Page 6 of Devilish Prince

“NYPD, Ma’am, we got a report about a break in.” He says the words but doesn’t even stop to acknowledge any response on my part, which is fine. I don’t respond anyway. I press myself against the wall, nearly knocking off a framed photo of my parents, and let him pass. Another man with a gun in handstands at the entrance to the living room with shoulders squared as the first walks into Calvin’s room.

“I think they left.” I hug my arms over my chest and hear a bit of racket in Calvin’s room then the man emerges and heads into my bedroom, followed by the bathroom. The second cop reaches his hand toward me, gesturing for me to join him in the living room. I see the door standing open, the knob busted and lying on the ground. Those guys did a number on the frame and the door itself. The super will have to fix it, maybe even before I sleep tonight.

“Clear,” I hear from the hallway as I step into the living room.

I’m shaken. Nothing like this has ever happened here. It’s the second thing in less than ten days that has hit me like this and I’m starting to fear for my safety. I hover in the center of the living room between the TV mounted on the wall and the coffee table where my glass of wine still sits.

“Uh… God, I feel like a fool.” I rub my forehead and almost break down crying.

“You did the right thing by calling, Ma’am.” Cop one, tall guy with a thin beard, smiles at me strangely and then walks to the door and stands just outside my apartment. I hear his radio click and he says something but I can’t hear what it is.

“Thank you for coming.” I don’t know what else to say, or what I’m supposed to do. I’ve never had to call 9-1-1 before, and I don’t care for the cop standing in my home at all, though I’d rather it be him than the guys who broke in my door.

“Did you see the people who gained entry?” He reaches into his breast pocket of his coat and pulls out a notepad and pen, then holds it ready to scribble down anything I say.

“No… but I heard at least one male voice speaking. There was more than one.” I feel cold and vulnerable, like my entire world is no longer safe. The cop grills me for twenty minutes until the super arrives and installs some makeshift locks for the night with a promise to return in the morning and fix the door. I’m so shocked I can’t even sleep when I lie down.

I just lie there staring at the ceiling with a butcher knife on my pillow, listening to the sounds in the building and thinking about Lorenzo Gatti. He said he could protect me, but somehow even that doesn’t feel safe. I still think I’ll take my chances with the street thugs, even after the cops warned me there were several break-ins this week.

4

LORENZO

Ipour myself a glass of Brandy, compliments of my father. He’s become a near-constant presence in my home since I was shot. His daily visits are usually a surprise. I never know when he’s going to walk in but he’s welcome. I have nothing to hide from him, not even the luscious Dr. Carter who’ll be here any moment. She’s been here thrice daily for the past two weeks, diligently refusing to allow me to protect her.

“I don’t get it, boss.” Norm stands with his hands clasped in front of his waist in his normal posture, watching me move about my study. I owe him my life now, and he is humble enough to tell me it was all in a day’s work, but without his quick thinking, I’d be dead. “We broke down her front door. We’ve been following her around for two weeks. She still won’t break?”

“She’ll break…” My calculated plans will not fail; they never do. Sofia Carter is as good as mine. Until now I’ve kept my men on the fringe, watching and hovering. It would be too obvious to her if she encountered devastating circumstances too often immediately following my offer of protection. These events have to look random and unrelated. It is the only way she will trulyfear for her life and that of her brother and turn to me. “Believe me, Norm. She’ll break.”

The doorbell rings and I raise my eyebrows at him. She is here to administer her medications for me and listen to my heart. One last check of the wound on my chest and I know she will attempt to rid herself of my association, but she doesn’t know the lengths to which I will go to keep her in my good graces. In fact, until now I’ve not been well enough to show her myself fully. If she will allow me, today I will do just that.

Norm leaves my side momentarily to attend to the door and I place the glass cork back in the bottle and set it on the shelf. I’ve offered Sofia a drink more times than I can count but she refuses each time with the excuse of work or a long commute home. Today I won’t waste my time. I have other things in mind for our time together.

I hear heels clicking on the marble floor down the hall and a soft soprano voice chattering in indistinguishable words. It sounds like Norm has already irritated the good doctor, which surprises me because up until now she’s been mostly pleasant, and he’s been on his best behavior, but perhaps it is because I’m dressed and on my feet today in my study, rather than reclining on my bed or sofa as usual. I sip the Brandy and await her appearance in the doorway with a placid expression.

Norm appears first, nodding at me, and then Sofia, stethoscope around her neck, coat unbuttoned in front. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold, thick woolen headband clinging to her head. Her normal scrubs and lab coat are absent, replaced with a pant suit and long trench coat. She looks elegant and I flick my hand at Norm to dismiss him.

“Doctor, it’s so good to see you.” I raise my glass at her and she scowls before yanking the headband off her head. Her hair is a bit mussed, but she smooths it as she slides out of her coat and pockets the headband. She drapes them over one of the cream, leather armchairs near the door and moves deeper into the room, closer to me.

“You’re up and about. That’s good,” she says, nodding. “This will likely be my last visit then.”

I’m positive she is misguided but she won’t learn that for a while, so I humor her. “Then it’s a miracle and I’m healed. You have saved me.” I spread my arms wide, smiling at her. My right arm is still weak, pain in that side of my chest from the way my pectoral muscles were sliced open to fish out the slug. But I’m already regaining strength, pushups and weight lifting.

“Let’s just have a look at the stitches now. I could probably cut them out today rather than waiting for them to dissolve.” Sofia talks with her hands as she comes to stand in front of me. “It’s probably best if they just work their way out though. You’ll have less of a scar.”

I chuckle as I remove my tie and begin to unbutton my shirt. I wait for it—the look on her face as my body is revealed to her. It’s the same every time, which is why I know she belongs with me. Her eyes always search my body, not like a doctor who needs to check on a patient, but as a woman whose own body feels the chemotic interchange between us.

She licks her lip and waits and I move slowly, button by button. When I undo the final one and pull it out of the waistband of my slacks, she takes a shallow breath and moves closer. Her eyes take me in, but she doesn’t touch. Not this time. She wears no gloves, hasn’t washed or sterilized her hands, and after previousassertions that she has no need of such trivial matters when tending to me, she still insists it is protocol.

“What do you think?” I ask, squaring my shoulders. I’ve no shame that for the past two weeks my physique has changed because my body is a temple. I’ve been fit my whole life. It’ll only take me a few weeks to be back to peak shape, but even now my body looks better than the average forty-year-old.

“Uh…” She squints, as if having to force herself not to react, and leans closer to the wound. “There is a bit of redness that I don’t like. You need to keep taking your antibiotics. I may prescribe you more.” Her hand reaches out as if she wants to touch me but she pauses and grimaces. So I grab her wrist and bring her hand to my chest.

“What are you doing?”

“I’ve told you, there is no need to shy away. I have no open wound anymore. Feel free to examine me, Doc.” Her palm is sweaty and her eyes jerk up to meet my gaze. She’s every bit as frightened of me as she is aroused. Her cheeks are light pink, but her lips warm to a deep ruby, blood rushing in to match her arousal. I’m sure her pussy drips for me, those lips as dark as the ones on her face.

“Mr. Gatti?—”

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