana now, not Marisol.” I held my breath, bracing for the storm to roll across his face, only to find an indecent smile edge across his face.

“So I’ve heard.” Leaning forward, his smile widened. “Kind of scandalous to know I slept with the enemy for so many years.”

“Nothing about this is funny, Cris.”

“I know.” His voice lowered, his smile fading. “I told you, I’ve heard.” A sudden rustling drew my glance down to a stack of papers mangled in his clenched fist. “If I ever get my hands on the man who touched you—”

I laid my hand over his fist. “You won’t do a damn thing. This is my fight, not yours.”

Cristiano’s eyes went unfocused, and his face pinched together. For a moment, I thought I’d gone too far. But as soon as they opened, the icy blue flooded with warmth, and the lines in his face turned downward.

Moving his hand out from under mine, he pushed out of his chair and paced. I couldn’t help but smile as he dove a hand in his hair, tugging at the brown strands until they pointed in every direction except the ones they were meant to. The ritual was so familiar that it was almost comforting. This was the Cristiano I knew. This was the one who would help me.

I watched and waited until his frantic pacing came to a stop right in front of me. Pulling back, he studied me. “How are you?”

I snorted. “Oh, just great. Escaping certain death by my own men kicked off one hell of a summer but kissing a man’s ass who I was groomed my whole life to hate really enhanced the excitement.”

“Mari…”

“But the biggest thrill has come from fighting an invisible man who’s decided to stir up a pot of shit soup and slap my name on it.” I clapped my hands together for dramatic effect.

He engulfed my wrists between two strong inked hands and gave me a pointed look. “I’m not talking about that, and you know it. How are you?”

“I’m fine.”

“Bullshit.”

I dropped my head back. “If you don’t believe me, then why ask?”

“Stay with me.”

I laughed out loud. “Yeah, okay.” Sliding off the desk, I tried to pull away from him when his grip tightened, his serious expression taking me off guard.

“I have connections. People who can get you to the top of—”

“No!” I yelled, jerking away from him, his eyes narrowing at the force of my outburst. Shit. He’d taken this conversation to a place I refused to go. I needed to redirect it back on track before he forced me to sever what little connection we had left. Palming my forehead, I let out a frustrated breath. “Look, Cris, I know you’re trying to help, but I don’t have a lot of time.”

---