Page 48 of Ivory Crown

His cool gaze locked onto mine as he straightened up, a small smile curling the edges of his lips—a smile that knew too much. It was unnerving, the way he watched me, as if he could peel back the layers of my composure and see the frantic plans churning in my mind.

“Luca,” he introduced himself simply, as if we were at some banal social gathering instead of a standoff in the cold corridor of a mafia stronghold. “I work for Dante, though I suppose formal titles don’t mean much to you right now.”

“Look, I don’t want any trouble,” I said, my voice betraying none of the fear that clawed at my insides. “I’m just here for the food delivery.”

“You didn’t have to come downstairs for that,” he said. “The food is in your hands, Dr. Bentley.”

“No, I know, but…”

But what? But what, Jade? Think.

“I... needed some fresh air,” I finished lamely, my gaze desperately searching his for any sign of suspicion. He was a statue, though, giving nothing away, the barren hallway echoing with our shared silence.

“Interesting time to need fresh air,” he drawled, that small smile still playing on his lips. “Then again, pregnant women do have... unique cravings.”

He knew. Somehow, he knew. My heart pounded like a wild drum against my ribs as I struggled to hold onto my composure. The pathway to freedom seemed to be narrowing down to a dangerous precipice.

“Right,” I said. “I do need fresh air. For my health. For the baby’s health.”

He looked at his watch. “At one in the morning?”

“Well, I like empty streets.”

“I understand,” Luca replied, his tone smooth as silk yet edged with steel. “But you see, Dante’s woman can’t be roaming about unescorted. It’s not safe, and it’s not... proper.”

My breath hitched, and I fought to keep my face impassive. He knew. Somehow, he knew I belonged to Dante, and that knowledge was a shackle I couldn’t break.

“Proper?” I scoffed, summoning every ounce of bravado I possessed. “Since when does the mafia care about propriety?”

“What are you talking about, Dr. Bentley?” he said, cocking his head. “There’s no such thing as the mafia.”

Fuck. That had been a big mistake. I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“Since it involves someone under our protection,” he countered, his smile never wavering. “You must return to the penthouse, Dr. Bentley. It’s not a request.”

I looked into Luca’s eyes, searching for a hint of mercy or a sign that he might let me pass. But all I saw was determination and the unwavering loyalty of a man bound by honor to a world I was desperate to escape. Clearly, my fate was sealed.

“C’mon. Let’s go.”

But as Luca followed me into the enclosed space, pressing the button for Dante’s floor, I knew that the night’s promise of freedom had been nothing more than an illusion. And as the elevator ascended, I braced myself for the reality that awaited me above.

But my mind raced with the adrenaline-fueled decision to flee this golden cage. My heart hammered against my ribs as I turned from Luca and made a dash for the revolving doors of the lobby. The cool night air was a mere ten paces away. Freedom beckoned, a siren call that drowned out the sound of my sneakers on the marble floor.

Almost there.

In one fluid motion, a force like a gale wind caught me around the waist. Air whooshed out of my lungs as my feet left the ground. Luca’s arms were steel bands, his grip unyielding yet careful not to bruise.

“Nice try, doc,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble against my ear.

He carried me back to the service elevator as if I weighed nothing at all. I thrashed against him, my fists pounding at his broad back, but it was like fighting a statue.

“Let me go, Luca!” I demanded, voice fierce even as hope dwindled.

“Can’t do that,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. He continued to holding me up as I pounced on his back, as the elevator went all the way up to Dante’s floor.

The elevator dinged open to the hallway outside the penthouse, and Luca strode through, still holding me captive.

At the door of the penthouse, he finally set me down, his hands leaving my body reluctantly. His face was an unreadable mask as he leaned in close, his breath fanning my cheek.

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