Page 29 of Passion and Revenge

With that thought in mind, I begin to race frantically from room to room.

I find the door leading to the stairwell tucked beside a home office, and I push it open, relief causing tears in my eyes as I stare at the stairs that represent my freedom.

I race down the stairs with my heart thumping in my chest, but I don’t make it very far. At the last stair before the landing, my wet feet slip on the smooth metal of the staircase, and I crash to the ground, catching myself with my hands at the last minute to save my face.

I try to get up again, but a sharp pain slices through my ankle, and I drop back down with a painful howl.

“What do you think you’re doing?” a dark voice growls at me.

My head snaps up to see none other than my captor standing at the top of the stairs. Today, he’s in a brown plaid double-breasted suit, complete with a dark brown tie and pocket square.

“Look who decided to grace me with his presence,” I whisper snidely.

He walks down the stairs leisurely, his gaze zeroing in on me. I resist the urge to smooth down my hair. Whoever did the clothes shopping for me needs a bat to the shin. An endless row of matching two-piece loungewear fills my new closet. It wouldn’t have been so bad, except they are all either grey, navy blue, white, black, or a faded green.

Just another reason I have to leave here and stop wearing this awful, dystopian, prison-like uniform.

He squats in front of me, shifting his eyes to my hurt leg.

“I didn’t think you had it in you.” I can’t place the tone of his voice, so I choose to ignore him.

“Are you going to shoot out my kneecaps to stop me from escaping again?” I try to sound fearless, but I just end up sounding nervous.

My only reply is the grim look he shoots me before lifting me into his arms.

“Put me down!”

“Shut the fuck up. You’re in so much trouble.”

A full-body shiver goes through me, and I freeze, the pain in my ankle momentarily forgotten.

He carries me to my bed and drops me into it before leaving the room. I look around for the Chinese maid, but I don’t see any signs of her. I hope she doesn’t get killed for what I did.

As soon as Alessandro returns, I open my mouth to beg him not to hurt the woman, but my words die a quick death when I see the first aid box in his hand.

I still as he takes a seat at the foot of the bed and cups my ankle in his big hands.

“I don’t need your help,” I bite out.

His eyes flash. “Don’t tempt me, Sienna.”

“Do your worst, Alessandro.”

He applies something cool to the skin of my ankle and then wraps it in a bandage, his fingers deft. The whole time, I try to breathe normally, not wanting him to see how rattled I am by his hands on me.

Heat licks up my leg, and I pinch myself to distract myself from the sensation, hating myself for wanting him to slide his hands a little bit higher.

“Done,” he says, squeezing my foot.

A moan slips out of my mouth, and we both freeze. My cheeks heat up, and his eyes darken. As if he can read every illicit thought in my head, his hands begin to slide up and up and up.

At that moment, I’m transported back to the charged feeling with the stranger at the gallery. The stranger who turned out to be a man with a personal vendetta against my father. Reality breaks through the desire curling up inside me, and ever so slowly, I reach out for the vase at the side of the bed.

It’s now or never.

With a ferocious cry, I grab it and start to bring it down on his head. What happens next is a blur. The vase is knocked out of my hand, and it crashes to the ground, shattering into pieces. My hands are immediately pinned over my head by one big hand, and Alessandro’s other hand is wrapped around my throat, his body pinning me to the bed.

To my surprise, my sense of danger remains dormant. Instead, his body pressing over mine causes an ache, and my nipples are hard points in my bra.

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