Page 21 of Bianchi

I flinch when the door to the bedroom flies open, banging on the wall behind it, as a half-naked Romeo charges in. The exposed muscles and veins in his neck strain against his skin and dark, cold eyes meet mine. For the first time since Daniele left me in this room, I move, taking a step back.

Is this when he’s going to kill me?

I see the moment he pulls himself from whatever trance he is in. Some of the tension seems to ease out of his body, the muscles in his bare torso rolling and releasing. A tattoo of a lion's head takes up pride of place over his pecs, leading to his solid abs. It’s a majestic animal, teeth bared and the implied sound of its roar all too clear. There are other tattoos covering his body, but they don’t draw my focus away.

Romeo strides across the room, purpose in every step he takes. I’m no longer afraid. Whatever he plans to do, I’d rather he just get it over with. His fingers wrap around my wrist, sending jolts of electricity up my arm at the contact. I’m powerless to resist him when he tugs me toward another door. Still in the stupid heels, I stumble over my feet before he steadies me with a hand on my hip, spreading the warmth of his touch to my core. For the first time since we got back from the restaurant, I feel something.

I squint as Romeo leads me into the bathroom. The brightness of the overhead lights is an assault on my eyes. A huge window behind the bath overlooks the garden and although it’s pitch-black outside, the lack of privacy is still there. White marble tiles cover the walls and floor, with a walk-in shower along the far wall.

Releasing his hold on me, Romeo walks to the shower, turning it on. I wrap my hands around my waist, trying to keep the shivers from jolting my body. How is it possible to feel so much and so little at the same time?

Neither of us speaks and I’m not sure I could force a coherent sentence past my lips. The gravity of what happened today isn’t lost on me. Innocent people died. I guess I can count myself lucky that, until Romeo Bianchi walked into my life, I’d never witnessed anything like this before. Truth be told, it’s not something I thought I ever would. Sure, I’ve seen things in the news or guided people through difficult times as an emergency dispatcher, but I never thought the day would come when I’d be under fire in a fucking restaurant.

Romeo’s hands land on his belt buckle, the sound of it being unclasped enough to pull me back into the moment. I turn my back to him, flinching when I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror above the basin. Splatters of blood and chunks of something I don’t want to identify have congealed across my face and chest. The makeup that had been so harshly applied is now smeared and streaked and what I can only assume are skull fragments litter my hair. I rip my gaze away, unable to stomach the horrific reminders of the harrowing events of the evening.

I just want to get clean.

Romeo steps up behind me, the heat from his body like a blanket as his hands land on my shoulders. He smooths them down my bare arms before turning me toward him. I focus my eyes on the wall just past his shoulder.

He lifts my right arm, tugging down the zipper on my dress. Instead of fighting him, I allow him to undress me; the fabric falling down my body and pooling around my feet. I should be making an effort to cover myself, to push him away and beg for him to not do whatever it is that he has planned, but I’m numb. My limbs are heavy and something as simple as moving my head to meet his gaze feels like an effort.

There’s a scratch in my throat and an ache in my chest, but I clench my fists and swallow down the sadness. When he’s done with me, I can cry, but not until I’m back in my cell and alone.

I’m stronger than my fear; than my emotions.

Bending, Romeo lifts my right foot to his knee and undoes the strap of my stiletto. He slides my foot free, placing it back on the heated floor before moving to the next. Even when his hands hold on to the lace thong—the only article of clothing I have left on—and he pulls the material down my thighs, I don’t move. My mind is screaming at me to do something—to do anything to get away—but my body is refusing to cooperate.

When he stands, he follows my blank stare out of the window before blocking my view with his body. Smoothing back a strand of my hair, he soothes, “Nobody can see in, and even if they could, they know not to look at what’s mine.”

His.

What does that even mean?

What am I to him? A concubine? His prisoner? I don’t feel like I’m my own person anymore and it’s only been a day. What will happen when he’s kept me here for months? Or will my life be snatched from me before the week is over? Just like the maître d's.

Oblivious to my spiraling thoughts, Romeo leads me into the shower and under the hot spray. Pin prickles assault my body as the water rains down on my cool skin.

With my back to him as he undresses, I allow my head to fall forward and watch the physical evidence of this evening flow down the drain, hoping the memories of tonight will wash away just as easily. How did I end up in this position? I thought my father walking away would keep me safe. That I’d be able to live a normal life.

Look how well that’s turned out.

I can’t help but feel that if I’d not forced my father to make a choice between me and his world, I wouldn’t be in this position. I’d have had at least some protection, but instead, I’m alone and ill-prepared for a man with as much power as Romeo Bianchi. The magnitude of my circumstances coats me like the water falling from above me. It pulls me under, suffocating me as it crashes into me at lightning speed. A single solitary tear rolls down my cheek unchecked, and I brace my arms on the wall, trying with everything I have to push down the emotions that are consuming me.

It’s too much.

A strong arm bands around my waist and I’m pulled into Romeo’s warm, solid chest as he repositions us both under the spray. With his mouth close to my ear, he murmurs, “It’s okay, bellissima. You can let go.” His tone is soft, and as much as I search for an underlying threat, there isn’t anything there.

His words ignite a fire, and I feel my fight return. I push out of his arms, turning to glare at him. The spray from the shower continues to pelt down on me from behind, and I push a hand through my hair to keep it away from my face.

My body tenses, and I snarl, “No. I don’t need your permission. You have no right to comfort me when you’re the reason I’m in this mess.” I push forward, screaming, “I wish they’d killed me because you seem incapable of doing so. Even better, I wish they’d killed you.”

A smug smirk lifts the corner of his mouth. “There she is.”

I grind my teeth in an attempt to keep from exploding. How dare he put me through all of this? Who does he think he is for taking me and using me as a pawn in his stupid game? For nearly getting me killed.

I’ll knock that stupid look off his handsome fucking face.

Unable to hold back, I launch myself at him. At this six-foot-five wall of pure muscle. Pulling back my arm, I push it forward toward his face. Dodging out of the way, his thick fingers grab my wrist, stopping me mid-air. He pins my arm above my head, wrapping the other around my neck as he shoves me back until my shoulders hit the cool tile. He pauses for a second before his mouth crashes down on mine. His kiss is dominating, and yet there is a softness to it as his warm lips plunder mine. I part my lips when he demands it, and our tongues tangle in a battle I’m happy to lose. There’s something possessive and powerful in the hold he has over me. It sends shots of need to my core. A low growl in his chest vibrates through the palm I didn’t realize I had splayed on him.

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