Page 3 of Dmitri

“Understood, Dmitri.” He walks over and presses the back of his hand to her forehead. “That’s good. She’s not running a fever.” He then checks her pulse. “Steady and strong.”

“Very good, little one,” I whisper by her side.

“Merda.” He grins, still holding onto her wrist.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. She must like the sound of your voice. Her pulse jumped.” A deep smile spreads across my face. “Her vitals are steady. I will draw some blood and test for the drug in her system. I’m guessing it won’t be long before she’s awake.”

“Good. Run your tests, but don’t be gone long because I want to make sure she gets the care she needs.”

“Understood. I’m guessing there’s a good reason you didn’t take her to a hospital directly.”

“Yes, I don’t know who the hell was hired to snatch her.”

“Good. I’ll keep my mouth shut as usual. Although, if it’s more than a mild sedative, you might need to bring her in.” He goes to work, gently and safely, taking two vials of blood from her. She hardly even makes a sound and doesn’t even move while he does it. Although it’s good for the process, I’m bothered by her unconsciousness.

“Then I will.” A part of me wishes I did in the first place, but some of the traffickers will have eyes on the hospitals, especially after what happened back there.

He leaves, and I get back to her side, brushing my hand down her soft cheek. “I’ll destroy all those who dare to come between us. That I promise you,” I whisper, pressing my lips to her forehead before standing and exiting the bedroom.

I head back into my office and Mikhail is there typing away on his laptop. “His name isn’t Edmond Hardwick. His name is Edmond Trainor and from what I can gather, he’s her stepfather. I’m still digging though.”

“I need to find out who those bastards were in Naples.” My mind isn’t on the men though. It’s on the lovely woman in my bed. My eyes lift toward the direction of the bedroom, and I wonder how she’s doing. It hasn’t been that long, but there’s a fear in me that she’s not okay.

“Do you want me to dig into it?”

“Yes. I’m going to check on her again.” He shakes his head and chuckles.

I scowl and then question him, “What’s so funny?”

“You’re obsessed.”

“I know,” I say before walking out of my office and back upstairs.

Chapter Two

Cora

My vision is fuzzy at first as I open my eyes. Still, I know I’m not in my hotel room. I blink several times, trying to get the fuzzies to dissipate. The bedroom isn’t modern, yet it is beautiful and rustic. As my sight clears, reality sets in that I’m in deep trouble.

It all comes back to me—the piazza.

I’d been enjoying my gelato when I felt someone’s eyes on me. I looked up to see the most handsome man in existence; his eyes held a devilish gleam that claimed me. Sin, lust, and the promise of passion captivated me. Like a fool, I stayed still like he had demanded with a silent wave of his hand, only to be grabbed from behind.

“Scream, and I’ll shoot you right here, Bella.” I followed along until we reached the rear of the van. My heart and mind ran wild with fear and ideas, knowing I only had seconds to escape. The self-defense classes my stepfather set up for me were pounding in my brain, and I regret that I dropped out after two visits because I thought it was a waste of time.

I tried to fight, but then I felt a prick in my neck. The last thing I remember is seeing the devil’s angry eyes.

“You’re awake.” My head whips to the sound that comes from my left. Standing in front of me is the devil. He’s blocking the only exit with his thick, muscular arms crossed.

“Get away from me.” I jump off the bed, stumbling and hitting the floor. Ouch, pain shoots through my hip and I’m sure I’m going to have a nice bruise on my ass. I scurry back and get to my feet.

He’s quick to move around the bed, facing me with his palms out like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. “Calm down, Cora. I will not hurt you.”

Bullshit. He already had me kidnapped after someone drugged me. “How do you know my name?” I ask, tilting my head as I mentally question his motives and still moving backwards until my back hits a stone wall. My hands press against the porous stone, growing more confused and anxious.

“The ID in your bag,” he answers, as if it’s no big deal.

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