Page 53 of Bianchi

He’s lying.

I don’t know how I know, but I do. Somewhere along the line, I’ve become attuned to him and the different moods that make up Romeo Bianchi. Right now, I know something has him worried. “You don’t need to protect me.”

Rolling on top of me, he settles between my legs, dusting kisses over my collarbone. My eyes flutter closed and my fingers dig into the flesh of his biceps. Just like I know when something is up with him, he knows just how to distract me.

His voice is throaty and hypnotic when he murmurs, “Ah, but that is where you are wrong, Aurora. I do need to protect you. There are people out there who would hurt you just for having been seen with me. Which means it is on me to keep you safe.”

My fingers bury into his hair, forcing him to look up at me. Diverting his distracting mouth away from my body.

“Who protects you? Who looks out for you when there are threats?” I demand.

Romeo chuckles, his teeth flashing as the corners of his eyes crease. He brushes away a strand of hair from my cheek, dragging his finger down my throat and along my chest. “I have many, very skilled men that protect me with their lives, bellissima. I’m in a privileged position. You don’t need to worry about me or what is going on in my world.”

We stare at each other, a silent argument taking place between us. I don’t open my mouth to vocalize it though, because I know he’ll win. And as much as I want to push my point that people being under your rule is not the same as someone willing to risk it all for you, I’m in no position to argue with him.

The sound of chatter in the corridor drawing closer to the open bedroom door pulls me back into the present. Romeo and Daniele come to a stop in the hallway, just in my line of sight, talking in rapid Italian. Romeo’s back is to me, and with them occupied, I slip the note back between the pages of my pad.

I know what he’d want me to do, but I can't bring myself to do it. If I show him the note, he’ll go to confront whoever sent it, and what happens if he doesn’t come back? A sharp pain hits me in the chest. I can’t bear to think about that.

I’ve fallen in love with Romeo Bianchi and that’s why I need to find a way out of this house and into the city.

I could lose my life by escaping. Hell, I know Romeo gave his men the green light to kill me if I try, but if it protects him... then I’ll do just about anything.

Chapter 32

Aurora

Ihave a plan.

And if Romeo trusts me like I hope he does, then it just might work. It has to work. The alternative doesn’t bear thinking about. It’s why, after a restless night's sleep spent staring at his handsome face, I’ve gone over every possible reason I can come up with to get into Manhattan without worrying him or coming clean.

The faith I have in my plan working doesn’t stop the worry gnawing in my gut. It twists and turns in the pit of my stomach as question after question runs on repeat in my mind.

What if I do this and they hurt him anyway?

Am I making the right decision?

What happens if they kill me?

Would it be better if I told Romeo? Two minds are better than one, after all, and this is his world, not mine.

Resting my hand on my stomach to calm my nerves, I read over the note again. I hate the idea of lying to him, but in this instance, I’d rather ask for forgiveness than permission. His refusal, if I came clean but said I wanted to go, would no doubt be instantaneous.

Straightening my spine, I push my shoulders back and force down the anxiety clawing at my throat. I have to do this. Losing him is not an option, not when he’s made me feel again. Not when he holds my heart in his, without even knowing it. Romeo might be used to losing people as part of his job, but I don’t think I could survive it if I lost him. Being kidnapped just might have been the best thing that ever happened to me.

Folding the note and slipping it back between the pages of my pad, I rip out a sheet, writing one of my own. If the worst-case scenario does happen, I want him to know the one thing I’ve not been brave enough to say. My eyes sting as my hand moves across the paper. When I’m done, I open my pad, drawings of my mom staring back at me as I lay the note on top and close the cover. Resting my hand on top, I blow out a breath before forcing my body to move.

I take my time getting ready, every action taken like it might be my last. There’s a gloominess hanging heavy on my shoulders, pulling my already melancholy mood down. It matches the gray, thunderous clouds filling the sky. My eyes drift to the window each time I pass through the bedroom as I get ready.

Is this a sign of what’s to come?

God, I need to get out of my own head. There will still be people in Manhattan. Hell, even in Central Park at 8 pm. It’s spring, the days are getting longer, it won’t even be dark. It’s going to be fine. I’ll find out what they want and then come back and discuss it with Romeo. Easy.

Pulling open the bedroom door, I head to the kitchen for breakfast with Romeo. We’ve fallen into a routine these past few days. If he doesn’t wake me with breakfast, I meet him in the kitchen and we eat together, chatting over my plans for the day—which usually consists of drawing in the garden or reading a magazine Haven picked up for me in the entertainment room. Romeo doesn’t share much of his plans and I don’t press him.

Maybe I should have.

I move through the house on autopilot, every step fueling the fire of anguish burning inside of me. My palms are sweaty as I rub them over my denim-clad thighs. By the time I arrive in the kitchen, the nausea has taken over and the magnitude of what I’m about to do and the fallout that could ensue hits me like a freight train.

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