Page 45 of Owning Nicci

I see four different security guards as we leave the penthouse—one stationed upstairs, one down, and two outside by the front door. Tension ripples through me as I feel their eyes on me, and it makes me move closer to Savio. He said they were here for my protection, to make me feel safe, but it has the opposite effect.

I’m glad when we get to the range. The routine—shooting, fighting, and the workouts, as grueling as they are—has become almost comforting. I’m startled to find that the tension drains out of me as we start to go through the usual motions, beginning with the shooting range, then stretches and cardio, then knife work and grappling. My fears about the strange guards in the penthouse fade away, and the only tension that remains is what there is between Savio and me as we go through the routine of practicing my self-defense.

Last night, I could feel the frustration rolling off of him. Now, as I block, and duck, and weave, and he closes in on me, going for a grapple, I can feel that frustration leaching out of him—replaced by an all-too-familiar tension. Sweat beads on his forehead, and my heart beats faster at the scent of him —musky, warm, sweaty, and masculine. I duck out of his grasp and feel the hot weight of him at my back for a moment before I dart away.

I like this,I realize. As much as I hate him, in these moments, I see a different man. One who, if circumstances were different, I might like. I mightmorethan like.

I clench my jaw, refocusing, and dart out of his grasp again.

“Good,” Savio says when we’re finished. “You’re getting quicker. You’ve made a lot of progress,principessa.”

I manage a small smile, trying to catch my breath, but my chest feels suddenly tight at the compliment. It hasn’t escaped me that the only time he compliments me is here, in this place that’s started to feel removed from the world I normally occupy with him. Here, it almost feels like we’re a team. Like we’re equals, rather than captor and captive.

It makes me not want to leave. To cling to these moments of normalcy.

The security is still at the penthouse when we come back, and I feel squeamish and uneasy, thinking of giving Savio back my clothing. When we go upstairs, he stands there waiting in front of the closed door for me to remove it, and I reach for the hem of my shirt.

I can’t do it. I give him a pleading look—not wanting to beg, but feeling as if I might unravel at the seams just thinking about being naked in this room, with four strange men patrolling the apartment outside.

“Please,” I whisper, and I fully expect him to tell me again that there’s nothing to worry about. That it’s all for my safety, and it will all be fine.

Instead, his eyes narrow, and then he lets out a sharp, quick breath. “Alright,” he relents. “Take a shower. I’ll come back with a change of clothes for you, and we’ll go shopping.” He pauses. “You’re right. You’ve done everything I’ve asked. Consider the privilege of clothes reinstated.”

And with that, he turns on his heel and leaves, locking the door behind him.

I should be angry at the idea of clothing being a ‘privilege.’ I should be furious at his arrogance. But all I am is relieved. For the first time since waking up here, I keep myself wrapped in a towel after my shower—even that small bit of fabric feels like armor against the men outside. When Savio brings my clothes, I don’t even care that it’s the same jeans and red tank top that I wore to the bar the night he killed Marco…and the night he fucked me for the first time. All I care about is that I won’t spend another hour in this room naked unless I want to be.

“Let’s go,” Savio says crisply. “One of the security guards will be coming with us, but he’ll remain out of sight, mostly. His job is to blend in, so you’ll barely notice him.”

I nod, buzzing with excitement as I follow him out of the penthouse and down to the waiting car. Savio slides in first, and as I follow him in, he slips a black credit card out of his wallet and extends it to me between two fingers. “There’s no limit on it,” he says calmly. “Feel free to use it as you like. Get whatever you want.”

I take it, the cool metal on my fingers sending me reeling back to months ago, when I had a card like this of my own—one that I could use whenever and wherever I liked. I had no idea what was coming for me then. No idea how drastically my life was about to change. My throat tightens—not because I miss the money and luxury—but because I miss the freedom. The illusion that I had some control over my life.

Savio wasn’t the first to take that from me. But he will be the last. I steel myself as I take the card from him, because I can feel myself melting at the show of kindness—when I should be reinforcing my defenses against it. Him granting me this doesn’t forgive what he’s done. It doesn’t change who he is or make any of this better.

Right?

We head to Fifth Avenue, and the driver pulls up in front of the curb. Savio steps out, coming around to open my door for me. I blink at him in surprise as I slide out of the car. He says nothing, only looks at me with an unreadable expression, and flicks his hand toward the stores. “Wherever you want to go,principessa,” he says, and my heart flutters with sudden excitement.

It feels as if it’s been ages since I’ve been shopping, and I’ve just been given free rein. I head straight for Dior—one of my favorite stores—with Savio just behind me, the security guard blending into the crowd.

The moment we step in, the sales associate who approaches raises an eyebrow. I recognize her immediately—she’s helped me personally on a number of occasions before. I flash her a smile, feeling as if I’ve stepped seamlessly back into my former life. “Sara! I’m here to get most of a new wardrobe, and if you have the time?—”

“You look like you need it.” Her gaze sweeps over my clothing—the tight jeans and the cropped tank top that’s definitely not designer. She peers at me as if trying to remember if she’s worked with me before. “You look familiar. But I must be mixing you up with someone else?—”

“You’re not.” Savio steps forward, his tone cutting and cold, like a shard of ice. My heart stutters in my chest, and I blink at him, momentarily confused as he steps slightly in front of me. “I’m sorry—Sara, is it? Your job is to sell clothing, correct? I assure you, the budget we’re working with is unlimited, so your attitude is unnecessary. But since you’ve decided to speak to Nicci in that way, I’d like the name of your manager.”

Sara blinks. “She’s—she’s on break, actually.”

“Go get her.” Savio’s tone brooks no argument. “Now.”

Sara turns pale. She opens her mouth to argue, but before she can say anything, a woman in a pleated red skirt and whiteembroidered blouse who looks to be in her mid-forties walks up behind her, a tight smile on her face.

“I’m Marie. The store manager. Is there a problem here?”

“There is.” Savio gestures to Sara. “Your associate here doesn’t seem to know how to treat a well-paying customer. In fact,” he pauses, before sliding his wallet out and reaching for a business card, making sure that Marie gets a good look at the credit cards inside. “I think it would be best if she didn’t work here any longer. We’d be more inclined to stay if I felt sure that Nicci wouldn’t be spoken to that way again.”

I grit my teeth to keep my mouth from dropping open.What is he doing?I can’t fathom why he’s standing up for me this way, throwing his weight around to get a woman fired for being rude to me. Maybe it’s because he feels it reflects poorly on him—to have someone be rude to me when I’m so clearly here with him…but I don’t think it’s that. He looks angry. I can see it in his clenched jaw, the muscle twitching in the corner of it, the tense line of his shoulders. I don’t think he’s angry for himself, I think he’s angry forme.

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