Page 34 of Bianchi

I run my hands over the black and white shirts that hang in a neat row on the right-hand side of the room. The other side is bare and for a brief, fanciful moment, I allow myself to imagine what it would be like to have my clothes hanging there.

Shaking my head, I huff out a disbelieving laugh. Get it together, Aurora. He’s a mobster, and if I didn’t want my own father in my life because of this world, why the hell would I want Romeo Bianchi when he’s so much more dangerous?

I walk further into the closet, my eyes flitting around, searching. There has to be something here. A man like Romeo would have a phone or a laptop. Anything to conduct business on, especially in this day and age.

A set of drawers sits under a light at the end of the room. It calls to me like a siren, beckoning me over. I come to a stop in front of it, pulling open the top drawer.

Neatly rolled up ties stare back at me. Each one is a bright color, sectioned away in its own compartment. This doesn’t add up and disappointment hits me. I would have expected expensive watches or sweaters, even underwear, but a bright purple tie was not on the list. In fact, I haven’t seen him wearing anything other than black.

Pushing the drawer closed, I move on to the next one. Rolled up black T-shirts. That’s more like it. How he managed to get so many black T-shirts in the same exact shade is a mystery and kind of impressive. I run my hands around the drawer, trying not to disturb the order. Nothing.

Desperation fuels my movements and I yank open the next drawer, searching with ferocity, uncaring about hiding my snooping this time. There has to be something here. I need there to be something here.

“What are you doing, Aurora?” There’s genuine curiosity in his voice, but I’d be remiss to ignore the dangerous undercurrent idling beneath the surface.

I flinch, my eyes bulging before I drop my chin, needing a moment to compose myself.

Well, my attempt at escaping lasted a whole five minutes.

Pulling the shutters down and masking any emotions that might give me away, I turn to face Romeo. For a moment, I’m distracted by his open shirt and the dark ink gracing his beautifully chiseled chest. A dart of lust hits me in the gut, leaving me breathless. But then I remember what I was in the process of doing, and a smile forms on my lips that feels forced and weak. “Oh, nothing. I wasn’t doing anything.”

Romeo cocks a brow. “Really?” He moves closer, and I fold my arms over my chest, refusing to back down. “Because it looked like you were rummaging through my things.”

My mind whirls, searching for a plausible explanation for what he walked in on before I stutter, “I… I was… I was looking for a clean T-shirt. I, umm, was going to shower. If that’s okay?” I blink up at him, innocently.

He watches me, his eyes narrowed, before he steps around me. My body tenses, worry gnawing in my gut when he pulls open a drawer. The whoosh of it opening might as well be a guillotine for all I care. Subtly, I suck in a breath, but it gets stuck and a weird, panicked sound erupts from my parted lips.

This could very well be the beginning of the end.

His breath dusts my neck, the heat from his body setting off a whirlwind of mixed emotions. Lust fights with panic, but I keep my tense body still. When he hands me one of his black T-shirts, my shoulders slump. “You don’t need to ask for my permission to bathe yourself, Aurora.”

Grabbing it from his hand, I clench it to my chest. I take a step forward and then another until I reach the open door. Romeo calls out and I turn to face him, my eyes meeting his before darting to his full lips. I suck in a breath, blinking rapidly to keep myself rooted to the ground.

Unbuttoning his shirt, he says matter of factly, “We have a gala to attend next weekend. Maria will arrange a dress. I’ll have her pick out some every-day clothes for you while she’s at it.”

His words take a second to register; my attention on the movements of his strong, capable hands. Lifting my eyes away from the tempting artwork that is his torso, I try but fail to process what he’s saying. Clothes? A gala? He’s taking me to a gala. A sense of dread fills me, panic clawing at my chest at the prospect of more gunfire. I rest my hand on my collarbone, swallowing down the bile.

Maybe I can use the gala to make my escape.

Clearing my throat, I push through the pounding in my ears and ask, “Can you at least ask her to get clothes that fit me?”

Romeo shrugs out of his shirt, dropping it onto the bench next to him. “What size are you?”

“A four.”

Silence hangs heavy in the space between us and he looks at me expectantly with one hand resting on his belt buckle. “Are you going to shower?”

Crap. “Yes.” I hold up the T-shirt, waving it in the air as I leave the room.

His voice floats through the air, following me when he calls, “Oh, and maybe when you’re done, you can tell me what you were really doing.”

There's a hint of danger in his words. One that has my thighs clenching in excitement at the same time as my heart beats an unsteady rhythm. I guess I’ll be spending my time in the shower coming up with an excuse for going through his things because I’m not about to compromise the small bit of freedom he’s given me.

For as long as I’m in this room, I’ll spend my time wisely, searching for a way out.

Chapter 20

Aurora

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