Page 10 of Bianchi

Stifling a yawn, Massimo rests his elbows on the mahogany desk. “If you think this is the best way to get to Francesco, then I trust your judgment. I just hope it’s the right call, Rome, because he’s still out there and willing to take risks to get to us.”

Standing, I stuff my hands into my pockets and rock back on my heels. “I know what I have planned is risky and that leaving the estate could come with an array of problems, but we won’t find Francesco stuck behind these walls.”

What I don’t add, but hangs in the air around us, is that the sooner we get this resolved, the sooner I can leave.

Sincerely, Massimo replies, “I know. Just be careful, cousin.”

My lips curl upward and I throw him a wink. “Aren’t I always? I need you to get me a reservation, arrange for some publicity and then get some sleep. I meant what I said to Daniele; we all need to be on our A-game and we can’t do that if we’re exhausted. Oh, and I’ll need her to look like a woman I’d date.”

Without another word, I leave the office, moving on autopilot to our guest. Our entire existence comes with a level of danger at every turn, but the most dangerous person I’ve ever faced is bound and blindfolded in the basement.

Aurora is a distraction.

One I should spend as little time with as possible because she’s likely to get me killed.

Chapter 6

Aurora

With my eyes covered, my other senses are heightened as I sit in the room I’ve been brought to. There’s a strong damp smell, mixed with a hint of metallic that could only come from the spilling of blood, and a haunting chill to the air that sets me on edge.

I think I’m alone, but I haven’t had the courage to bring myself to move, just in case. Surely, if I wasn’t, someone would have made themselves known by now? It feels like hours since I was unceremoniously dumped in here.

Hesitantly, I test to see if my theory of being alone is true, twisting and pulling at the tape Romeo used to restrain me before we left my apartment. I hiss out a breath when the tape pulls at the hairs on my wrists.

I’ve barely moved before footsteps sound in the hallway and I freeze. Fuck. I should have removed the blindfold when I had a chance. The sound of a key turning in the lock echoes around me, and a shiver races down my spine at the unknown. Goosebumps break out over my exposed skin and I shift in the uncomfortable metal seat.

Okay, whoever it is, is going to come in and do whatever they have planned for me. All I can do is fight like hell. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. One. Two. Three. Four. Box breathing. My therapist taught me the technique as a way to focus and relieve stress after my mom died. It does little to ease me now. In fact, breathing in the stale air does nothing but make me feel nauseous.

My heart races as the true reality of my circumstances dawns on me. Back in my apartment, I had a sense of bravado that came from knowing my surroundings and hoping that whatever he had planned would be over quickly. Here, I don’t know how long he’s going to drag this out for, how much my body can handle, or if he’ll be the only one.

I should have fought more.

Who am I kidding? I should have fought, period.

I’ve been submissive and gone along with whatever he’s demanded. What’s worse is that I can’t say why that is. From his first command, I’ve been his puppet. Doing whatever he demands, and for what? So I can be used and abused until my final breath? I don’t think so. I’m ashamed of myself for being a coward. This isn’t how I was raised.

The door creaks as it’s pushed open, and I listen intently, tracking his movements. Much like back at my apartment, I sense that it’s him as soon as he crosses the threshold. My mind and body are attuned to his presence in a way they have no right to be.

A weighted, tense air fills the room, pulling any oxygen into its bubble and making it hard to breathe. There can only be two reasons for him being here. Either he’s going to put me out of my misery—which isn’t likely, considering he could have done that at my apartment—or he’s going to get started on making those threats he made earlier a reality.

I wait for him to make a move. To say something. But when the only sound is the heaviness of my own breathing and the blood rushing in my ears, my brows tug together.

Am I imagining that he’s here?

Have I lost my mind?

I push myself to focus, listening intently for any sign of him. He appears in my mind like a picture. His hands touching my body. His breath on my neck. His warmth wrapped around me. I clench my thighs, my body taunting me at the faint memory of his skin on mine. A pool of warmth floods me, and I bite down on the soft flesh inside my mouth in an attempt to keep my body in check.

What is wrong with me? I tense, my whole body turning to stone. There’s no way in hell that I am attracted to… to a mob boss. I clench my fists, determined to remain defiant and not make this any easier for him than I already have.

I shiver when he picks up my bound hands. The contact of his skin on mine is unexpected and yet that warmth from moments ago only intensifies. I could lie and pretend that my body’s reaction is because he took me by surprise, but we both know that has nothing to do with it.

Holding my breath, I push down the feelings bubbling beneath the surface and wait for his next move. The brutal contact of his fist or the press of his gun against my temple. Now more than ever, I wish I’d taken off the blindfold. So I could observe him and show him, with my eyes, that I’m not afraid. Instead, I jut out my chin in the direction I think he’s standing and show him with my body language how unafraid I am.

The relief I feel is palpable when the tape that was binding my wrists is released. I soothe the skin that I’m certain is red and marked. Romeo removes the blindfold next, his touch surprisingly soft. Blinking, my eyes adjust to the brightness of the room before settling on him. He stuffs the material in his pocket as he stares down at me. His face is covered in shadows created by the dim light of the room, but it does little to hide the handsome contours.

“You’ll be staying here for the foreseeable future. There’s a shower, toilet, and basin for you to wash up in and you’ll be sent three meals a day. Whether or not you eat them is up to you. We’re going to take some pictures later, so get cleaned up. I’ll be back in a few hours.” His tone is a cocktail of frustration and boredom, as if he’d rather be anywhere than standing in front of me.

---